The conversation across the TRNSMT site is that this year’s Saturday line-up is perhaps the weakest the festival has seen. It’s certainly an unusual mix, particularly on the main stage, although local hero Gerry Cinnamon has done his part to sell out tickets for the day, having finally achieved headliner status after three previous appearances at the festival. His billing alone must account for at least 40% of the attendance exclusively as there’s an unprecedented lack of queuing at most bars, food vendors and toilets throughout the site until much later in the evening.
In practice, there are three TRNSMT festivals going on within Glasgow Green concurrently. Tucked away at the western end of the grounds, thousands of ravers gather in front of the Boogie Bar, an open air dance party shielded from the main arena by an avenue of shrubbery and carnival rides; at the opposite end the Bougie VIP area sits secluded behind the People’s Palace with its own Compact Disco Defender sound system playing funk, soul and disco classics while smartly dressed punters relax and enjoy generous portions of fish & chips, sprawled across the lush green lawns or sat at picnic benches undercover, depending on the whim of the weather gods. Lastly, there’s the core of TRNSMT; three live music stages where the traditional festival-goers congregate, double-parked with pints of Tennants and maybe some cheesy chips, singing along with their placards and flags held aloft in hopes of being spotting by their favourite acts or even getting their faces on the main stage big screens.
The dear green parkland is suffering from Scotland’s immense summer humidity and a stillness in the city that threatens rain on and off all day, despite temperatures only reaching the low teens. Maybe this has put people off coming out too early or maybe they’re just not that interested in the rest of the musical offering but either way it’s possible to get on the barrier at just about every set if that’s where you really want to be.
It’s a super relaxed crowd for Aussie outfit Royel Otis. Starting off with the breezy ‘Sofa King’ they embody the less-is-more approach to early afternoon festival performances, letting their dreamy slacker vocal dynamic float above a tidy foundation of guitars and chirpy synth. ‘Heading for the Door’’ and ‘Going Kokomo’ are up-tempo, melodic highlights and if you ignore the unnecessary cover of ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ it’s a stellar debut TRNSMT performance, deservingly drawing one of the biggest crowds to this stage all day. Punters clearly don’t mind a bit of indie rock infused with 80s synthwave undertones.
Walking on stage to Wings’ ‘Live and Let Die’, the charisma of The Vaccines’ Justin Young hits like a freight train. In an offensively-too-brief 35-minute set the band blasts through 10 songs representing all six of their studio albums, along with platitudes and guitar changes, and while their omissions could also fill a festival slot, what they deliver is solid gold. ‘Wetsuit’ is a song that simply grows more potent with the passing of time – or perhaps it makes ageing sound better – while ‘Headphones Baby’’s light-hearted acoustic guitar and major chords inspire spontaneous eruptions of joy within the crowd. “Oh what fun!” Young declares with theatrical sincerity, restraining his ever present grin.
Away from the somewhat eclectic main stage, and well out of view to the masses it seems, the River Stage plays host to an embarrassment of homegrown talent. Glasgow alt-rock four-piece Plasticine come out swinging with savage lyricism, hazy, howling guitars and Summer Skye’s woozy vocals. Their interpretation of ‘Pure Imagination’ isn’t just the best cover song heard all day, but one of the standout performances of the entire festival. They rock so hard that Skye has to be alerted to potential wardrobe malfunctions but she lays it all on the line in the name of stagecraft and it’s bloody endearing.
Back up at the King Tut’s stage there’s a young socialist preaching to a modest but enthusiastic congregation. Seb Lowe finds his niche right at that sweet intersection of folk and punk, embellishing witty, working-class political commentary with tasteful fiddle and electric guitar. He builds tension with a relentless fervour, upholding a lyrical two-finger salute to the recently deposed architects of austerity for more than half an hour. You know he’s done the job well when he can spawn a “Fuck the Tories” chant without even being on stage anymore.
With all due respect to the heavy hitters on the main stage, the best pop performance on the day belongs to ili. She’s the complete package of incisive lyricism, dynamic delivery and an effortlessly engaging stage presence. Songs like ‘Tongue Tied’ and ‘Saturday’ from her latest ‘It’s Giving…’ EP are catchy without being overly repetitive but the unreleased songs she previews, ‘Gelato’ and ‘Black Heart’ are among the very best, on a level with the likes of Self Esteem and production to rival Kylie; a genuine superstar in waiting.
One suspects the word is already out when it comes to Birmingham four-piece Overpass. The crowd packs the slope of the River Stage like a natural amphitheatre with just enough room to dance and, especially, throw arms up with euphoric indie abandon. It’s heartening to see because, outside of third- (or fourth-) wave post-punk revival (who can even keep up anymore?), British rock bands still struggle to make any impact on the contemporary scene, particularly in the charts. But nobody wants them to go away. And with bands the calibre of overpass gaining traction it’s not hard to imagine a return to the early 2000s heyday of soaring vocals launched from majestic power chords. ‘3AM’ nails this formula for a new generation while ‘Beautiful’ has a more subtle American college radio alt-rock flavour. The sounds may be familiar but that doesn’t detract or distract from the band’s impeccable musicianship and of course it makes for really fun singalongs.
The penultimate act on the River Stage comes with a street team, even more old school than alt-rock radio. Actually they’re handing out postcards with a QR code linked to social media, it’s pretty standard modern tech. Kerr Mercer doesn’t have any recorded music; not a single release to his name. Looking ahead to the main stage tonight, there’s absolutely no denying the power of word-of-mouth when it comes to the Scottish music community and when the talent is there to back up the hype, why not board the bandwagon? In fact TRNSMT finds Mercer on a bad day, vocally, by his own admission and near the end of the set the strain is becoming apparent when he goes for some big blue notes. Thankfully though, he plots his setlist in a way that the strength of the songwriting increases as his voice begins to fade and it almost balances out. ‘Love To Lose’ is crushing in a way that makes you question your blood sugar and hydration levels at this point of the day.
Finally it’s Gallus’ turn to raise a riot at the River Stage and they take their headlining seriously! Far from the most melodic songs heard all day, the Scottish quintet spice up the bill with a chaotic blend of jaunty, angular bass over raw, thumping beats and cutting riffs, while astute lyrics are barked with a hint of Glaswegian twang. They hit the festival’s quota for crowd surfing before they’re even halfway done as singer Barry Dolan gives maybe a third of his performance from within the crowd. ‘Eye to Eye’ and ‘Moderation’ kick things off with a ferocious energy and before it becomes too hectic they invite Tina Sandwich up to perform recent single ‘Wash Your Wounds’. The setlist draws mainly from the band’s 2023 debut album as well as some new material. “This song is really fucking good so go fucking mental for it”, Dolan insists as they unveil one of their unreleased songs. The audience instinctively obliges and he’s not wrong; it’s a great tune. To their credit, Gallus offer the best kind of messy ending that a day at TRNSMT could hope for; sweaty bodies crashing and bouncing off one another in and out of time to the music, friends and strangers holding each other up, and everyone smiling at the madness of it all.
Words by Kendall Wilson
Pictures by Byron Turner @turner_photographs