Geese
Unhinged Brooklyn art-rock — yelping, swaggering, and critically adored, like the Stones reassembled by art students mid-fever.
Four days in a Victorian pleasure garden — peacocks, secret sets, and the most lovingly curated bill in Britain.
End of the Road is the connoisseur's festival: four September days in Larmer Tree Gardens, a Victorian pleasure garden on the Dorset border where peacocks wander the site, the food is actually good, and the booking policy reads like a great record shop's staff picks. The 2026 edition pairs Pulp's late-career victory lap with Geese, CMAT, and Mac DeMarco up top — but the real currency here is depth: reunited cult heroes (Super Furry Animals, The Beta Band alumni energy), avant-legends, Irish doom-folk, Saharan guitar, and a Rising-stage undercard that has a habit of producing next year's headliners. Secret sets are a tradition. Bring wellies and trust the bookers.
Expect alternative, electronic, folk and rock across 139 acts.
September 3–6, 2026 — Thursday through Sunday.
Larmer Tree Gardens on the Wiltshire/Dorset border — a Victorian pleasure garden with resident peacocks.
Pulp, Geese, CMAT, and Mac DeMarco top the bill.
139 music acts across four days, plus comedy, cinema, literature, and the traditional secret sets.
End of the Road publishes stage and day splits on its site closer to the festival. Save your acts on LineupScout and they'll become a personal schedule the moment times land.
Tell the finder at the top of this page a few bands you love — it'll match you with your must-see sets, with reasons why.
Lollapalooza lineup →Hopscotch lineup →The Fest lineup →Rebellion lineup →III Points lineup →Lost Lands lineup →Louder Than Life lineup →All Points East lineup →Aftershock 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 End of the Road 2026? Get tickets ↗
Unhinged Brooklyn art-rock — yelping, swaggering, and critically adored, like the Stones reassembled by art students mid-fever.
Jarvis Cocker's common people, still uncommon — Britpop's sharpest wit in glorious late-era form, 'Common People' still detonating class rage.
Irish country-pop with a wicked sense of humor and a bigger voice — a riotous live show that swings from comedy to gut-punch inside one chorus.
The gap-toothed prince of jangly slacker-pop — cigarette ballads and pure charm, goofball stage antics over genuinely tender songwriting.
Wales's beloved psych-pop pranksters, reunited — techno tanks and golden melodies, national-treasure status long confirmed, Welsh weirdness in full bloom.
South London's unhinged rave-punk cult — klezmer, techno, and total mayhem, a live show that feels like a cult initiation in the best way.
Louisville's shaggy-dog cosmic country — novelistic songs that sneak up and floor you, Silver Jews wit with a road band's looseness.
Irish shoegaze that scrapes and shivers — beauty engineered from dread, guitars processed until they sound like machinery grieving.
Lankum-adjacent doom-folk coven — drones, dread, and gorgeous Irish gloom, traditional songs slowed to ritual pace.
Melbourne's deadpan folk harmonists — three voices, one wicked sense of humor, close-harmony singing with a stand-up's timing.
NYC's most confrontational new band — spasmodic percussion-punk that levels rooms in twenty-minute bursts, and nothing else sounds like it.
South London electro-punk — club pressure with live-band violence, synths and drums locked in a knife fight.
Nashville's cosmic guitar cartographer — instrumentals that feel like interstate sunsets, American primitive tradition with a widescreen lens.
Ex-Vampire Weekend architect — ornate, warm-blooded pop as producer-auteur, harpsichords and 808s on equal footing, fingerprints all over a decade of indie.
Anatolian psych-folk revival — saz grooves and velvet vocals, Turkish songbook classics and originals worked into hypnotic slow-burn funk.
Two generations of abstract rap in one set — smeared loops, mumbled brilliance, and the mentor-protégé chemistry that reshaped underground hip-hop.

Philly's laconic guitar rambler — hazy, endless-highway rock, songs that amble past the seven-minute mark like it's nothing.
Chicago indie rock at its warmest — twangy, generous, quietly great, a band critics keep discovering all over again.
Colombian synth auteur — protest songs you can dance to, built entirely on hardware and delivered with quiet, glowing defiance.
Welsh techno-pop shapeshifter behind the decks — ethereal textures traded for full club propulsion, art-techno rewired for peak hour.
Talk Talk-schooled art-pop — pristine, searching, quietly devastating, songcraft that rewards stillness, every note deliberate.
Catskills barn-band Americana — ragged, literate, and joyful, story-songs played like a family argument in the best way.
Garage rock's most prolific fuzz dealer — a new album every time you blink, and the live band hits harder than any of them.
Leeds lads making hardware-driven post-punk bangers about mundane dread — deadpan vocals over squelching synths, pitched somewhere between a big night out and an existential crisis.
Yorkshire synth-punk — New Order's chassis with a teenage engine, hacienda pulse rebuilt for new floors.
The rediscovered visionary behind 'Keyboard Fantasies' — transcendence, gently delivered, decades after a cassette nobody heard became the classic everybody needed.
Melbourne soft-pop sunshine — strings, Rhodes, and easy grace, '70s studio-pop craft revived gently, sunshine engineered in the studio.
Pipe-organ doom hymns — sacred music for the beautifully unwell, where cathedral drones meet gothic songcraft at genuinely tectonic volume.

