THE FRONT ROW

If Day One brought the sunshine and the legacy with Pulp, Day Two was the storm, the electric, sweat-soaked, bass-thudding, trench-foot-stamping festival storm that blows everything wide open and leaves you questioning what on earth just hit you. Day Two of Tramlines 2025 was, in no uncertain terms, a day for the people, fuelled by the grassroots, shaped by the underdogs, and crowned by the unsigned. This wasn’t just a day of music. It was a movement in the mud, a mission from Sheffield’s musical sons and daughters, and the clearest sign yet that something seismic is shifting in the UK music scene.

The K’s – Too Big for the Slot

Kicking off the main stage proceedings were The K’s, and from the off, it was clear: 30 minutes simply wasn’t enough. A bizarre scheduling choice from the organisers, especially given that The K’s have become permanent fixtures on the circuit and, paired with The Reytons, form a kind of northern rock Voltron.

Still, the boys made every second count. With their brand new album dropping that very morning, they wasted no time showing off the goods. Gravestone opened the set with blistering confidence before Icarus and Chancer drove the crowd into chaos. By the time Hoping Maybe rolled around, we were in full singalong mode, one of those spine-tingling festival moments where 20,000 strangers are belting back every word like family.

Black and Blue? A riot. Sarajevo? Carnage. In just half an hour, The K’s proved they’re not just a support act anymore. They’re main stage killers. Give them the hour next year, Tramlines, you owe it to the crowd.

Natasha Bedingfield – A Misplaced Throwback

Look, there’s no denying Natasha Bedingfield has the hits. These Words, Unwritten, they’re etched into every millennial’s brain. But sandwiched between guitar-driven chaos and a hometown headliner that could’ve sold out the park on their own? She felt lost.

In the sunshine, the crowd gave it a go. Arms waved, lyrics were mouthed, but it felt like Tramlines didn’t really know where to put her. With Reytons fans dominating the park, this booking felt like a left turn, more “Now That’s What I Call 2006” than “future of British music.” A polite nod of nostalgia, but in truth, the main stage felt flat.

Freddie Halkon – A Star Is Born

It’s been brewing for a while, but Freddie Halkon arrived at Tramlines 2025. Following his breakout support for The Reytons last year, this felt like a coronation. You couldn’t move in the Leadmill tent, and when Girl in the Smoking Area dropped at the end of the set, it became almost comically loud inside. The crowd knew every word. Every. Single. One.

It wasn’t just the lyrics being screamed back, it was the energy. Freddie looked genuinely stunned by the response, overwhelmed by the feverish atmosphere he’d conjured. This wasn’t a polite, radio-friendly gig. It was an oven of teenage limbs, adrenaline, and belief. Shoulders lifted up shoulders. Phones stayed in pockets. The new generation of fans, who cut their teeth on TikTok and turn up with lyrics memorised, are all in on Freddie.

The future? It’s wearing a vintage windbreaker, sipping dark fruits, and singing Freddie Halkon.

Jake Bugg – A Quiet Masterclass

Back on the main stage, Jake Bugg delivered a set that reminded everyone how bloody good he is, even if they didn’t seem to notice. It was a tough slot, sandwiched between younger, rowdier acts and an increasingly restless crowd gearing up for The Reytons. But Jake’s performance was elegant, textured, and loaded with those hits that still resonate.

From the beautiful aches of his slow numbers to the charged sprint of Lightning Bolt, Bugg brought his A-game. But it was a strangely solitary experience, while the crowd politely nodded along, I found myself singing most songs solo in our patch. Jake might have peaked too early commercially, but his songwriting hasn’t aged a day. Criminally underrated, and still one of the best live voices around. A classy set from a class act.

The Rosadocs – Adopted Sons of Sheffield

Back into the Leadmill tent and back to a proper riot. The Rosadocs have long treated Sheffield like home, and Saturday night proved the city feels the same. It was a 45-minute siege of euphoric indie-rock, packed to the brim with their fan favourites and cuts from their new EP. It felt personal. It felt local. It felt loud.

Run Away Instead closed the set in delirious fashion, with hands flying, beers spilling, and feet off the ground. If you didn’t know The Rosadocs before Tramlines, you left the tent looking for their Spotify link. They’re in their imperial phase now, and the crowd was all in.

Franz Ferdinand – Polished but Pushed Aside

Now let’s be clear, Franz Ferdinand are pros. They’ve got a back catalogue most bands would sell their van for. And they performed with the sharpness and style you’d expect. Take Me Out still absolutely slaps.

But the truth is, they were booked on the wrong day. Saturday belonged to The Reytons. You could feel it in the field. The crowd were already mentally in that final slot, already picturing Red Smoke billowing across Hillsborough Park.

Franz brought the hits and the flair, but it was like trying to warm up a crowd already on fire. Their set was solid, but lacked the spark it needed to steal the show. It’s hard playing understudy to a movement.

