Kieran Hebden's glowing folk-tronic universe — patient builds that hit like revelation, two decades of textures that make dance music feel handmade.
Green Man 2026 Lineup
Four days under the Black Mountains: folk, psych, and left-field pop in Wales's mist-wrapped mountain amphitheatre.
Green Man is expected back August 2027 (dates aren't announced yet). Until then, here's the full 2026 lineup and the acts you would have loved.
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About Green Man 2026
Green Man is the UK festival people get evangelical about: four August days in a natural amphitheatre under Wales's Black Mountains, capped at a size where you can actually move, with a burning of the Green Man effigy to close and not a single sponsor banner in sight. The 2026 bill is peak Green Man. Four Tet, Wolf Alice, Wilco, and Mogwai up top, The Beta Band reunited, Sparks being Sparks, and below them the festival's specialty: psych, folk, Welsh-language pop, dub, and left-field discoveries stacked deeper than bills twice its size. Mountain weather included, no extra charge.
Expect electronic, indie rock, post-punk and folk across 96 acts.
Green Man 2026 lineup & schedule: all 96 acts
Search it, filter by day, stage or genre. Save anything straight to your schedule.Browse all 96 acts →
Search it, filter by day, stage or genre. Save anything straight to your schedule.
Glasgow's volume worshippers — instrumental post-rock that goes from whisper to avalanche, thirty years of earplugs earned.
America's great art-rock institution — 'Yankee Hotel Foxtrot' to now, endlessly generous live, Nels Cline solos included.
Mercury-winning UK alt-rock — from whispered folk to full-throated fuzz in one set, Ellie Rowsell commanding every register.
New Zealand's shapeshifting folk enigma — every song a different possession, delivered with unnerving stillness, strange voices, and total command of a silent room.
Operatic guitar heroine — twice Mercury-shortlisted, all flamenco-flecked drama and white-knuckle restraint until the Telecaster finally erupts.
Louche London spoken-word pop — Ian Dury's boy, filthy and funny over silk grooves, delivering seedy character studies like a lounge singer gone wrong.
The selector's selector — Hessle Audio's omnivorous ear, no productions needed; a world-class reputation built purely on what he plays and how.
Chan Marshall's smoke-and-velvet songbook — fragile, fearless, singular, whether reinventing her own catalog or channeling Dylan's.
Welsh art-pop's crooked genius — angular, elegant songs bent at fascinating angles, and a home-turf hero on any Welsh bill.
Smoke-voiced British soul — torch songs with modern nerve, a BRIT-anointed voice built for the spotlight and the string section.
The 'Drone Logic' architect live — strobe-lit techno with a shoegaze heart, walls of texture that blur the line between club and gig.
Deadpan spoken-word over wiry post-punk — Florence Shaw's found-text poetry delivered motionless while the band churns behind her.
Young Chicago trio channeling '80s–'90s indie — deadpan harmonies over jangling guitar pop, Sonic Youth homework turned into something their own.
Philly band swinging between shoegaze tenderness and full-throated hardcore, often inside one song — catharsis with total dynamic control.
Brooklyn's OMD-hearted synth-pop romantics — motorik melancholy that soars live, analog synths and total sincerity, romance for drum machines and the people who love them.
'New Forms' and beyond — Bristol jungle royalty with a Mercury on the shelf, breaks chopped like it's 1997 forever.
Dub's mixing-desk prodigy — King Tubby's heir rewiring bass in real time, a live dub masterclass at festival volume.
South London post-punk's sweatiest live act — communion by mosh, shirtless and crowd-borne by mid-set, 'One Rizla' to now, all sweat.
Norwegian duo's icy avant-pop — classical strings meet club unease, beauty kept deliberately off-balance, fashion-week cool with conservatory bones.
North London's warped pop miniaturists — sticky hooks, uncanny angles, songs that sound familiar until they curdle.
The Mael brothers' 50-year art-pop conspiracy — wittier than everyone, still ahead, and finally getting the flowers.
Dublin garage-punk catharsis — Karla Chubb turns anxiety into anthems, every chorus a controlled explosion, the city's loudest catharsis specialists.
Scotland's beloved kitchen-sink psychedelicists, reunited — 'Dry the Rain' at last, and the High Fidelity scene made flesh.
Trip-hop's shadow king — the whispered menace of 'Maxinquaye' live, Bristol paranoia thickened by three decades.
Asheville's country-gaze storytellers — lap steel, feedback, and busted-truck poetry, narrating the South's weird corners in high fidelity.
NYC's loudest band — strobe-and-feedback annihilation through homemade pedals, carrying the Jesus and Mary Chain's torch straight into the noise floor.
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.
Hot Chip's falsetto heart alone at the piano — tender machine-soul unplugged, reworking dance euphoria into something small, strange, and quietly devastating.
Rio's disco-funk polymath — boogie basslines, tropical glam, and a crate-digger's command of Brazilian pop history reassembled into something completely current.
Welsh dream-pop noir — slow-burn electronics and 3 a.m. honesty, building club pulses into songs that stay whisper-close no matter how big the room gets.
The lost-tape legend himself — hyperactive Twi rap-highlife joy, rescued from an obscure cassette by Awesome Tapes From Africa and turned into a global dance party.
Minimalist LA synth-punk trio — icy grooves and motorik precision, like a security-camera feed of a party you're not cool enough to attend.
