South Facing Festival, Crystal Palace, London (Live Review) Featured
- Written by Captain Stavros
South Facing Festival
@ Crystal Palace
Words & Pics by Captain Stavros
Mogwai’s Bass-Driven Takeover of Crystal Palace
We wouldn’t exactly say that thinking of Crystal Palace is synonymous with notions of music festivals, but South Facing proved us wrong. Four years on, it still slips under most radars; an open-air horseshoe bowl at Crystal Palace Park, vendors and craft drinks hugging the rim, and a crowd of Adidas-track-jacketed gorp-core devotees, not glitter-tossing tossers. The kind of gathering where you keep your pint to yourself, not lob it over strangers’ heads. No laddish chaos, no jostling elbows; just an attentive, almost reverent audience. And with good reason; just a crowd quietly reverent for what was about to unfold.
South Facing has built a quiet reputation since 2021 for booking headliners that span grime, nostalgic britpop, ambient composers, and post-rock giants with genuine stature like Dizzee Rascal, Supergrass, and Max Richter; proof that it can swing between the nostalgic, the cerebral, and the mercurial without breaking a sweat. This year, the hook was irresistible: Scotland’s favourite sonic titans, Mogwai, rolling in for a night of dual widescreen catharsis. Their support lineup was no afterthought either. Ireland’s Lankum brought immersive, experimental folk; Scottish post-punk outfit The Twilight Sad added emotional heft; Caroline delivered choral emo-folk textures; and Glaswegian indie-heroes The Yummy Fur stirred nostalgia into the mix.
By dusk, the crowd had hushed. First came Lankum, their acoustic instruments and vocal harmonies swelling into something vast. The Twilight Sad delivered raw emotional altitude; Caroline’s choral weave and the Yummy Fur's sharp indie cuts kept ears alert. But let’s be real; everyone was awaiting the main event.
When Mogwai finally emerged, there was no slathered-on glitz, just a nod and then ‘God Gets You Back’. That bass. It wasn’t overwhelming; it was monumental. Vision blurred, fingers tingled. Mogwai’s low end wrapped around you, the sound was immense but never sloppy; every note folded in like careful ingredients to a cake batter, nothing drowning, everything binding.
‘Hi Chaos’ stretched the air, tones drifting and colliding. ‘How to Be a Werewolf’ shimmered with tremolo guitars, each strum precision forged. ‘Cody’ offered a rare lyrical murmur; a whisper in the post-rock storm. ‘Drive the Nail’ pummeled, heavy and deliberate, while ‘2 Rights Make 1 Wrong’ felt like a sprawling, ink-smudged love letter to sound itself.
Then ‘Auto Rock’ brought a palate cleanser; a shimmering ELO-ish keyboard flourish cutting through the night. From there, the set darkened into ‘Remurdered’, its pulses Carpenter-ian and tense. ‘Fanzine Made of Flesh’ followed, every texture layered and intentional, reward for granular listening.
As sonic titans do, Mogwai delivered ‘Mogwai Fear Satan’ with volcanic crescendo; an emotional apex. ‘Lion Rumpus’ crackled with energy. ‘Ritchie Sacramento’ calmed the storm with introspective grief, and closer ‘We’re No Here’ detonated in finality; closing not with frills, but with raw intensity.
Mogwai’s sound is cinematic, disciplined, and largely lyricless by design; every burst of noise, every echo, carries weight. Their music has always been methodical, each note given its full measure before the next lands. And that bass? It’s not just heard. It’s felt. The earth trembles, your ribs resonate. The bowl itself seemed to hum with it as the final chords faded.
As the crowd filtered out; ears ringing, voices hushed, the lights dimmed, and the night exhaled. Mogwai didn’t just fill the stage; they remapped the place through sound. South Facing, with its pristine layout and thoughtful booking, gave them the space; and the sonic canvas, they deserved.
