Womad festival opened at its new home, Neston Park in Wiltshire, after a year off in 2025, with a lineup that balanced joyous musical performances with a thread of fierce political anger. The boundary between spectator and performer dissolved entirely, as headliners mingled in loo queues, wandered the site with their kids, and joined intimate panel discussions hours after main-stage sets. Phone signal was practically nonexistent, forcing a crowd reliant on group chats into analogue meet-ups. The new arboretum layout offered a cosier, village-like setup, with shorter treks from camping areas. Mornings could start at one's own pace: pounding through a west African djembe workshop, joining laughing yoga, or relaxing in a wood-fired tub while distant basslines echoed through the trees.
Barrington Levy's Unforgettable Stand
Musical highlights often came when artists went off-script. Reggae legend Barrington Levy provided Friday's standout moment by rejecting strict act times. He turned to the side of the stage and delivered a blunt ultimatum: “Mr Promoter, don't invite me to your festival and tell me to get off the stage. I'm fucking playing as long as I like.” The crowd backed him, and he stayed, launching back into Black Roses and Here I Come. His star power locked in a crowd of nodding, fist-pumping seniors, families, and kids getting a proper musical education.
Political Charge and Stagecraft
Greentea Peng closed Friday with a sultry set, backed by an all-female brass section that sounded remarkably tight despite having rehearsed only the night before. For sheer stagecraft, Brazilian singer Daniela Mercury dominated. Against visuals of favelas and Indigenous tribes raising awareness for conservation, her set was a fierce political charge. She called out for democracy before signing off with Michael Jackson's They Don't Care About Us.
That political edge ran straight through the weekend. The festival's talks stage directly confronted political instability and the rise of rightwing populism. Green Party leader Zack Polanski drew a packed tent as he detailed arms sales and called for rent controls, while The Lincoln Project's Rick Wilson dismantled the mechanics of MAGA.
Messages of Unity and Hidden Gems
Across the music stages, the message took the form of a shared plea for peace and solidarity. At Taste the World, Freshlyground cooked a chicken and peanut curry while sharing memories of performing Waka Waka at the 2010 World Cup. The Garifuna Collective brought ancestral grooves from Belize, reminding the crowd that after four songs, “we're not strangers any more, we're family.” On Sunday, Oumou Sangaré commanded the main stage with simple messages of unity: “Love is better, no war”, before teasing women to stay away from handsome, fast-talking playboys on Kamelemba.
Hidden gems were found by wandering into smaller tents, where artists held crowds in cult-like fixation. At the Sunflower tent, 83-year-old Aboriginal Australian elder Kankawa Nagarra delivered spellbinding desert blues and gospel. On the Village Stage, Sabine McCalla's vocals felt entirely detached from time, howling mid-song like her dog to an unblinking audience.
Minor Snags and Community Spirit
Minor structural snags remained, such as low stages at workshops, meaning anyone past the sixth row had to blindly mirror the person ahead of them during dance and yoga classes. Flailing limbs aside, it was accepted as part of the fun. The festival's longevity is anchored in its community, from stallholders like Marina at Ghana Goods (22 years and counting) to adults who first arrived in prams, now carting their own kids about. Japanese outfit Seppuku Pistols summed up the festival's chaotic energy: one band member broke their ankle mid-show but didn't realise, and adrenaline kept them going, with a similarly unaware crowd chanting “one more tune!” for two solid minutes after they finished.