Cork's melodica-toting indie romantics — Fontaines-adjacent and rising fast, with a windswept, literary streak all their own.

Eight-piece London chamber-rock swells — patient, communal, and overwhelming, songs that gather like weather until the whole room is inside them.
Skye's smallpipes visionary — ancient Scottish drones made hypnotic and new, minimalist reeds that sit closer to modern drone music than trad-session nostalgia.
Hedge-folk miniatures — field recordings and old-weird-Britain magic, songs like pressed flowers found in a strange book.
Austin's virtuosic boogie machine — prog chops, garage soul, and tempo changes played like party tricks.

Sean-nós tradition spliced with electronics — Ireland's eeriest new voice, keening rendered as avant-garde ritual, old songs made newly unsettling.
Snarling internet-era electroclash — bratty vocals over blown-out bass, reviving the genre's trashy Berlin glamour for a generation that missed it the first time.
Self-produced spiritual soul — prickly, gorgeous, sui generis, chopped loops and layered self-harmonies that answer to nobody.
Sweat-slicked industrial post-punk — menace, glamour, and whispered filth, a frontman who prowls the crowd like it's his living room.
Glowing heartland indie rock — War on Drugs warmth at bedroom scale, songs that expand like a slow sunrise.
NYC anti-folk lifer — comic-book songs with more ideas per verse than most careers, performed with hand-drawn visuals in tow.
DFA's industrial techno machine, returned — relentless hardware grooves that grind post-punk down to pure repetition.
Casio-and-helmet street-performance legend — cosmic covers of pure innocence, outsider-music history glowing softly live, pure wonder with no irony.
Working Men's Club's leader gone solo — softer machines, same nerve, Yorkshire electronics with a songwriter's spine.

Lawrence (Felt, Denim) in his glam-pop era — Britain's greatest cult songwriter, still chasing the hit he has always deserved.

Moroccan-French power quartet electrifying Gnawa trance-blues — hypnotic guembri grooves plugged in and turned up into full-band psychedelic ecstasy.
Kentucky drawl, punk heart — swampy Southern storytelling with teeth, farm-town detail delivered with DIY conviction.
Kerry's warped folk bard — hurdy-gurdy strangeness and dark comic grace, trad music bent into confessional theater.

Salford's shape-shifting psych-noise commune — heavy in every sense, a collective that reinvents its sound album to album and show to show.
Burlington's raw-hearted songwriter — cracked-open folk-rock with a voice that frays exactly where it counts, DIY-scene devotion well earned.
Uncanny English art-folk — pastoral songs with teeth, violin scrape and strange narratives from London's experimental fringe.

Guitar soli as landscape painting — blues, minimalism, and open air, the American primitive tradition carried gently forward.
Izzy Hagerup's gnarled, gripping songs — beautiful and unsettling at once, a voice that turns rooms silent mid-chord.
Slovenian 'imaginary folk' trio — handmade instruments conjuring places that don't exist, ritual music from an invented tradition.

Togolese voodoo-pop — call-and-response trance over analog synth bass, women's voices carrying ritual into the club.

Dublin feminist post-punk — spare, pointed, necessary, minimalism wielded like an argument, every word placed to cut.
New Jersey's surrealist rap horror-show — gothic, hilarious, unforgettable, verses that play like fever dreams narrated with total calm.

Recovery-country — harrowing stories told with disarming sweetness, addiction and grace in the same easy melody.

Manchester's restless polymath — sprawling, brainy guitar epics written like essays and played like exorcisms, cult-canon ambition on a DIY budget.
Mac's Record Label signee — silky '70s keyboard-pop with jazz hands, soft-rock sincerity played straight, session-pop revived with love.

Aussie piano-pop charmer from Mac DeMarco's label orbit — wonky lounge songs with a crooked grin.

Jamaican-American folk-soul — tape-warm harmonies and reverie, layered vocals that float like heat haze, '70s folk warmth with a dub producer's patience.

Cherokee songwriter with an old soul — quiet Oklahoma folk that cuts deep, lines that sound handed down rather than written.

Austin honky-tonk poetry — classic country bones and a restless heart, songwriting sharp enough to cut through the barroom clatter.

Manchester's hyper-collage electronics — noise, pop, and motorsport samples spliced into club music with a crash-test thrill.




