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Browse the whole Way Out West lineup — anything you save lands on this schedule.
Damon Albarn's animated universe — a genre-omnivorous hits machine and guest-star carousel, two decades of cartoon cover for some of pop's best songwriting.
The NZ art-pop auteur — brooding, minimal, and generation-defining, back on a headline stage where the whispered verses hit hardest.
Play-era electronic hymns from rave's elder statesman — euphoria with a conscience, gospel samples still lifting fields.
Six decades of sermon, murder ballad and grief turned into something closer to communion — a band that can level a field with one held organ note.
Goth's beating heart — three-hour sets, Robert Smith's undimmed voice, and a catalog that swings from despair to 'Friday I'm in Love'.
Sweden's best-dressed rock band — matching suits, maximum arrogance, and the tightest garage-punk show on earth.
West London grime star gone festival-sized — melodic flexes, 'Ladbroke Grove' garage bounce, and a UK-rap versatility that moves between road and radio without strain.
Diaristic pop with the edges left sharp — songs about wanting someone written with enough self-awareness to make the wanting funny.
Bright, sample-happy UK house with a rave memory — big vocal flips landing exactly where you want them to.
Pipe-organ doom hymns — sacred music for the beautifully unwell, where cathedral drones meet gothic songcraft at genuinely tectonic volume.
Anna-My B2B MOLØ
A low, unhurried contralto over spare guitar — folk songwriting with the patience to let a room go completely quiet.
A sitar player who took the instrument out of its glass case — classical training bent toward flamenco, electronics and film scoring without diluting any of it.
His 1972 self-titled record flopped, got sampled to death decades later, and turned him into a live legend — orchestral Brazilian soul performed with a full string section.
Detroit house played with the city's history in the room — deep, soulful selections and a writer's sense of why each record matters.
The selector's selector — Hessle Audio's omnivorous ear, no productions needed; a world-class reputation built purely on what he plays and how.
Dev Hynes's velvety art-R&B — '80s soul textures, jazz chords, and quiet heartbreak from one of pop's most sought-after collaborators.
Will Oldham's long-running alias — hymn-plain melodies delivered in a quavering voice, singing about death and desire like they're the same errand.
Smoke-voiced British soul — torch songs with modern nerve, a BRIT-anointed voice built for the spotlight and the string section.
Pusha T and Malice, reunited — coke-rap scripture over pristine beats, one of rap's great comebacks and a masterclass in brotherly chemistry.
Swedish club provocateur making hard, latex-slick electronic pop for rooms with the lights off — fetish-fashion aesthetics welded to genuinely heavy club production.
Nick Rattigan's bedroom recordings grew into something cinematic without losing the tape hiss — earnest, aching songs with the reverb turned all the way up.
Daesta
Swedish-language songwriting with a country lope and a deadpan baritone — everyday melancholy delivered like a joke that turns serious halfway through.
Songs that sound recorded live in a crowded room by accident — ragged, intimate, and completely singular, with a live band that pushes them even further loose.
Named himself as a joke and then outlasted the meme — warm, sample-led house that keeps one foot in the nineties.
Live From Earth affiliate splicing trance euphoria into contemporary club music — Berlin-honed sets that treat nostalgia as fuel, not a crutch.
Hushed, unhurried songwriting — a new voice with old grace.
London jazz as a party rather than a seminar — Afrobeat and dancehall pulling the horns along, and a drummer who conducts the room from behind the kit.
NYC's buzziest indie-dance trio — baggy house grooves with downtown cool, like Madchester relocated to a Chinatown basement.
Kieran Hebden's glowing folk-tronic universe — patient builds that hit like revelation, two decades of textures that make dance music feel handmade.
Unhinged Brooklyn art-rock — yelping, swaggering, and critically adored, like the Stones reassembled by art students mid-fever.
Hanna Ojanen
Hannes
Detroit ghettotech revived at full speed — a trio who rap, DJ and MC over 160bpm at once, and treat the dancefloor like a call and response.
