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WE OUT HERE FESTIVAL 2025: REVIEW -
WE OUT HERE FESTIVAL 2025: REVIEW -
PROGRAMMING VS PRODUCTION
PROGRAMMING VS PRODUCTION
Words by Lily Heym
We Out Here has always carried a clear vision: a festival mapping the threads between jazz, soul, reggae, hip hop, and electronic experimentation. There's no doubt that the vision held strong this year, with programming that championed heritage and discovery. But, while the music and curation rarely faltered, the staging too often did, leaving some of the weekend’s most exciting sets struggling to land.
Gilles Peterson’s We Out Here has always felt like a vision stitched together across generations, traditions, and scenes. In Dorset this year, that vision was clear: a festival built on the continuum between jazz, soul, reggae, hip hop, garage, and electronic experimentation. The programming told a story about heritage, community, and discovery.
This year, that vision was still clear, but the execution didn’t always hold up to the programme.
The biggest frustrations weren’t with the artists, but with the staging. The sleek new Carhartt WIP Stage looked good on paper, but its sound was so flat that entire sets fell away before they had a chance to rise. Stones Taro for example – an artist whose records thump with intricate, forward-thinking energy – was reduced to a quiet, underpowered experience that didn’t quite hit the spot.
Similarly, the Lemon Lounge was simply too small for the DJs booked there. Sets from acts like 2 Bad Mice were swamped by overcrowding, with muffled sound and nowhere to dance. In both cases, the curation was spot-on, but the infrastructure was unable to support it.
By contrast, The Bowl once again proved itself the festival’s anchor. There, the production, setting, and music nicely aligned. Dub in the sun with Channel One and Aba Shanti-I set the tone, echoing through a natural amphitheatre and reverberating through soil and bodies. By the time Norman Jay carried the space into funk and soul classics, The Bowl had again established itself as the go-to stage at We Out Here.
Bristol in Focus:
Saturday leaned heavily into Bristol’s contribution to bass culture, and for many, it was the weekend’s strongest programming. Smith & Mighty opened with a reminder of why their legacy matters, weaving rolling breaks with soul under clear skies – bringing in several guests like the incredible Tammy Payne.
Later, Khan, Pinch, and Neffa-T took over Rhythm Corner, which this year felt tighter than ever: loud, clean production, and sharp VJ work that increased the immersion. Neffa-T’s technical skill behind the decks stood out in particular – deft cuts, razor blends, and a precision that turned the corner into a workshop in dubstep and bass energy.
Elsewhere, Om Unit, Brakery, and collectives like Brown Excellence underlined the breadth of Bristol’s current underground, a reminder of how much the city continues to fuel UK sound system culture in its different forms.
Live Music, Rare and Repeated:
While the weekend leaned more heavily into DJs than in previous years, the live performances carried weight. Nubiyan Twist’s opening set was pure joy, their ten-piece energy moving between soul, funk, and Afrobeat as the sun went down on Thursday. Noname followed with an intimate, unhurried headliner, blurring the lines between song, rap, and spoken word.
The most powerful live set came on Saturday with Rotary Connection – a celebration of Charles Stepney’s arrangements and a rare performance that treated soul and jazz as living history. A slideshow of archival photos was also a nice touch, making it feel less like a gig and more like a transmission from Chicago’s past into the present.
On Sunday, Kokoroko’s Afrobeat grooves and layered horns brought a hypnotic energy to the Main Stage, while Loyle Carner closed the festival with conversational warmth. His lyrics resonated, but there was no denying the disappointment of losing Michael Kiwanuka from the bill. Carner is booked across many UK lineups; Kiwanuka would have been something more special as he hasn’t frequented the UK festival circuit quite so much this year. It spoke to the festival’s occasional reliance on the familiar, even as it champions discovery elsewhere.
Dance Energy and the Warriors Big Top:
Late-night programming swung between the transcendent and the predictable. Mia Koden’s 140-BPM bass pressure cut deep, while Objekt twisted the Grove into glitchy abstraction, and Sam Binga B2B Fracture closed Sunday with a playful, wiggy blend of breaks, electro, and modern dancefloor heat, showcasing the prowess of Pineapple Records. The Warriors Big Top, though less central this year, still offered a haven of DJs pushing darker, harder styles, though fewer bands meant it lacked some of the eclectic balance it has brought in previous years.
Crate Digging as Culture:
Beyond the stages, the festival’s record store became a microcosm of its ethos: rows of vinyl to dig through, from acid house to boogie, each crate a reminder that this culture is built on records, histories, and touch. It wasn’t an ‘extra’ distraction, but a reinforcement of what the festival is all about.
Conversations at We Out Here:
Interviews added another dimension to the weekend. One was with Suresh Singh, the 'Cockney Sikh' and former drummer of punk band Spizzenergi. On the WOH Radio stage, Singh hosted Footprints of Love, a playlist mapping his East London childhood, Sikh immigrant parents, and the freedom punk gave him. His story connected racism, rebellion, and cultural exchange. After the interview he gifted us a signed copy of his book, A Modest Living, Memoirs Of A Cockney Sikh, which combines family history, recipes, and Sikh heritage.
We also spoke with the creator of the giant 909 drum machine installations from Ray Interactive. Festival-goers tapped out rhythms together, experimenting with sound in a hands-on way. These installations added an extra interactive side to the festival, encouraging participation beyond the stages in those 'in-between' moments.
A Festival of Trust:
In the end, We Out Here 2025 was both inspiring and frustrating. Inspiring because its curation remains unmatched: a place where Rotary Connection and Objekt, Smith & Mighty and Noname, can coexist as parts of the same journey. Frustrating because when stages failed, when sound was flat or tents were too small, the vision was let down by production.
But even with its flaws, the heart of We Out Here holds steady. The problem isn’t the music and programming, which is second to none, but the staging. When sound is weak or tents are undersized, it sells the vision short. While the festival rightly urges attendees to come ready to listen, to learn, and to dance, this would be much more powerful if the production matched the curation for those on the ground.
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