Jorja Smith
Walsall's great modern soul voice — restrained, jazz-schooled, and equally at home over a garage beat, 'Blue Lights' still stunning.
Six separately-ticketed days in Victoria Park across two August weekends — Lorde, a Tyler two-nighter, Twenty One Pilots, and an Outbreak Fest takeover.
All Points East isn't one festival so much as six separately-ticketed days in Victoria Park, spread across two August weekends. Each day is its own show with its own headliner and its own crowd: Jorja Smith and Tems on the 21st, Lorde on the 22nd, an Outbreak Fest takeover on the 23rd, Tyler, The Creator across both the 28th and 29th, and Twenty One Pilots on the 30th.
That structure means you buy into a day, not a weekend, and the days genuinely don't overlap in audience. The 23rd is a heavy bill — Deftones, IDLES, Amyl and The Sniffers, Interpol, Deafheaven, Show Me The Body. The 22nd is pop and club-facing — PinkPantheress, Zara Larsson, Djo, Oklou, Erika de Casier. The 28th and 29th are Tyler's own curation, running from Clipse and Vince Staples to Faye Webster and Ghostface Killah. Every act's day is published, so this is straightforward to plan.
One scheduling note: Tyler, The Creator headlines both Friday the 28th and Saturday the 29th. He appears once in the lineup below, on the 28th.
Expect hip-hop, pop, r&b and alternative across 144 acts.
All Points East sells each day separately — a ticket for one date does not admit you to the others. Tyler, The Creator headlines both August 28 and 29; he is listed once, on the 28th.
Six days across two weekends: August 21, 22 and 23, then August 28, 29 and 30, 2026.
Victoria Park in Tower Hamlets, east London.
No. Each day is ticketed separately, though two-day tickets exist for the August 28 and 29 Tyler, The Creator shows.
Jorja Smith and Tems (21st), Lorde (22nd), Deftones on the Outbreak Fest day (23rd), Tyler, The Creator (28th and 29th) and Twenty One Pilots (30th).
144 acts across the six days.
Type a few bands you already love into the search at the top of this page and you'll get ranked matches from this lineup, with reasons.
Lollapalooza lineup →Hopscotch lineup →The Fest lineup →Rebellion lineup →III Points lineup →Lost Lands lineup →Louder Than Life lineup →Aftershock lineup →End of the Road lineup →ARC lineup →Warped Tour Orlando lineup →Austin City Limits lineup →Reading & Leeds lineup →EDC Orlando lineup →Bourbon & Beyond lineup →Riot Fest lineup →Outside Lands lineup →Green Man lineup →HARD Summer lineup →Osheaga lineup →Bass Canyon lineup →Hulaween lineup →Honcho Campout lineup →Portola lineup →Furnace Fest lineup →Shaky Knees lineup →Sick New World Texas lineup →Hinterland lineup →All Things Go DMV lineup →Raleigh Wide Open lineup →Oceans Calling lineup →Darker Waves lineup →Bumbershoot lineup →Ohana lineup →Sea.Hear.Now lineup →Iron Blossom lineup →All Things Go NYC lineup →
Going to All Points East 2026? Get tickets ↗
Walsall's great modern soul voice — restrained, jazz-schooled, and equally at home over a garage beat, 'Blue Lights' still stunning.
That unmistakable smoky low register — Nigerian R&B that reshaped what afrobeats could sound like, Grammy-anointed and still rising.

Leeds-via-Bradford producer leading the jungle revival — breakbeats under genuinely tender songwriting, rave history reclaimed as diary.
UK R&B songwriter with quiet-storm control — hushed vocals and late-night restraint, minimal production leaving all the room for the voice.
Mavin Records star with a sharp pop instinct and a delivery that cuts straight through the mix — Gen-Z afrobeats with global-chart ambition already realized.
London R&B with an afroswing lilt — silky, unhurried, and increasingly hard to get a ticket for, word-of-mouth momentum fully underway.
Oxford soul singer with an old-school timbre — the kind of voice that quiets a field, drawing straight from the D'Angelo lineage.
Velvet-toned R&B intimacy from the Kehlani school — plush late-night vocals with an internet-native fanbase that sings every ad-lib.
Griselda's ringleader — dusty loops, ad-libs as punctuation, and an art-world obsession baked into everything, boom-bap as couture.
Eswatini-born amapiano DJ who dances harder than the crowd — the genre's most magnetic live export, log drums and choreography in one body.
UK garage's greatest technician — decades of two-step mixing done at a speed that still looks impossible, four decks deep and never missing.

Walsall polymath — a filmmaker's eye applied to left-of-centre R&B and rap, every video and verse art-directed.
Young British soul singer with an outsized voice and a knack for a piano ballad — Leicester's next big export.
Jungle royalty since the mid-'90s — ragga-inflected breakbeats and one of the genre's defining catalogues, 'Original Nuttah' eternal.

South London rapper writing warm, funny, unmistakably local verses over soul-leaning production — 'Peng Black Girls' announced a genuinely fresh voice.

