Outer Town Festival: A convivial community festival from the middle-ages

The DIY Bristol festival supplants itself as one of the best of its kind

Bristol has always punched above its weight when it comes to their musical heritage. Its small footprint set upon the hilly streets in the southwest has produced some of the most influential British music of the past century, and continues to be a hub for the biggest risers in the indie scene, away from all of us pretentious Londoners. Enter Outer Town Festival. For the past four years, this multi-venue urban festival based out of Old Market has played host to the best indie acts, Bristol and beyond, and cemented itself on the hit list of the British festival circuit for any act. This year was absolutely no different.

Outer Town does a fantastic job of reimagining the mile long stretch of historic road off the Temple Way Underpass into a shire of the middle ages. Complete with an egghead deity named King Marvyn strolling along the road dressed head-to-toe in marsh green, a zine explaining the lore of the land when you arrive, and old-world signs pointing you to the right venues, the team create an truly cohesive and inviting community for you to explore. Not only that, but the energy of the festival itself is scrappy, DIY, and community-focused: the crowds spill out of venues, smoking cigarettes with the bands, buying a hot dog from the guy outside Ill Repute. It all feels so tight-knit and well-assembled. The venues (Trinity Centre, Wiper and True, The Elmers Arms, Exchange, Stag and Hounds, East Bristol Bookshop, Ill Repute, To The Moon, and Old Market Assembly) are distinct and range from relaxed to frenetic, and because of that the music is excellently curated, being able to bring a large range of genres and acts into one event.

65 bands across all the venues makes it difficult to chart a course across the unfamiliar terrain, and coupled with the inclusion of well-known indie acts like Ugly, Man/Woman/Chainsaw, and Enola Gay, you’re always spoilt for choice, but a start has to be made, and Neuroplacid at Exchange Dungeon was a strong choice. The London-based rapper has built up notoriety with a combative stage persona, bass-driven grooves, and pure, unfiltered energy. Jumping from his established repertoire of witty lyricism full of his own dystopian observations to debuting newer tracks about how he needs to hang out at The Windmill less, you emerge from the sweaty underground of Exchange with his neurotic delivery, but also the fluent backing band, still ringing in your ears.

Rats-Tails at Stag and Hounds

Next door at Stag and Hounds, a stage curated by Cellar Door puts on Paper Crowns, with the Bath act playing the tiny stage set up by the window. Their post-punk stylings consist of shifting drum rhythms, incongruous guitar riffs, and of course embellished with a wailing saxophone and cutting cowbell. Not only is it entrancing, but they came to Outer Town last year as just festival-goers and now fill out the day’s programme - a testament to the festival’s nature. Back at Exchange, but on the main stage this time, local outfit HAAL hit us with truly gigantic bass, industrial drums, sirens and synths. It’s noisy, it’s drony, and it’s played in front of spacey visualisers, but more importantly on some unimaginable sticky floors. A singular and original vibe that they’ve curated immaculately.

Then we see Trans-Siberian Express at Ill Repute. A seriously unserious band coupled with an eclectic venue, Elvis adorned ceilings included. Another local band, as well as self-described “pioneers of schwank and splurge”, they’re a mix of the best pub rock band with Captain Beefheart streaks. Bluesy bass lines and barn dance drums are only all the more welcome when a harmonica rips through it all. They even don home-made aluminium robot heads for the last few tracks, in support of their new EP ‘Splurge-Pop’, and dedicate one of their tracks to Art Attack. The whole crowd whoops when the guitarist takes his helmet off for a second, takes a desperate sip of water followed by a sweaty ‘fuck’, and troopers on. 

Trans-Siberian Express at Ill Repute

The festival’s programme is jam-packed, so you end up seeing tail-ends of sets, like Olive Featherstone at East Bristol Bookstore, the cosy bookseller transforming into an intimate stage, complimenting her acoustic songs and equally expressive cello. If the bookstore was the intimate venue, taproom Wiper and True hosted some of the festival’s loudest bands, curated by Left of the Dial Festival. The drummer-fronted (always a good idea) Wax Head from Manchester are equal measures King Gizzard psych-punk and Minutemen hardcore, with their unrelenting energy making their songs shift, change, and distort, keeping the room on its feet the entirety of their set. Headliners Tramhaus also played here later in the evening, the experienced Dutch four-piece closing out the evening’s activities at the brewery.

Ugly and Pip Blom were the final courses on the Trinity Centre stage, who’d earlier put on London-outfits Plantoid and alphabet. Again, it’s a testament to how well-organised this festival is, with both acts feeling entirely in their element here while having drastically different sounds. Ugly could easily play into the fest’s old-world stylings, with their iron-clad vocal harmonies (at point point actually breaking into a capella) and intricate fingerplucking on guitar translating to a blend of expansive production and bard melodies. Notably they debuted a new track ‘Marina’, which was appropriately oceanic and vast, with intricate time changes and bold percussion. Pip Blom, the Amsterdam three-piece, could play into their indie rock anthems, so natural at the ability to control their outdoor crowd with the slightest guitar riff, bold drum pad, or dynamic bass line. 

Pip Blom at Trinity Centre

Back at Ill Repute to close off the evening, Y play their second set of the day. The hot dog man outside is no longer, just happy punters enjoying the pints they’ve drunk but maybe regretting the cigarettes they smoked. The London band showed no signs of slowing down, their unique blend of distorted, soaring guitars and requisite saxophone pushing the crowd into a frenzy, and a pit that some of us fell into. 

We walked up and down Old Market Street countless times that day; every return trip and every sighting of King Marvyn making it feel ever more like an actual quest. The guys behind Outer Town probably know this and actively lean into it, but small things like that are what this festival so seamless and comprehensive. The music is a remarkable mix Britain’s up and comers, and indeed a tremendous blend of genres, but what really sets Outer Town apart is their ability to curate them to each unique venue, a well thought out mythology, and a true fostering of community spirit that is evident in every smoking area of these independent venues dotted along the mile. 

Jonnie enjoying a hot dog