There’s something distinctly satisfying about watching a band like English Teacher land a festival slot and not give a single shit about playing it safe.
No glitter, no gimmicks — just tension-soaked guitars, bone-dry wit, and the kind of lyrical punch that makes you pay attention, even mid-pint.
Taking over the Big Top on Saturday evening at Isle of Wight Festival, the Leeds four-piece delivered a set that swerved anything remotely crowd-pleasing, and that’s exactly why it worked. Opening with the sprawling sprawl of “This Could Be Texas”, they immediately set the tone: weird, wide-open, and brilliantly uncompromising.
Frontwoman Lily Fontaine is magnetic without having to peacock. She barely moves but somehow holds the entire tent in a chokehold. Her delivery flickers between spoken word, sarcasm, and soft collapse — especially during “Broken Biscuits” and “I’m Not Crying, You’re Crying”, which had the front row in a haze of neck-nods and quiet devastation.
But it’s not all melancholy and cleverness. “You Blister My Paint” and “R&B” brought the jagged, nervy energy — like if PVA and early Blur had a brawl in a student union stairwell. “The World’s Biggest Paving Slab” hit hardest, its title as dry as its social commentary. It’s the closest they come to a singalong, and even then, it’s more sermon than chorus.
The band closed with “Nearly Daffodils” and “Albert Road”, both drenched in small-town poetry and frustration. It’s this ability to be hyper-specific yet completely universal that makes English Teacher one of the UK’s most vital voices in indie right now. No showboating. No pandering. Just a band saying exactly what they want to say — and sounding phenomenal while doing it.
If the photos in this gallery feel a bit moody, a bit off-kilter — good. That’s exactly the point. English Teacher aren’t here to give you a sugar rush. They’re here to make you think, twitch, and maybe question your postcode. Mission accomplished.
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