Ey Up Mi Duck Festival 2025: No Sponsors, No Ego, Just 30 Acts, 600 Pints, and One Hell of a Weekend
Things that could only happen at Ey Up Mi Duck: Jake Martin summoned to the stage mid-set by a chorus of “whoahs” like some kind of folk-punk Pokémon. Aubrey Blakledge delivering a live weather report using his trousers. Santa Claus getting publicly outed as a myth in front of wide-eyed children. A gnome crowdsurfing past the sound desk. Baby Draisey, barely verbal, throwing a perfect “YEAH” in response to Joe Solo announcing his next song as Take On One Of Us. Joe, fired up, then shouting “I could headline this f**ker” — and not one person disagreed. Toy ducks glued to people’s heads. With actual superglue. Don’t ask.
You don’t get this stuff at bigger festivals. You don’t get it by accident, either. You get it because Ey Up is built different. It’s a field in Doncaster where the music hits harder, the weirdness runs deeper, and the crowd turns up ready for all of it.
Wroot doesn’t mess about. It’s not polished, it’s not pretentious, and thank god for that. Ey Up Mi Duck 2025 once again proved you don’t need ten stages, brand activations or VIP viewing decks to have a great festival. What you need is a good field, a tight crew, and a lineup full of artists who mean what they play. Three days, zero nonsense, and not a single bad set. Here’s how it went down.
Friday: Jack Kendrick Steps Up
Dan Donnelly opened the weekend like he was tuning up for a stadium gig. Slick, charismatic and completely at ease, he got the early crowd moving with a set that blended old favourites with just enough bite to set the tone.
Then came Voodoo Radio. There are power duos, and then there’s this father-daughter whirlwind who play like they’ve been let loose with a mission. Raw punk energy, sharp hooks, and no patience for standing still. Genuinely thrilling.
Jake Martin took that momentum and shaped it into something personal. Just a guy, a guitar, and a voice that cracked when it needed to. There was a quiet intensity in his set that shut people up and pulled them forward. And of course, that singalong moment where the whole tent yells back “you’re an arsehole” never gets old. No matter how many times he does it, the joy it sparks is always the same.
Jack Kendrick closed out the night with purpose. Backed by The Broken Wonders, he delivered a full-blooded set that was tight, loud, and completely in control. The crowd backed him from the first note to the last. He didn’t just fill the headline slot, he owned it.
This was Kendrick’s first headline appearance at Ey Up, and it showed how far he’s come. His confidence on stage wasn’t forced — it was the result of years of graft. The set was a mix of newer material and road-worn favourites, all delivered with bite and muscle. Vocally, he was locked in, but it was the band’s cohesion that gave the songs their weight. You could feel how well-rehearsed they were, but nothing felt stiff. The chemistry was tight, the pacing smart, and the energy never dropped.
There were big choruses, yes, but also moments of real control — songs that built tension before letting loose at just the right time. You could see the front rows singing every word, and the back half of the tent slowly being pulled in. By the end, Kendrick had them all. This was a headline slot that didn’t just work — it stuck.
Saturday: Folk, Fury, and Headsticks Bring It Home
Saturday started low-key with Em Jane Mansfield, whose understated presence gave space for her voice to land clean and true. A quiet opener, but solid. Then B-Sydes brought some bite. Folk with momentum and a performer who knows how to keep a crowd leaning in.
Sam Draisey built on that, blending warmth and melancholy into a set that hit deeper than expected. Darwin’s Rejects kicked things into gear soon after. Loud, gnarly, and unfiltered. Their set was a jolt of adrenaline that pushed things into Saturday proper.
Brian Stone and the Masters of None arrived just as the party started shifting gears. There’s a kind of set that doesn’t ask the crowd to loosen up, it simply makes them do it. That was this one. Big choruses, bigger grins, and the kind of tempo that feels like an invitation to let go. For half an hour, the real world stopped mattering. No headlines, no stress. Just music that made sense in your chest and your feet at the same time. They brought joy. The kind that sticks around after the last note fades.
Jess Silk followed with pure command. Her voice carried real weight, and her songs landed sharp. No affectation, just message and power. One of the standout solo sets of the day.
The Endings brought the bounce. Crowd energy jumped up as their brand of folk-rock pushed things toward party territory. Then Gaz Brookfield strolled on and reminded everyone why he’s a permanent fixture on the grassroots circuit. Every lyric landed, every story connected. The crowd sang back like it was a greatest hits set, even if half the tunes were brand new.
3 Daft Monkeys kept the foot firmly on the gas, blending genre chaos into dancefloor energy. Their set felt like a travelling circus with serious musical chops and the audience lapped it up.
