2000 Trees 2025: My First Time at the Friendliest Festival on Earth (and Also the Hottest)
Katie-Mae Kelleher | July 16th, 2025
I had no idea what I was getting into with 2000 Trees.
I’d heard whispers through the grapevine that it was the UK’s best-kept secret. But none of the hype, none of the TikToks, and definitely none of the line-up announcements prepared me for how alive it actually felt. By the time I arrived at 2pm on Wednesday Trees was already loud, already moving, and full of life.
No review for 2000 Trees can start without mentioning the weather. Temperatures reached a soaring 35 degrees. The heat was relentless , thick, dry, and inescapable with no breeze, just sun, sweat, and the inside of your tent turning into a microwave. But when you’re melting into the floor alongside a field of strangers you end up looking after each other. People shared suncream, passed around water bottles, handed out salt and electrolytes like festival medics. The heat became this wonderful kind of bonding ritual. And it made every shady moment, every sip of something cold, every break in the trees feel like salvation.
And that spirit of care and community extended beyond the heat. Every single person I interacted with was kind, helpful and shared the same enthusiasm for being at a festival so special. I enjoyed several deep campsite chats with people I’ll never see again, witness strangers helping strangers with tents, directions, set times, lost phones. Not once did I feel out of place. Trees has a way of breaking down the usual cool-kid barrier that festivals can fall into. The people of trees were kind, open, and completely unbothered by the usual ego or pretence you sometimes get at big-name festivals. You show up and you’re part of it. It felt like one giant, unspoken “we’ve got each other” pact.
One of the things I loved most about Trees is how much it prioritises up-and-coming bands. The entire weekend is stacked from morning to night with new talent. Some days start as early as 10am and the quality never dips. You’re constantly stumbling across artists you’ve never heard of who immediately make you wonder how they’re not already on your Spotify playlist. It’s not just about the headliners, 2000 Trees puts emerging artists at the centre and gives them the space to show exactly why they’re there.
And if you’re one of those early risers or fitness fanatics who somehow survives camping without a monster hangover, the mornings at the Forest Stage had something for you too. Every morning kicked off with yoga and 80s workout sessions that looked like the most unhinged and wholesome start to the day. Picture hungover punks in leg warmers and sunglasses doing squats to synth pop in a field. It was chaotic and oddly serene.
There were loads of stellar performances across the weekend, but a few cut through the noise and carved themselves into my brain. I was totally mesmerised by Hot Milk. I’ve never hyperfocused on a live set so hard in my life. It wasn’t just that they sounded incredible, although they did. It was the way Hannah commanded the space. The Forest Stage isn’t a huge setup, but she made it feel massive. She stalked the edges like she was summoning something bigger than herself, while the whole band crashed behind her like a living machine. Everyone around me was locked in and nothing else existed for that set except noise, sweat and her voice tearing through the trees.
Kneecap were another surprise for me. I went in not knowing a single one of their songs and ended up dancing my way through the entire hour and fifteen minutes and I didn’t stop moving once. Their set had this wild, manic energy that felt like Chase and Status and Beastie Boys had a baby. It was politically sharp, funny without losing its weight, and completely magnetic. The boys at Kneecap are cheeky, charming and had one of the most high energy performances of the weekend.
And then there was Panic Shack, who brought full riot grrrl chaos with a side of lip gloss and locked jaw rage. It felt like punk rock through the girly gaze in the best possible way. Angry, loud, fun as hell. With songs about having big tits and getting the ICK It was specific, hilarious, and completely relatable. All-women, all-power, all sweat and sarcasm. It was the kind of set that makes you want to scream in the mirror and never apologise for taking up space. Fully empowering and genuinely fun in a way that still managed to hit hard.
Then came the most surreal moment of the weekend: Baby Lasagna. If someone had told me in advance that an artist blending Eurovision theatre, glitch-pop and punk energy would become one of the most captivating sets of the weekend, I wouldn’t have believed it. But then Marko came out swinging on the Forest Stage like some unholy blend of Eurovision, TikTok meme culture, and genuine talent. It was glitchy, smart, over-the-top and absolutely addictive. Every moment felt choreographed and chaotic at the same time. People didn’t even know what genre they were experiencing, but they didn’t care. It was fun, It was loud and it threw the whole Forest Stage sideways.
Beyond the sets, the small details made Trees feel special. Forest School had the best wholesome energy. People sat on logs making friendship bracelets, building campfires and making dens. Although these activities are aimed at kids, the whole Forest school area felt like a whimsical and wholesome escape from the real world.
The Word Tent, which doubled up as both a comedy venue and a podcast hub, gave you space to breathe and think. I caught on many days the Sappenin’ podcast and the set up makes it feel surprisingly personal. People talking about music, mental health, identity, and community. It was mellow, real and needed, especially when the heat got overwhelming. The comedy at The Word was just as vital. At the height of the day when your legs felt like jelly and your brain was cooked from the heat, sitting in that cool tent and laughing at something absurd felt like actual medicine. It broke up the intensity and gave your senses room to recover.
Evenings brought their own kind of magic. As the air cooled and the sky dimmed, acoustic sets started drifting across the campsites such as Camp Turner. They weren’t promoted or amplified. They just happened. Small, honest moments. Guitars by the tents and voices without mics. People gathered around, sipping warm cans and letting the day fade out gently in the background. You’d hear someone quietly playing something gut-wrenching while their mate added harmonies and people who’d never met before ended up harmonising with them. It was soft and spontaneous and genuinely beautiful.
Once the sun had set and the moon was glittering down on us all, the silent disco closed each night with seven channels including a live band performing silent sets through the system, with Dream State being my favourite silent disco performance. It was uplifting, communal, and undeniably feel-good. Groups of people dancing together, completely in sync with themselves but out of sync with everyone else. Taking off the headset revealed something oddly beautiful. Different groups of people dancing side by side, singing completely different songs at the same time. The silent disco was a genuine end-of-night anchor and a collective ritual of singing your heart out and dancing into the early hours.
Trees doesn’t just give you the chaos. It gives you space to breathe. To connect, to fall in love with music again, even if you didn’t plan to. For me, as a first-timer, this wasn’t just a weekend. It was an emotional reset. The kind of weekend that reminds you what festivals should feel like. Not just noise and lights and social posts, but real moments. Real people. Real joy. It felt like being part of something built with intention. Something messy and loud and sweaty and human.
And for a few hot, beautiful days, that was everything.
About the Author
Katie-Mae Kelleher
She/Her
Armed with a songwriting degree and over a decade in the UK’s DIY alt scene, Katie-Mae brings first-hand experience to her passion for spotlighting the next wave of alternative artists. From the stage to the page, she is driven by a deep-rooted passion and commitment to making noise about up-and-coming bands and giving new artists the platform they deserve.