Festivals and nostalgia are inherently linked. They are the perfect opportunity to relive the past, to rekindle old emotions. For me, a kid from England who loves music and grew up in the 00s and 10s, indie music was invariably and unsurprisingly a significant influence on my adolescence, culture and musical education. As a young adult in the final flickering embers of the glory days of four lads with floppy hair holding guitars, I was captivated by the scene, the music and the crowds. Until something switched — I began questioning the depth of the genre, finding bands derivative of each other, and instead seeking solace from a myriad of other genres. Indie, though, has always held a place in my heart. And so when the chance arose to visit Tramlines Festival in Sheffield, I simply couldn’t help myself.

Situated in hilly Sheffield, Yorkshire, Tramlines was first conceptualised in 2009, inspired in name by the city’s tram network. It was initially a free event held across the city’s many venues, before over time evolving into a more archetypical festival structure held at iconic Hillsborough Park. Throughout the years, the Northern gem has become known as an indie hot spot, with high profile guitar-centric acts gracing the stage — from The Libertines to Noel Gallagher and Catfish and the Bottlemen. Perhaps though, the post-COVID line-ups haven’t held the same weight, which could be down to a plethora of factors, from the changing festival landscape to the increase in competitors. Still bolstering a list of artists rich in talent and entertainment value, the 2024 edition looked set to be a trip down memory lane.

A late Friday morning train — almost missed, of course — later, I’m breathing in the fresh Sheffield area, accompanied by my trusted +1. After a light lunch to line the stomach and a quick refresh at the hotel, it’s straight onto one of the city’s infamous trams towards the Sheffield Wednesday football ground and its eponymous park. Much to my excitement, the press area for the festival is actually inside the stadium’s clubhouse, the Wednesday Tap. After controlling my fervour and grabbing a Lost Lager, it’s straight into some festival antics.

Upon mild surveillance, the festival’s demographic is as far ranging as any I have attended. From small children to elderly couples, it’s clear that the community-driven event has attracted a wide range of punters. The atmosphere is pleasant, if muted, as families and groups of young people relax in the July sun, bathing in the distant music and sipping lukewarm cider. Having sadly arrived too late to see impressive three-piece Mary In The Junkyard, we make do with the last embers of crooner Miles Kane’s 60s-tinged set, before witnessing hit-making-lineage with Sophie Ellis-Bextor and her dangerously fun party anthems.

Next up is maybe my most anticipated act of the day, Soft Play, the Tumbridge duo enjoying new career heights thanks to their riotous and rousing renaissance record, HEAVY JELLY — their first in six years. The pair deliver a high-octane, gorgeously careless punk showcase, flicking between classic hits under their previous alias (Slaves) to gems from the new album. Last up for the evening is The Charlatans, the shapeshifting outfit who have been lurking amongst guitar music’s zeitgeist since the early 90s. Armed with their familiar organ-led, psych-infused soft rock, it is a charming set of sing-along hits, although it didn’t exactly blow the roof off, somewhat upstaged by Soft Play’s previous robust effort. All-in-all a decent start to proceedings, we mosey off site and back down the city’s many hills, grabbing some kip before a full day of festival antics the following day.

What do you do when you’re in a UK city that you don’t know all too well, you’ve got an afternoon to kill, and you’re looking to take in some culture? Do a Wetherspoons pub crawl, of course! Following a delightful hotel breakfast, we set out on the quintessential endeavour with great gusto in our step. Firstly, The Sheaf Island welcomes us into its majesty, the sun shining in our eyes as we devour a pint brought for under £3, a remarkable statistic to any Londoner. We move to The Francis Newton to find a similarly glorious establishment, before a climatic trip to The Benjamin Huntsman. My tip — if you ever do find yourself in Sheffield with a Spoonsian hankering — go for the former boozer. Top tier spoonage, that.

Thoroughly liquidated and full of expectation for the live music ahead, we once again clamber onto the busy tram towards the park. Straight in, we catch local artist Otis Mensah, whose genre-bending hip-hop goodness brings a top reception for the upcoming name. The festival in general plays its part in the promotion of a Sheffield scene continuously finding new pockets, with the likes of former poet laureate Mensah, grime rapper K Dot and near-by Doncaster’s soulstress Rumbi Tauro leading the charge. Next, we check out Scottish rockers The Snuts, who draw a comprehensive late afternoon crowd to the main stage with their modern indie classics like “Always” and “Glasgow”. We then catch the end of Irish pop sensation Jazzy’s celebratory , whose collaboration with Belters Only on “Make Me Feel Good” raised her to giddy heights in the dance scene.

