TRAMLINES FESTIVAL 2025 - FRIDAY // HILLSBOROUGH PARK, SHEFFIELD
Pulp at Sheffield Homecoming Surprise
★★★★☆ (4/5)
PULP HEADLINING FRIDAY AT TRAMSLINES FESTIVAL 2025 AT SHEFFIELD’S HILLSBOROUGH PARK
PHOTOCREDIT: JOHN HAYHURST
Tramlines Festival returned to Sheffield with a bang this year, its first day setting the tone for a weekend of music that perfectly marries heritage, chaos, beauty, and local pride.
Now a firmly established cornerstone of the northern festival calendar, Tramlines has grown from its inner-city roots into a sprawling, multi-stage celebration of music across Hillsborough Park. Despite its growth, it continues to feel distinctly Sheffield—gritty, warm, unpretentious, and a little unpredictable.
This year, the festival’s opening day had a distinctly local flavour, curated by none other than Sheffield’s own Pulp, who also closed out the night in front of a crowd that felt like one big, emotional homecoming.
Over at the Sarah Nulty Main Stage, named in tribute to Tramlines’ late co-founder, things took a grittier turn with Femur, a band who brought a blast of garage-psych chaos to the early afternoon. Their set was raw and fuzz-drenched, with frontman Jordan Scowcroft a snarling presence who looked as though he’d been summoned straight from the back of a 1970s record sleeve. Tracks had an anarchic energy that got heads turning, even among the more casual early festival-goers. Sheffield has a habit of producing bands with a kind of rough magic to them, and Femur fits the mould nicely.
Later on the same stage Ed Cosens eased the early crowd into the festival with a set that blended rich songwriting and Britpop nostalgia with fresh sincerity. Known to many as the guitarist from Reverend and The Makers, Cosens has carved out a solo identity that’s quietly compelling. Songs shimmered with orchestral grandeur and lyrical introspection, while the live setting gave them an added punch. His performance felt both intimate and widescreen—perfect for easing into the festival atmosphere with a pint in hand and a grey Sheffield sky overhead.
From there, the tempo changed entirely at t’other stage with comedian John Shuttleworth which was then followed by John Cooper Clarke, the punk poet laureate whose words still cut with razor precision. Dressed immaculately in dark purple suit and hat, he delivered his performance more like a stand-up set threaded through with verse. Clarke has always been an odd fit at festivals, but in the best possible way—offering something cerebral and caustic amid the noise.
Back at the Leadmill Stage, Beguiling Junior offered a sonic palette cleanser. With a name that hints at mystery, and we couldn’t find anything about them on social media or streaming sites. Their set was a woozy, genre-blurring ride through psychedelia, dream-pop, and something darker lurking underneath. Giving major White Stripes vibes with drums, vocals and reverb-heavy guitars, crafting a strange but beguiling atmosphere that lived up to their name. They feel like a band on the edge of something—quietly gathering momentum while everyone else shouts over each other. This was the best experience today on the leadmill stage.
The Main Stage truly kicked into gear with Baxter Dury, whose louche delivery and sleazy electro-funk grooves were a perfect match for a late afternoon slot. Swaggering on stage with the energy of a man both amused and slightly bored by the whole affair, Dury delivered a set full of personality. “Miami” had the crowd moving, while “Prince of Tears” added a strange sort of melancholy to the swagger. He straddles a line between performance art and pure groove, and on a day curated by Pulp, his presence made a lot of sense—offbeat, stylish, and faintly absurd.
As the evening crept in, John Grant took over t’other stage with one of the most vocally commanding and emotionally charged performances of the day. Grant’s voice—rich, mournful, soaring—cut through the evening air like a knife, and his set traversed everything from synth-driven menace to piano-led balladry. “GMF” felt both hilarious and devastating, while “Glacier” was a set highlight that had more than a few in the crowd holding their breath. His blend of sardonic wit and raw vulnerability is hard to pin down but impossible to forget.
The energy jolted back into manic overdrive with Fat White Family on the Leadmill Stage. A band as infamous for their on stage chaos as for their music, they did not disappoint. From the moment they launched it felt like something unhinged had been let loose. Dirty grooves, howled vocals, shirtless antics—it was punk theatre at its most delirious. By the time they tore through half of the set the crowd was a sweaty, ecstatic mess. Not for everyone, perhaps, but definitely for those who like their rock dangerous and messy.
And then came Spiritualized on the Main Stage, bringing a wall of sound that was as cathartic as it was overwhelming. Jason Pierce stood bathed in sunlight for a change, but with plenty of reverb, barely moving as waves of sound crashed behind him. A swirling mantra of defiance and beauty. They closed with a hymn-like lullaby that seemed to slow time as the sun started dipped. Spiritualized’s set was spiritual in the truest sense—transporting and oddly cleansing.
But there was only ever going to be one band that truly owned the day. Pulp’s return to a Sheffield stage they curated themselves was nothing short of euphoric. Jarvis Cocker remains a magnetic frontman—quirky, eloquent, and still radiating that awkward sex appeal that made him an icon.
They opened with new track “Spike Island,” and from the first lyric the crowd was theirs. What followed was a masterclass in pop theatre: “Disco 2000” turned the field into a massive singalong, “This Is Hardcore” added a cinematic sleaze, and “Sorted for E’s & Wizz” offered a moment of nostalgic melancholy that hit deep. They bring on fellow Sheffield legend Richard Hawley and by the time they played “Common People,” the air was electric, voices hoarse, arms aloft, and Sheffield shining in every lyric.
It was a celebration of homecoming, of endurance, and of pop music as social commentary and personal catharsis. Day one of Tramlines was everything it should be—eclectic, emotional, noisy, and proud.
As the lights went down and people filtered out through the tramlines of Hillsborough, there was already a buzz about what’s to come. Day two promises the angular indie brilliance of Franz Ferdinand and a likely raucous set from The Futureheads and local (Rotherham) indie heroes The Reytons headlining. If today was about Sheffield’s past and present, tomorrow feels like a celebration of post-punk revival and festival joy. And after a first day like this, the bar is set high.