The Reytons – History Made, and History Owned

There are headline sets. And then there are headline moments. The ones you’ll be telling people about in five, ten, twenty years’ time. The ones that define not just a festival, but an era. The Reytons at Tramlines 2025 wasn’t just a big set, it was a working-class victory parade in football shirts and flares. It was a triumph ten years in the making, for a band that built it brick by brick, night by night, without anyone handing them a thing.

From the minute you walked through the gates at Hillsborough Park, you could feel it. Reytons shirts were everywhere. The club-style kits they release every year had turned the park into a full-on fan section, white, green (last year’s 2024 edition), and purple (this year’s 2025 away drop) created a sea of colour. You didn’t need to ask who people were here to see. This was their stadium now. Their gig. Their homecoming.

And when the house lights dropped, the pitch invasion started.

A Trojan Horse rolled onto the stage to kick things off, not just for show, but totally on brand. A nod to everything the band have stood for since day one: infiltrating the mainstream from the inside, ripping up the rulebook, doing it all on their own terms. The roar from the crowd as it entered could have knocked your teeth out. This was theatre, message and statement all rolled into one.

Then came Red Smoke. And the irony hit instantly.

All day, the main stage screens had been flashing the warning: “Flares will not be tolerated.” By the time that first riff rang out, Hillsborough Park looked like someone had handed them out with the tickets. Smoke cannons on stage were nothing compared to what was going off in the pit. Thick red mist, throat-burning and blinding, filled the air. Hard to breathe at times down the front, but no one was going anywhere. This was release. This was euphoria. This was The Reytons saying: We’re here. And you can’t ignore us anymore.

What followed was a relentless opening. Guilt Trip, Antibiotics, Harrison Lesser, all smashed out with a fury that made it clear they hadn’t just come to headline. They’d come to destroy the stage they’d spent a decade trying to reach. Jealous Type followed, and if you know, you know. This was the first time they’d played the track live since their early Tramlines Fringe days, years ago, when barely anyone was listening. This was the full circle moment, song, stage, city, everything. It hit hard.

2006 and Adrenaline kept the momentum flying before Market Street and Cash In Hand & Fake IDs tore the place open. You could see it on Johnny’s face, every shout back from the crowd hit him in the chest. This wasn’t just a show. This was validation. A city saying: you belong here.

Then came Uninvited and Retro Emporium, frenzied, communal, messy, perfect, and then Headache. As the song reached its chaotic climax and finished off, the band stopped the set due to a crowd emergency down the front. There was an instant hush. Worry, but also calm. A couple of minutes passed. Then a chant started. Then came one of the moments of the entire weekend.

A lad got up on someone’s shoulders near the front, and with Johnny’s attention caught, asked if he could come up and play a tune. Johnny agreed. And in an act of absolute trust, he handed over a guitar to a random punter from the pit. What happened next? The lad played Slice of Lime, the band stood aside, and the crowd sang the whole thing start to finish. Respectfully. Beautifully. Every single word.

It was surreal. Magical. Exactly the sort of thing that could only happen at a Reytons show. Once the situation was cleared and things were safe again, the band took a short break backstage. And then they came back swinging.

Seven in Search of Ten was up next. Not a new track, but a live debut from the most recent album, and delivered with total conviction. It’s a fan-favourite on record, but it landed live like it had always been in the setlist. That’s what happens when your audience knows the lyrics before you’ve even soundchecked the song.

What followed was a thunderous final third: Shoebox, Slice of Lime, Billy Big Bollocks, and Broke Boys Cartel. No filler. No dip. Just a constant sprint toward glory. And then they walked off.

But it wasn’t over.

The encore started with On the Back Burner, and let’s be clear, this is not a soft reset or a breather. It’s one of the band’s biggest bangers, all tempo and muscle and fists in the air. It kept the energy sky-high, setting the perfect stage for what came next.

Then came the spiritual centrepiece of the night: Kids Off the Estate.

This one doesn’t need context, it is the context. The anthem. The rallying cry. And mid-song, Johnny cracked. His voice caught. His hands trembled. You could see it all over him. This mattered.

“No one will ever headline this stage and it mean more to them than it means to us right now.”

That line silenced the park. Because it was the truth. Because it was raw. Because it was earned.

Eight years ago, The Reytons played the Tramlines fringe, trying to get anyone to listen. On Saturday night, 40,000 people screamed their lyrics back at them in the biggest set of their career. And they did it unsigned. Unfiltered. Undeniable.

Low Life closed the night in true festival-finisher fashion, carnage to the end. Flares again. Shirtless limbs. Circle pits right up to the sound desk. And when the final note dropped, no one moved. Not for ages. It felt like everyone was trying to absorb the moment. No one wanted to leave.

The Final Word

This was more than a gig. More than a headliner. More than a milestone.

The Reytons at Tramlines 2025 proved that you don’t need a label to fill fields. That you don’t need Radio 1 to connect with people. That you don’t need the industry’s green light to become a generational band.

You just need the graft. The songs. The belief. And the fans who’ll follow you through it all.

The Reytons weren’t the gamble.
They weren’t the wildcard.
They weren’t the support act finally given a shot.

They were the moment.
And now, they’re the benchmark.