We continue the party vibe and get grooving to radio presenter and A-tier DJ Annie Mac, who offers a set full of vitality, surprises and good ol’ fashioned fun, but before that we grab some eyes on the incredible English Teacher, one of the UK’s very best bands at the moment, fresh from their Mercury Prize nomination. They offer a magnetic, intimate performance that was a whole different level of confidence in comparison to the band I saw six months previous at ESNS.

All impressive in their own right, the artists so far have been a joy to watch. But for the final two acts that I’m to witness in Sheffield, the stakes are considerably higher — for me at least.

As a proudly born-and-bred Brummie, Peace are nothing short of indie royalty. To find them on the line-up was a pleasant and exciting surprise. To see them in the flesh for the very first time, in an intimate tent at that, was a special moment. Backed by a trip-laden light show, the band put on a hell of a show, tinged with their signature psychedelic sensibilities, transitioning through their esteemed catalogue seamlessly, bringing together electric atmosphere and meticulous musicianship in a melting pot of euphoria.

I lose my mind to the Birmingham icons and have to be dragged out by my +1 in order to rush down to the main event. Jamie T is the last of his kind, someone wholly authentic in his ‘fuck-industry’ ethos, and with five magnificent albums under his belt, all of which reflect his own progression, pain and humanity, which in turn is a wider commentary on the life-cycle of masculinity; it’s flaws, salvations and complexities.

We squeeze our way towards the front of the main stage, vastly anticipating the show to come. It starts off… disappointingly. The sound is really poor, far too quiet and tinny, and the surrounding crowd don’t seem anywhere near as interested in seeing musical folklore firsthand as we are. Jamie is unsteady, emotive and charismatic, often stopping between songs to speak on his gratefulness to the crowd and to his band, who have followed him through thick and thin for the past 15 years. The set begins picking up towards its backend, with a sing-along rendition of “If You’ve Got The Money” bolstering the crowd’s vitality.

Then, Jamie and his instrumental entourage disappear off the stage. Fans murmur in worry, before rousing as a unit to chant the artist’s name, encouraging a return to the stage. Jamie obliges, of course. He re-enters the stage alone at first, armed with an acoustic bass, the instrument he was first known for. Silence falls as he delivers an incredibly raw entree of “Back In The Game”, a very early T tune. The band join him, and he once again addresses the audience, giving a speech of poignancy that sent shivers down my spine. He tells the thousands of on-lookers that he has done it his way, never succumbing to the bullshit industry rigamarole, and if this is him bowing out, he does so with his head held high. He seems to almost lose his train of thought after a while, pausing and looking out at the audience
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“Fuck off!” he shouts, before the opening lines of one of UK indie’s most definitive songs ever come blurting out in his cockney tones, in agony, ecstasy, or both. “SHEILA GOES OUT WITH HER MATE STELLA”. The crowd goes wild. It’s fucking pandemonium, and we’re right in the midst of it. Hundreds of people chant the iconic storied-verses and anthemic chorus back to him in a moment of pure connection and elation.

The song comes to an end and the crowd waits impatiently for what’s next. Jamie takes his sweet time, before once again causing absolute mayhem with “Sticks ’N’ Stones”. Mosh pits emerge from the left and right in a fight for who can make the most of a ruckus — the award is won by a youthful lad on someone’s shoulders who lets off a flare just as Jamie and the crowd scream, “Let’s go out and find some trouble.” Once again, it’s a quite incredible moment.

Finishing on a soaring high, Jamie sees out the set with crowd-pleaser “Zombie”, rounding off a legendary encore that I won’t forget any time soon. I’ve been to my fair share of gigs and festivals over the past decade. None were quite like that though. An imperfect set from an imperfect narrator, a byronic hero, a man of the people. Jamie T may never return after this summer, and I feel blessed to have seen his peerless humanity firsthand, for what may well be his artistic swan-song. Long live Jamie T.

The lights dim, “Wonderwall” serenades the speakers and everyone disperses for the exits. We head back to the hotel with a train to catch in the morning, leaving the festival a day early to attend to business back down south.

So, although Tramlines might lack the star power of some of the UK’s bigger festivals, it’s a tribute to the fact that significant moments happen everywhere. With a brilliant location, diverse line-up and warmly-welcoming crowd, the late July weekend was a sentiment-fuelled, beer-heavy couple of days that have been a summer stand-out. Up the Sheffield, Up the Tramlines!

Get your tickets for Tramlines 2025 here.