GREEN MAN 2025: WHERE MUSIC MEETS RESISTANCE
- Maisie Daniels
- 13 minutes ago
- 3 min read
Green Man 2025 was its most political yet - where calls for freedom, the preservation of language, and the power of joy rang out across four unforgettable days.
words maisie jane daniels - opening image marieke macklon
It’s F Word’s fifth year at Green Man Festival, and there’s a reason I couldn’t wait to step foot on Welsh soil time after time. Green Man has become that sacred pocket in the year where I step out of the dystopian landscapes of everyday life and float into something idyllic: a world cradled by mountains, humming with music, and bursting with four days of pure love.
I’ve written before about Green Man’s knack for showcasing emerging talent, its well-oiled sustainable practices, and its proud flag-waving for female artists. But this year, 2025, felt like its most political yet. From the very start, with Kneecap claiming the headline slot on Thursday, the tone was set. Crowds surged in early, ready not just for the music but for the messages woven into it. Palestine’s right to freedom was echoed throughout the weekend by Nilüfer Yanya, Been Stellar, and closing headliners TV on the Radio, to name only a few.
One of the weekend’s most unforgettable moments came in the Walled Garden with Joshua Idehen. Poet, preacher, comedian - he embodies all three, but above all he is a vessel of joy and hope. His set was alive with wit and warmth, yet carried a raw honesty that felt like medicine. At one moment, he had us grinning so hard our cheeks ached; the next, he spoke truths that sat heavy in our chests, only to lift us again with music that made us want to dance. If you do one thing after reading this, listen to Mum Does The Washing.
Another standout came from Melin Melyn, whose set was escapism incarnate: a surreal, immersive journey that whisked us straight into the pages of a storybook. With their new album Mill on the Hill as a guide, they spun whimsical worlds filled with playfully enchanting twists and turns. Singing and speaking throughout in Welsh, the band rooted their utopia in heritage while creating a world where everybody was welcome.
That thread carried beautifully into CMAT’s set, a firm favourite in the fields. She wove sharp humour with unshakable charisma, and buckets of fun. A highlight? A gleeful, communal rendition of a “Welsh national anthem” - Catatonia’s Road Rage - belting out across the hillside. It proved once again how music can be both playful and profoundly unifying, while nodding politically to the importance of keeping language alive.
What sets Green Man apart isn’t only the anti-corporate ethos, being politically charged, or the breathtaking backdrops, but the way it gathers generations. From newborns bundled in prams to elders relaxing gently in chairs, from wide-eyed Gen Z dreamers to weathered Millennials still chasing melodies, every age is here. It’s a festival where decades fold into one another, where lullabies and late-night anthems belong to the same story. Green Man feels less like a crowd and more like a family reunion - one that stretches across time.
And yet, though we live in a bubble for those four days, this bubble holds love, resistance, and truths that no broadcast can contain. What rippled through the crowds was a reminder that love will prevail, and that our voices matter, that they can be raised to believe in something better.
It’s safe to say: I’ll be back next year.