Headsticks closed with clarity and weight. Political, passionate, and fully locked in. They didn’t just play songs, they delivered every line like it mattered. The crowd responded in kind.
From the first chord, it was obvious Headsticks weren’t here to coast. The set was charged, musically tight and lyrically sharp, built to move both hearts and feet. There’s no gloss with this band. Every song hit like it was being played for the first time, not because it was new, but because it still means something.
Their sound walked a line between punk and roots rock, but it’s the delivery that set them apart. Every member of the band looked like they were exactly where they belonged. There was no dead air between tracks, no filler. Just statement after statement wrapped in rhythm.
Frontman Andrew Tranter doesn’t perform so much as deliver. Lines came out like headlines, but never with a preachy edge — more like someone grabbing your shoulder and making sure you’re paying attention. The crowd wasn’t passive either. They sang, they shouted, they responded. By halfway through the set, the whole tent had shifted from watching a band to standing in it with them.
As the final songs rang out, you could feel the weight of the day in the room. But there was no fatigue. Just momentum. Headsticks didn’t just close Saturday. They left a mark that would carry well into Sunday.
Sunday: Barefoot preachers, six-string sermons, and a riotous send-off
Joe Solo kicked off with nothing but a guitar, a mic, and a mission. No pedals, no tech tricks. Just full-throttle performance and the kind of wired, chaotic energy that grabs people by the collar. He pinballed from punchlines to protest songs, shouting verses like battle cries. The crowd woke up fast.
Blake Cateris kept that charge alive with a set full of humour and grit. When he accidentally told the crowd that Santa isn’t real, he ran with it. “Blake ruined Christmas” became a running joke that followed him around all day, but his set had more than just laughs. Big vocals, sharp writing, total confidence.
Sound of the Sirens brought the focus back to harmony and heart. Every note was deliberate, every track delivered with care. They didn’t need to raise their voices to be heard. The entire tent listened.
Warren Ireland shifted the tone again. Strong, steady, and clear, his set was built around solid songwriting and a voice that held the space with ease.
Samantics dropped in like a meteor. Live-looped beats, high-velocity lyrics, themes that hit hard. He moved from topic to topic with pinpoint focus, building tension and release into every track. The tent bounced from start to finish.
Common Culture kept the momentum going. Clean, tight, and full of intent. Henshaw followed with a full band and a bigger sound. Their confidence filled the field. Henshaw, whether solo or as a full band never fails to make you dance, sing and think. His songs hit hard in all the right ways. You need to see these guys live to really appreciate these songs – there’s an energy that cannot be captured in a recording.
Nick Parker brought charm and balance. Funny, honest, self-aware. The crowd was laughing one minute, listening quietly the next. He played it all without fuss.
The Jon Palmer Acoustic Band didn’t mess around. Upbeat, unpretentious, and tight from the first note. Big singalongs, strong rhythm, and a crowd that met them with full volume.
The Cloverhearts went even harder. Bagpipe-driven, sweat-drenched punk-folk that moved like a freight train. Their set was all fire and no filler. The crowd didn’t need warming up — they were already moving.
Pet Needs closed the weekend like they’d been waiting for it all year. They came out swinging, tight and wild, tearing through their set without letting the energy drop. Near the end, they brought a kid onstage to join in. No cutesy moment, no hesitation. The kid jumped in and sang along like a boss. The crowd went wild. A final reminder that this whole thing is built on joy, chaos, and music that means something.
There’s a reason Pet Needs are a returning favourite here. They don’t just bring a set. They bring a storm. From the first track to the final shout, the band were locked in and flying. Every song landed like a punch, with hooks that hit instantly and a pace that never gave the audience a break. But it wasn’t mindless energy. There was a sharpness to it, a clear connection between band and crowd that gave the chaos shape.
Johnny Marriott didn’t let a single moment drift. He owned the mic without overplaying it, letting the songs do the heavy lifting and only stepping in between tracks when it added something. When the tempo slowed, briefly, it wasn’t to coast. It was to set up the next burst. Then they’d slam back into gear and the tent would go off again.
By the time the last track hit, people were climbing the lyrics like scaffolding. Arms up, voices hoarse, nothing left in the tank. No ceremony, no overcooked finale. Just one final chorus shouted back with everything the crowd had left.
That’s how you end a festival.
Ey Up Mi Duck 2025 didn’t chase spectacle. It didn’t need to. The field, the bands, the people. That’s all it takes. Everyone who was there knows. Everyone who wasn’t should be next year.
