As an American attending 2000trees, there’s no way I could’ve known what I was in for. I’ve been to a long list of U.S. festivals, and a couple abroad, but the English do it differently. And at trees, they do it very differently.
The independent music festival is located in the Cotswolds — the English countryside made famous by its thatched roofs, castles, and rolling hills, as seen in Harry Potter and Downton Abbey. Straight from Heathrow, I hopped in a taxi, heading into said region, stopping 100 miles northwest of London in Cheltenham. There, against a green and cow-dappled backdrop, lives Upcote Farm — which, since 2007, has been the home of “trees.” But not only has it been the home of the festival, cemented year-round by the DIY “forrest stage,” a magical wooden structure that sits in the middle of a tall cluster of trees, it’s been a proverbial home to many artists and festival-goers who’ve been loyal participants and attendees over the years. The festival, capped at a snug 15,000, feels immediately close-knit, whether you’re lodging on the field, in a tent, or venturing in and out of Upcote each day. It was a bright and self-assured crew, as seen in the amalgamation of Pride flags, art, and English flags decorating the campgrounds — the country’s home team played Netherlands on the festival’s first day, which was screened at one of the small stages — and looks that skewed from cybergoth and steampunk to flower crowns and Baja hoodies, alongside the universal festival fixture, a guy in a banana suit.
Read more: 24 of the most exciting rising artists to watch in 2024
“It’s family-oriented, but I also feel like there are a lot of freaks here, in a good way!” Teenage Wrist’s frontman Marshall Gallagher tells me, adding, “Some of the horror costumes are pretty interesting, and I love the goth presence. We’ve seen animal masks…but at the same time, it’s super laid back and chill.” The spirit of authenticity was ripe, as was the generosity and connectedness between all on site — this was no Coachella. These values — coexistence, community, common culture, and kinship — have been the festival’s aim all along, but we can all admit it’s especially admirable to have maintained that core ethos in such true form for years on end.
It plays out in the lineup as well. Many artists on the bill wouldn’t necessarily be headliners at other festivals, but here at trees, they’re embraced as such, and often tap into bountiful sources — IDLES played the farm before they’d even had an album out, let alone been able to sell out stadiums. Additionally, there’s a family element to the booking itself. Artists often return for years on end, each year moving up on the bill, garnering a dedicated fanbase within the festival’s own ecosystem, as well as what lies in their material growth outside of the festival. Frank Turner, who’s been playing the festival since its early days, returned once again this year, earning the title “trees legend,” while artists like Nova Twins, who absolutely stunned with their awe-inspiring web of pedalboards, and Bob Vylan, who’s young daughter sang to the crowd, “LET’S FUCKING GO,” to massive applause, earned their stripes, moving to larger stages and headlining slots on their second and third time at trees, respectively. “What’s different this year,” Nova Twins mentioned to me while clutching their matching, brightly colored coats against the wind, “is we’re further along on the main stage, and we loved Marshall’s screen-printing meet-and-greet, where we got to design and sign shirts for fans. The queue was long, so we were really scribbling.” But before standing up and heading to the Rock Sound reporter, they added, “You come to trees, and it feels like a safe space. Someone had a proposal during our set! It’s that vibe. It’s nice and nurturing to first-timers as well. That’s the general atmosphere.” Just the right energy for the Marshall Records signed duo, who are in for a busy year.
As for this year’s lineup, the festival held fast its footing in the alternative space, welcoming trees newcomers the Gaslight Anthem, Manchester Orchestra, Better Lovers, and Hot Mulligan, who united with returning acts like Boston Manor and Kids in Glass Houses, alongside a slew of standout emerging acts such as hardcore act Knives that features two saxophonists, CLT DRP, an electro-punk gut-punch with the incomparable vocalist Annie Dorrett, and noteworthy Natal drummer Daphne Koskeridou.
Uniquely, there was a band fit for everyone in attendance. And, whether conversely or additionally, it felt as though everyone there could appreciate each band. It’s the age-old topic of conversation, at least at my desk, of what it means to be “alternative,” as a musician, as an artist, as an editor, a listener, or even just a human with thoughts and choices. Whether you want escapism and fantasy, there’s Creeper, an act that feels like KISS in their theatrics and cult following, and sounds like a fusion of Davey Havok’s projects. For political angst, among many acts, you’ve got Brighton’s queer, feminist, and avidly anti-TERF Lambrini Girls and Canadian-American artist grandson, who’s got a “FUCK TRUMP” message that riding on powerful nü-metal rage. We bonded over our first time at the festival, and he astutely remarked, “As I understand it, these sorts of festivals that are a little more concentrated in size and sound, which are also a little bit of a hike to, weed out the bullshit and brings together fans that are here to find and discover new music — super passionate fanbases.” He added, “It’s is exciting for me because it gives me motivation to kill the set and then hopefully get a little bit of this weird, beautiful, nerdy rock crowd along for the Granny train.” And that, it seemed, he did.
On another sonic side, I saw Manchester Orchestra and the Gaslight Anthem serving emotional, heart-wrenching indie rock — or Turner’s folk-punk, with a celtic twist at times. Teenage Wrist, Angel Du$t, and Gouge Away covered the American rock and hardcore scenes with flying colors, stopping off at the fest from their current run. Hot Milk, who are currently opening for blink-182 on tour, told me by the water cooler, “Tom DeLonge is truly a funny guy. He’s a vibe.” The band actually flew to the Cotswolds from San Diego’s tour stop, just to play the festival, and offer audiences a taste of their chic, emo power pop, a refreshing modernization of old-school pop punk. But according to Hot Milk’s Hannah Mee, “This is like our holiday. We’re here seeing some friends and coming back to the festival the other days — everyone’s here.” Kid Bookie brought his Linkin Park-style hip-hop-infused metal to the aforementioned forest stage, and blew away audiences who, despite sudden rain and mud, thrashed to his gut-punch of a performance in ponchos clutching cups of beer that slowly watered down.
In the artist area, Marshall had erected a built-out lounge for talent, as well as an audience-facing screen-printing station — which bands would join the crowd at, signing their custom T-shirts throughout the festival. Seeing Boston Manor or Nova Twins engaging fully with their fans, painting and dousing with colorful decoration their merch, it truly reaffirmed the festival’s purpose, of connectivity and level ground. Behind the curtain, in the lounge and artist camp, it felt like a big family gathering, many mentioning to me, “I’d be here anyway, as a fan.” Despite knowing less of the U.K. bands present, they all welcomed me into the gaping circle with open arms, among many others, it seemed. A band I would see on the main stage, I’d realize, had just offered to get me a drink while I sat in catering.
One night, resting my legs at a table by catering, a kid sat down next to me, and without pause began asking me about what I do, and telling me about his career as a “medieval woodwork-style tattoo artist” while puffing on a purple box-mod vape. “Stop by if you’re ever in town, though you probably won’t be. It was so lovely meeting you,” he said, shaking my hand, as he stood up to find his friends, who were playing at one of the stages. He walked off, having left no Instagram handle, no card behind. He hadn’t asked what magazine I worked for, asking for or taking anything. We’d shared a conversation purely about our love for two crafts, and the alternative music that connects them. And that — as well as the fact that I didn’t see one person get dropped while crowd-surfing or diving, even when Greg Puciato jumped from the highest rafter onto spectators — was how 2000trees felt, and sounded, to me.
The one thing I’ll say, though, is that the Brits are truly built different. For any Americans inspired to attend next year, please do, but be wary — a four-day festival will have you bedridden for just as long afterward.
