LIVE FROM THE PIT: Idles Block Party 2025 -Friday

Queen Square didn’t look like itself. Forget the postcard lawns and neat cobblestones—by Friday night it was a breathing, sweating organism of punks, locals, and anyone who wanted to lose themselves in the noise. The air was warm and restless, humming with feedback from the soundcheck and the tang of cider in the heat. The Block Party had finally arrived, and Friday felt like the lit fuse before a controlled explosion.

Lambrini Girls

Brighton’s Lambrini Girls came on like a dare. Phoebe Lunny didn’t just step into the crowd—she claimed it, pushing moshers into gear while her green summer dress stuck to her in the heat. “God’s Country” spat bile and glitter in equal measure, “Cuntology 101” tore through the square like a brawl. Someone next to me lost their wine bottle to the pit; someone else caught it mid-song and took a swig before disappearing into the churn. Everything was loud, messy, and grinning with teeth.

Soft Play

Soft Play arrived with the subtlety of a punch in the ribs. Laurie Vincent’s mirrored guitar threw sunlight into the pit, Isaac Holman hunched over the kit like it was a fight he intended to win. “Girl Fight” was so short and savage the crowd demanded it again—and got it. The pit by now was a rolling storm: elbows, laughter, wine sloshing over denim jackets. Then “Everything and Nothing” hit, and just like that, arms were round shoulders, and you could taste the salt of sweat in the air. Punk, it turns out, is just as good at hugging as it is at hurting.

IDLES

By the time IDLES strode out, the square was at boiling point. “Colossus” began slow and menacing, the kind of build that makes your chest tight, until it finally snapped—and all hell broke loose. Bodies slammed, cider sprayed, someone poured a plastic cup of wine over their head and didn’t stop smiling.

Joe Talbot was both conductor and confessor. Between growls, he talked about mental health, addiction, and tenderness like he was talking to each person one-on-one. “Mother” went out to his dad, “Danny Nedelko” roared as a sweaty declaration of love for every stranger in the pit. And then the politics came centre stage—a massive QR code for Medical Aid for Palestinians, a chorus of “Free Palestine” from the crowd, the kind of moment where you realise the music is just the megaphone.

Lee Kiernan and Mark Bowen refused to stay put, diving into the pit like regular punters, shredding from inside the chaos. The night’s best story came when a kid named Aiden was pulled up to play guitar on “Rottweiler.” He nailed it, wine still dripping off the crash barriers from earlier, crowd roaring like a football match in extra time.

The setlist didn’t give anyone breathing space—“Mr Motivator,” “Car Crash,” “I’m Scum,” “The Wheel”—each one another wave to be swallowed by. In the pit, grit got in your teeth, someone’s boot left a bruise, and the wine-and-cider mix on the ground turned to a sticky perfume rising with the heat. And yet, every fall was met with a hand up, every lost shoe somehow returned.

Friday wasn’t just an opener—it was a baptism by noise. Lambrini Girls lit the first match, Soft Play threw it into the tinder, and IDLES made damn sure the whole square burned bright. It was feral, political, human, and drunk in every sense of the word.

You left Queen Square with ringing ears, bruised ribs, grit on your skin, and the lingering taste of someone else’s wine. And you knew—there’s nowhere else, no other band, that could’ve made this happen quite like Bristol’s own.

Words: Mia Gailey