Saturday at The Great Escape was the best. Twelve acts, many venues, a quick power nap, and far too much running around Brighton for someone who had not planned their footwear well enough. I was tired before I was halfway through, but I was also having an excellent time, and just felt lucky to be there.
The day felt like pure chaos, but there was definitely a running theme between performances. At the time it was mostly: check the schedule, panic slightly, run to the next venue, squeeze into the back, try to write something useful in my notes app, repeat. But looking back, there was so much community, shared joy, whimsy, and just really good music packed into one Saturday. My knees were not grateful. I was.
My day kicked off just after midday with Carδamo, opening the Roundhouse showcase upstairs at The Hope & Ruin. Self-described as a creature of the night with a laptop, they turned the room into a club while the sun was still very much out, which felt a bit illegal but in a fun way. Their electronic pop set moved through songs, stories, and bits of silliness, including chat about gender and “being built like a rugby player”. I am usually a subtle awkward gig dancer. This was not a subtle awkward gig dancer situation. I honestly couldn’t have asked for a better start to the day, but maybe I was biased by the temporary tattoo they gave me right before.
After some running around Brighton, I made it back to The Hope & Ruin for the last couple of songs of Hana Amaya. I have since been informed I missed some excellent trumpet playing, but what I did catch was enough to make me want a full set next time. Hana’s music blends R’n’B, soul, electronic and indie, and her voice had this lovely softness to it without disappearing into the room. A very brief stop for me, unfortunately, but a memorable one.
Emmeline was next for the Roundhouse showcase. Her music sits somewhere between spoken word, alternative hip-hop, rap and song, which sounds like the sort of thing people say when they don’t know what box to put someone in, but in this case it is actually the point. She uses words like an instrument, playing with the rhythm, pauses and repetition in her delivery. I annoyingly did not write enough down, because sometimes my notes app loses against simply watching the thing happening in front of me. But I remember the feeling and that energy, and it’s definitely opened up some new genres for me.
Then I realised the time and sprinted to Komedia Studio for Opal Mag, along with, apparently, half of Brighton. It was packed. I squeezed into the back of the dark, low-ceilinged room with a terrible view and decided to accept my fate. I’ve followed Opal Mag for a while because I love her visual style, but being stuck at the back meant I actually had to properly listen rather than just gaze admiringly. Her atmospheric indie/dream-pop sound worked beautifully in that room, all hazy guitars and confessional lyrics, with the backing vocals adding an ethereal layer. Even with the bad view, it felt worth the dash.
Feeling the need to make my step count completely unreasonable, I ran back to The Hope & Ruin for YAZ, and I am so glad I did. It was an absolute standout part of my day, I have never been more mesmerised. Her music combines contemporary jazz with her Palestinian roots, and the Arabic-influenced vocal style made the whole room go very still. She spoke about grief, losing her father, what the songs meant to her, and there was something in there everyone could connect to. One song was introduced as an ode to the women in her life, thanking them for being there. After she finished, and everyone let themselves breathe again, I heard someone say, “she’s gonna go far”. Hard agree.
After a quick power nap – absolutely essential, no regrets – I headed to Unitarian Church for Tygermylk, opening the Queer Ass Folk showcase. Tygermylk is the project of Hastings-based Hayley Harland, and their songs seem to live in that space between indie folk, alt-pop and journal entry. Before each song, we got a bit of backstory, which flowed perfectly into the clear folk-influenced poetic storytelling within their lyrics. After a lot of running, packed rooms and standing at the back trying to see, sitting down in a church listening to soft queer folk suddenly felt like the most sensible decision I had made all day.
Then it was back to The Hope & Ruin for Alice SK, where the room was absolutely packed. I ended up squeezed in with a limited view, which was becoming a theme, but the crowd made it easy to get into. Alice SK’s indie folk has that warm, melodic quality that gently filled the room, and plenty of people around me already knew the words. I wish I’d had more time there, but what I caught explained why so many people had crammed in.
Next up was Vera Daisies at The Prince Albert. Formerly part of Ottis Cœur, her solo project mixes indie rock, grunge, pop and shoegaze, and this was one of my favourite stops of the day. She barely stopped moving, looked genuinely thrilled to be there, and the songs got stuck in my head almost immediately. Between songs there was love for Brighton, a request to come back, and a general sense that she was having as good a time as we were. Couldn’t fault a second of it – good songs, good energy, and an irresistible urge to dance.
Then came Paige Kennedy at CHALK, bringing alt-pop and excellent crowd interrogation. Paige apparently had the flu the day before, which made the energy even more ridiculous. “Need more engagement from the centre of the room,” they told us, before adding, “This is relatable content, I don’t believe only two people have been through a breakup.” Fair point. That humour was in the songs too, not just the chat between them. Paige has a way of making a line feel funny, sharp and slightly too real all at once, playing with the vocal delivery in a way that kind of tickled my brain. Later, “How many people here are living their life in fear?” got some good engagement, but nothing could beat the live investigation into whether someone in the audience was queer: coloured hair, Chappell Roan, carabiner. Case inconclusive, apparently.
Staying at CHALK, ARXX followed. The Brighton duo make power-pop/indie rock with big choruses and very good chat, and Hanni was immediately rethinking a fashion choice: “I’m wearing leather trousers for the first time on stage and I’m very much regretting that decision now. How’s your temperature out there?” From there, the talking did not stop, and I mean that as a compliment. There were breakup songs, audience call-backs, and a “manager of the year” moment when BuzzBallz were delivered to the stage. “Sorry, I just can’t stop the chat,” they said. No complaints from me.
There was a more emotional moment too, with a song about coming out as non-binary, especially as it was Hanni’s first performance since top surgery. They spoke about feeling safe and lucky to sing it, and thanked the room for what it gave back. And then they brought out line dancers. Obviously this was excellent. The audience loved it immediately, and it gave the set that extra “yes, this is exactly what I wanted from a festival Saturday” feeling. Another song was introduced with: “If you’re a queer person this is a song about being queer, if you’re not this is a song about dogs.” Perfect. No notes.
Later, I made it to WaterBear Venue for Boudicca. Boudicca is a Brighton-based hip-hop artist whose music pulls from contemporary hip-hop and neo soul, and she arrived with exactly the right amount of attitude for that point in the evening. “First performance as Boudi the Baddie,” she told the crowd, “and as you can see I just don’t give a fuck.” That was pretty much the brief. Confident and playful enough to wake me back up when the day was starting to catch up with me.
My final stop was back at Unitarian Church for Essy Sparrow. Essy makes indie folk, and the church really added to the intimacy and connection. She got the audience doing backing vocals, and there was no moment of hesitation or awkwardness, everyone genuinely wanted to join in. I love community. At one point she spoke about getting a mullet, realising “if that isn’t good enough, what is?” She also played around with the textures of her voice, leaning back from the mic and letting the room hear all the little shifts in sound. It was a gentle, grounding end, and left me thinking: how could this have been better? Then I got a temporary tattoo from Essy herself.
And then Saturday was done: twelve artists, many venues, a lot of stairs, two free (temporary) tattoos, and one body asking why I would do this. The answer is because it was brilliant. The Great Escape is built for discovery, and my favourite thing about the day was how different every act felt: electronic pop at lunchtime, jazz so quiet the room held its breath, queer folk in a church, hip-hop at WaterBear, CHALK turning briefly into a breakup support group with line dancers.
I think I’ll be coming back.