Ezra Collective's drummer and bandleader — the engine of London's jazz resurgence, bringing gospel-hall energy to every kit he touches.
Dublin band bending neo-soul and funk into something scruffier and more Irish than either genre expects — jagged, jazzy, and completely their own.
Touching Bass-affiliated singer making hushed, jazz-inflected soul for very late at night — South London warmth at candle volume.
Irish-English singer with a startling rasp, moving between soul, reggae, and rap without strain — a voice that sounds lived-in twice over.

Reshaping mainstream pop from the inside since 'Pure Heroine' — minimal arrangements, maximal writing, and 'Ribs' still wrecking everyone at the barrier.
Two-minute songs over drum-and-bass and garage breaks — the most influential British pop debut of the decade, 'Boy's a liar' just the biggest.
Swedish pop built to Scandinavian standards — enormous choruses, no wasted seconds, a hit factory's discipline with a diva's delivery.
Joe Keery's psych-pop project — vocoders, fuzz, and a genuine ear for a Tame Impala-shaped hook, well past the celebrity-side-project stage.
Smoky-voiced UK balladeer — big-room soul at 19, torch songs with an old head's control, a debut voice that sounds decades deep.
Rage-adjacent producer-vocalist making synth-heavy, blown-out digital pop for a very online audience — icy arpeggios, distorted 808s, and hooks that hit like a video-game boss theme.
French producer-singer making crystalline, faintly medieval electronic pop — hymnal melodies rendered in glass, fragile songs with cathedral acoustics.
Wry, conversational pop songwriting from Gracie Abrams's longtime collaborator turned solo act — diaristic detail delivered with sharp comic timing.
East London dance-pop built for the 5am end of the night, with the songwriting to survive daylight — rave euphoria with a pop heart.
Australian producer making bright, hyperactive club music with a pop songwriter's ear for structure — sugar-rush drops with actual architecture.
Danish-Portuguese singer reviving late-'90s R&B production with an almost whispered delivery — soft-spoken songs with an uncanny period-perfect gloss.

Danish artist building weightless guitar-pop out of processed tones and near-whispered melody — uncanny-valley beauty rendered in high definition.
Irish songwriter writing sharply about adolescence over guitar-pop that keeps getting bigger — a rising voice entirely her own.
Paul Institute artist making immaculate '80s-leaning R&B — every synth placed exactly where it should be, session-musician bloodline audible in the detail.
Antiguan-German songwriter making moody, sci-fi-tinted synth-pop — dark-pop atmospheres delivered in a cool, conspiratorial hush, built for late-night headphones and soundtracks alike.
The band that dragged heaviness toward dream-pop — Chino Moreno's croon-to-scream over guitars tuned for atmosphere as much as impact.
Bristol post-punk built on solidarity and volume — a live show closer to a group therapy riot, all sweat, hugs, and howled affirmations.
Amy Taylor fronting Australian pub-punk with the sharpest elbows and best mullets in the genre — forty-minute sets that hit like a bar fight you're glad you were in.
New York post-punk revival at its most tailored — interlocking guitars under Paul Banks's monotone, suits pressed, gloom immaculate.
Hardcore kids who became goths and then a genuinely huge rock band — Davey Havok's full-commitment melodrama riding a catalog that runs from East Bay punk to 'Miss Murder'-era anthems.
Self-produced noise-rap made on a laptop — abrasive, funny, and unrepeatable live, every set a controlled demolition of its own material.
Tokyo cult selector Yousuke Yukimatsu — genre-shredding DJ sets that went from viral clips to worldwide bookings, anything-goes technique with total joy.
Witch house's originators — screwed vocals over cavernous drones, still faintly sinister, a genre's whole aesthetic in one band.

British '90s-worship emo — thick guitars, buried vocals, and a hold over a very specific generation that treats every appearance as an event.
Shoegaze revived by someone who found it online — vocals buried so far in the wash they read as another guitar.
Black metal's tremolo blur pointed at shoegaze bliss — screamed vocals over passages that keep resolving into something radiant, 'Sunbather' still the genre-argument that never ends.
Banjo-driven New York hardcore — genuinely unlike anything else, and unpleasant in the best way, Corpus community in tow.
Philly band swinging between shoegaze tenderness and full-throated hardcore, often inside one song — catharsis with total dynamic control.
Hardware-driven UK techno at genuinely punishing volume — the live rig is the whole point, wrangling machines into some of the genre's most physical sound.
Melbourne artist welding punk, hip-hop, and industrial into something genuinely confrontational — a one-woman collision the genre map can't place.
Atlanta rapper with grunge guitars in the mix and a delivery that shifts register mid-bar — rap and alt-rock fused without visible seams.