Sixties soul sung straight, with no wink — a falsetto so period-correct that the Daptone-school arrangements almost feel like the modern part.
The Savages frontwoman solo — total physical commitment, an unblinking stare, and songs that treat intensity as the point rather than the garnish.
Keys player at the centre of London's jazz scene — dub weight and hip-hop swing under long, unhurried solos.
Grand, string-lined Swedish pop delivered in a croon — the kind of songwriting that treats a chorus as a place to put everything.
A poet who performs like a frontman — the voice on some of British jazz's biggest recent moments, funny and furious in the same breath.
Kasino
Irish rave-house heat — big-room energy with underground credentials, breakbeats and pianos at full sprint, Galway-to-warehouse momentum fully underway.
Killen. (DJ-set)
Kim Öhman
Bilious, very funny queer punk that names names — thirty seconds into the set someone is already in the crowd, and nobody is being spared.
Reggae revival with an R&B ear — a warm, conversational voice over rhythms that never rush to make their point.
Wrote the meanest, funniest pop of the late 2000s in a plain London accent, then came back with a divorce record that gives away more than most artists ever would.
Swedish heartbreak in slow motion — from 'I Follow Rivers' to sadcore chanteuse, a decade-plus of gorgeous ache.
Main Phase
Bassline and 4x4 garage with the low end pushed forward — functional club music that plays much bigger than it looks on paper.
Warm, live-instrument house that leans soul rather than club — the kind of set that works equally well at golden hour and at three in the morning.
Mattias El Mansouri
Rapping in four languages over production built from industrial clatter — one of the hardest, most physical rap sets coming out of East Africa.
Mohajer
Nektar
Neapolitan disco built out of Mediterranean funk, dub and boogie — sun-bleached grooves sung in dialect, with a live band that pushes them harder.
Gossamer French avant-pop — choral synths and whispered melody, songs that feel lit by candles and screens at once.
Parsa
Swedish producer who treats techno as a materials problem — brittle, physical rhythm tracks that sound like machinery going wrong on purpose.
Qendresa
Raghd
A featherweight soprano over warm, live-band R&B — Chicago's most distinctive voice in the genre, 'Love Me Not' finally making it official.
UK-garage-inflected R&B — Kaytranada's favorite-vocalist energy, silk delivery over broken beats, two-step rhythms under velvet vocals.
Roni
S-candalo
Thirty-five years of pop about London — house records, sixties girl-group melody and a fan's archive habit, all in the same song.
Two selectors who both prefer the long way round, sharing a booth — house, breaks and left turns given room to actually go somewhere.
Swedish folk tradition dragged somewhere stranger — fiddle and choral arrangement used for queer, political songwriting that doesn't ask permission.
Norwegian duo's icy avant-pop — classical strings meet club unease, beauty kept deliberately off-balance, fashion-week cool with conservatory bones.
Moody, reverb-soaked alt-pop from a Manhattan teenager who went from bedroom demos to festival bills — heartbreak at streaming scale.
Marimba cumbia played with punk hands — a family band that keeps the tradition intact and then hits it a lot harder than tradition requires.
Svart Ridå
Swank Mami
Terra
The Magnolia
Whispered minimalism that somehow fills a festival field — intimacy at headline scale, 'Intro' still raising arm hair.
Sweden's biggest pop songwriter in her own language — bruised, specific lyrics carried by arrangements built for singing back at full volume.
America's great art-rock institution — 'Yankee Hotel Foxtrot' to now, endlessly generous live, Nels Cline solos included.
Yaeger
Swedish pop machinery at its shiniest — 'Lush Life' to main-character bangers, delivered with total command.
Sunlit Greek indie-pop that borrows from yacht rock and eighties AOR without irony — breezy on the surface, wistful once you follow the words.