Odd Future's ringleader turned auteur — every record a full costume change, every tour a proper production, Grammy-decorated and still restless.
Jazz-chord bedroom pop sung slightly off the beat — earnest in a way that made it enormous, 'Loving Is Easy' warmth throughout.
Hardcore rebuilt with dream-pop textures and actual dance moves — the rare crossover that didn't cost them the pit, Grammy nods and all.
Atlanta R&B with a conversational, slightly nasal delivery and unusually vicious lyrics — love songs with autopsy-level detail.
Bay Area collective making scrappy, guitar-flecked rap with a genuine band mentality — posse-cut energy and genre-blind hooks in the post-Brockhampton mold.
Barcelona rapper whose deadpan Spanish trap arrived with an immediately recognisable sneer — viral freestyles and a delivery that turns minimalism into menace.
Pusha T and Malice over Neptunes minimalism — the most quotable coke-rap ever committed to tape, 'Grindin'' still rattling trunks two decades on.
UK underground rap's internet-native riser — lo-fi menace and offhand melody built for the timeline, low-lit tracks that travel by repost.
Border-raised songwriter refusing to pick a genre — punk, rap, and shoegaze inside a single track, stitched together with pop instincts.

Narcotic dream-pop duets — slow-motion romance in the Cigarettes After Sex register, candlelit vocals over slow-blooming guitar.
The producer who defined a decade of West Coast radio — spare, bouncing beats you can identify in two bars.
Chicago singer with a feather-light upper register floating over Zero Fatigue-adjacent production — a decade of promise fully arrived.
R&B built on garage and house rhythms — club-facing without ever losing the intimacy, a vocalist producers fight over.
St. Louis rapper whose chants are engineered for maximum crowd participation and minimum decorum — the loudest call-and-response on any bill.
Long Beach rapper with a comedian's timing and the bleakest source material — never once sentimental, and funnier live than most comics.
A voice that stops rooms — gospel-schooled soul with astonishing control at the top of the range, 'My Mind' still the proof.
Comedian and rapper in equal measure — the jokes are real and so, annoyingly, are the songs, beats from rap's A-list included.
Canadian R&B with gospel bones — sparse arrangements built entirely around the voice, 'Best Part' devotion delivered at a whisper.
Erratic, beat-switching rap delivered with total confidence — pgLang's sharpest young writer, swerving flows mid-bar like the song might get bored otherwise.
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.
Detroit's most distinctive voice, literally — a yelp deployed over production nobody else would touch, from grimy underground tapes to festival-scale experimentalism.
Hushed, unhurried songwriting — a new voice with old grace.
Pedal steel and yacht-rock chords under deadpan songwriting about being slightly bored and very sad — Atlanta cool that turned ennui into a signature sound.
Wu-Tang's most vivid storyteller — stream-of-consciousness detail delivered at a shout, 'Supreme Clientele' still the gold standard of rap surrealism.
Lewisham artist blending emo guitars, drill, and R&B into something distinctly South London — diaristic collage with real emotional stakes.
Boston singer working a warm, guitar-led strain of R&B — patient, retro-modern songcraft in the Daniel Caesar lineage.
Slurred, meditative rap over his own woozy loops — grief processed at half speed, underground New York's quiet center of gravity.
Left YouTube rap behind for genuinely ambitious art-pop records that few saw coming — ghostly, orchestral, and entirely self-produced.
Technically sharp West Coast rapper who arrived fully formed and hasn't wasted a verse yet — the co-signs keep stacking.

The Internet's frontwoman — feather-light vocals over basslines that do most of the seducing, neo-soul cool at a whisper.
Two people making an implausible amount of noise — ukulele, rap verses, and a fanbase that knows every word, backflips off the piano included.
Jacob Slater's band, gone from hushed to genuinely ferocious across two records — UK rock's most convincing recent ascent.
Welsh artist whose long-form narrative songs built an enormous audience almost entirely outside the industry — story-rap virtuosity on his own terms.
Australian band writing enormous, unembarrassed songs about faith, grief, and staying alive — Springsteen-scale sincerity delivered by one of the great live frontmen.
Vancouver rapper whose entire career is a very committed joke that keeps producing actual hits — self-aware bangers marketed with more wit than most labels can manage.
Lynn Gunn's project, drifting steadily from rock toward glossy synth-pop without losing the edge — one-woman vision at arena polish.
Alabama singer welding country twang to trap production and an unusually raw delivery — bar-fight ballads for the streaming era.
Long Beach trio building elaborately choreographed art-pop around genuinely funky bass — 'still feel.' and dance routines performed completely straight.
Manchester co-fronted pop-punk with a sneer inherited directly from Britpop — dual vocals, big choruses, bigger attitude.
London duo running bass through every pedal ever made — grime swagger welded to punk riffs, a two-woman wall of sound.
Hastings four-piece writing angry, funny state-of-Britain songs over big dumb riffs, affectionately meant — terrace-chant punk with a wink and a point.
YouTube-to-pop-punk pipeline done properly — fast, funny songs with real hooks and a community built before the band.
Bright, funk-tinged pop-punk from a duo with an unusually sharp sense of groove — scene revival with actual rhythm-section chops.

Glasgow band with sharp, sardonic vocals over guitars that lean grunge — bratty hooks with genuine bite underneath.

Ryan Santiago's project — anxious, theatrical alt-pop with a punk streak surfacing more each record, 'Overwhelmed' the breakout.
Grit-and-leather rock-soul riser.
Australian four-piece playing scrappy, funny, hook-heavy rock with a real live spark — Canberra mates with festival-sized charm.
Essex two-piece playing furious, funny street punk with an unmistakably local accent — two people, one wall of grievance.