9entle
A Good Year
Agitator
Reinvented herself from talent-show winner into a disco auteur — string-swept, four-to-the-floor pop performed with total conviction.
Andreas Tilliander & Goran Kajfeš
Bleech 9:3
Dublin band bending neo-soul and funk into something scruffier and more Irish than either genre expects — jagged, jazzy, and completely their own.
Cockhouse
Dgeral
Compresses more into two minutes than most rappers manage in ten — dense, muttered writing over loops that sound like they're decaying in real time.
Elise Elvira
Esther
Fanny Avonne
Fantasy of a Broken Heart
Xenya Genovese's woozy, guitar-led bedroom pop, sung like she's half-asleep and completely certain — Manchester cool at a whisper.
GB
Burlington's cracked-country rocker — road-worn songs that lurch and soar, scuffed-up guitar poetry in the Lenderman school.
Sixties-pop scaffolding with the reverb of a much later record — a clear, unhurried voice that makes a small room feel enormous.
Hayeminol
Helen Sun
Chicago house pedigree carried onto fashion-world stages — a DJ who plays for dancers, not the camera, with Grammy-winning production credits to match.
Started as teenage hardcore and grew into something ragged and grand — swaggering, unstable post-punk with a frontman who performs like the floor might give way.
Pop songs submerged and left there — vocals dissolving into blur, structure implied rather than stated.
James Yorkston & Johanna Söderberg
A Fife songwriter and a Swedish harmony singer trading verses — spare, generous folk built for a room where nobody talks over it.
Digicore prodigy turned noise-pop auteur — abrasive and gorgeous at once, walls of distortion hiding devastating melody.
JoolZ
Vocalist and DJ working the queer end of London club culture — raw, vocal-forward house played by someone who came up singing over it.
Kid08
Kimia & Thilly
Knut€
Motorik repetition with a psych haze on top — a Swedish band that understands the value of staying on one chord for an uncomfortably long time.
Mami Umami
Marble
A DJ and curator near the centre of Sweden's UK-garage scene — sets that move through 2-step, breaks and soulful house without ever settling in one of them.
Matilda Lyn
Melody Prochet's French psych-pop, layered and slightly disorienting in the best way — kaleidoscope production around featherweight melodies.
Mietze Conte
Euro-dance pop played for maximum chaos — bubbling synths, warped vocals and songs that change direction halfway through on purpose.
My New Band Believe
Glittering, game-engine electronic — Australia's most inventive young club producer, chiptune sparkle at rave pressure, drops that sparkle as hard as they hit.
Nokta Servo
A club night as much as a DJ project — built as a deliberate answer to door policies and status, with the dancefloor rather than the booth as the point.
OG Bella
Olga Myko
ORKID
Melbourne post-punks — wiry, literate, buzzing, in the great Australian art-school tradition, sharp songs delivered with nervous energy.
Rian Brazil
Seoul garage-punk cool — bratty hooks with art-scene bite, international underground buzz well earned, the city's coolest new export.
Kai Slater's power-pop project — hooks recorded four-track-thin on purpose, arriving faster than they can be counted.
Småland
Supermodel*
Frankie Beanie's project — a Virginia punk upbringing filtered through Liverpool and Los Angeles, and song titles that tell you not to take any of it too solemnly.
Instrumental records that sound unearthed rather than made — Turkish psych, Japanese jazz and seventies library music assembled with archivist care.
Sylvie’s Head
Drain Gang's melodic centre — auto-tuned, weightless rap that turned a Stockholm in-joke into an international aesthetic.
The producer everybody's favourite rapper calls first — dusty, unhurried loops that make whoever is on the mic sound more serious.
The Passion Tax
Tiffi M
Vilhelm Hasselgren & Ebende
Blown-out bedroom emo recorded past the point of clipping — melodies buried in noise that hit harder for having to be dug out.
Manchester's buzzy new guitar gang — scrappy, hook-first, rising fast on word of mouth, and the hype is earning itself.