Techno DJ turned dream-pop bandleader — DJ-Kicks grace rebuilt at song scale, club-honed instincts smoothed into gauzy, sophisticated pop.
The Welsh voice-of-an-angel leading a maximalist covers party — pure joy, zero irony, and a setlist that swerves from pop bangers to power ballads without apology.
Church Village Collective — Welsh good-time rock with '70s harmonies, guitar-solo swagger, and a bar-band looseness played at festival scale.
Barcelona's tribal-industrial duo — chants and drum machines in lockstep, EBM pulse with a Mediterranean ritual streak.
Fat White-adjacent acid-house deviants — sleaze at 303 pressure, live, like a basement club night gone gloriously wrong.
Drum & bass's quiet radical — deep, soulful selections from a scene lifer who has championed the genre's overlooked voices for decades.
Hushed, unhurried songwriting — a new voice with old grace.
Ear
North London's wry indie-pop prodigy — glitter over grit, fuzzy hooks with a lyricist's smirk underneath.
Richard Russell's XL house band — rotating voices, deep soul, the label boss producing a revue built on whoever's in the room.
NYC's buzziest indie-dance trio — baggy house grooves with downtown cool, like Madchester relocated to a Chinatown basement.
Wye Oak's Jenn Wasner solo — knotted, generous art-pop where the guitar heroics hide inside the arrangements.
Chicago's chamber-punk romantics — big feelings, bigger crescendos, and a debut that made half the indie press swoon.
Bristol's absurdist funk-punk duo — crisps, capitalism, and cowbell, mundane British life set to grooves that genuinely slap.
Golomb
Burlington's cracked-country rocker — road-worn songs that lurch and soar, scuffed-up guitar poetry in the Lenderman school.
Fingerpicked folk parables — 'The Bug Collector' and quiet devastation, garden-and-insect imagery hiding songs that cut deep.
Texas duo's pillow-soft indie pop — warm tape hiss and quiet ache, songs that feel like naps you wake from slightly sad.
Fat White Family's Saul Adamczewski gone easy-listening — seedy lounge-pop pearls, sweetness with something unsettling underneath.
Simian Mobile Disco's half and producer to Arctic Monkeys — solo pastoral electronics, a studio polymath finally under his own name.
Manchester's hyper-collage electronics — noise, pop, and motorsport samples spliced into club music with a crash-test thrill.
Gothic disco-pop melodrama — hooks with a broken grin, theatrical sadness you can dance to, camp and heartbreak sharing one microphone.
Dean Blunt's favorite guitarist — smudged, dreamlike folk sketches that hover somewhere between demo and dream.
Cherokee songwriter with an old soul — quiet Oklahoma folk that cuts deep, lines that sound handed down rather than written.
London-Congolese powerhouse — rumba, soukous, and horn-stoked joy, virtuosic musicianship played strictly for dancing, Kinshasa tradition at London velocity.
Omnichord hymns from rural Virginia — luminous, homespun minimalism, songs that glow like lamplight through gauze.
Brighton's wonky-pop quartet — groove-led indie with a wink, disco basslines under deadpan observations, art-school playfulness with proper hooks.
Technicolor rave nostalgia — breakbeats bathed in VHS sunshine, hardcore's golden era remembered warmer than it ever actually sounded.
West-of-Ireland dream-pop — mist, radio static, and 4AD hush, Connemara landscape rendered as sound, songs that drift in like weather.
Montreal's deadpan club philosopher — 'Work It' irony at 130 BPM, electro-club critique you can sweat to.
Danish artist building weightless guitar-pop out of processed tones and near-whispered melody — uncanny-valley beauty rendered in high definition.
Uncanny English art-folk — pastoral songs with teeth, violin scrape and strange narratives from London's experimental fringe.
Portland motorik machine — kosmische propulsion, strictly forward, Neu! worship played with total discipline, grooves that lock in and refuse to blink.
My New Band Believe
Togolese voodoo-pop — call-and-response trance over analog synth bass, women's voices carrying ritual into the club.
Amsterdam group formed in 2021, reworking Indonesian keroncong and folk traditions into something closer to pop — heritage music handled by a diaspora generation.
Olive Jones
Brighton's brass-blasted jazz-punk cabaret — sleazy, sweaty, superb, like the house band for a bar you shouldn't be in.
West-coast gothic folk — spectral voice over darkwave undertow, songs that flicker like candlelight in a drafty room.
Cardiff's funniest, fiercest punks — group-chat energy with riffs, in-jokes sharpened into anthems, the funniest serious band in Wales.
Hebridean psych-folk mischief from the Isle of Eigg's one-man label boss — island whimsy with an experimentalist's ear.
Pigeon
Izzy Hagerup's gnarled, gripping songs — beautiful and unsettling at once, a voice that turns rooms silent mid-chord.
Detroit noise-punk provocation — confrontational and magnetic, a live show that dares you to look away.
Seoul garage-punk cool — bratty hooks with art-scene bite, international underground buzz well earned, the city's coolest new export.
Irish folk with a glitching hard drive — wry songs, warped tape, tradition run through a broken laptop on purpose.
Sun City Girls' guitar mystic — flamenco, raga, and surf in one restless hand, improvisation as travelogue.
Snuggle
Deptford's communal jazz ritual — horns, chants, and South London uplift, a weekly session grown into a movement.
Leeds's dub-jazz seven-piece — sub-bass warmth under velvet vocals, headphone music that fills a field, cinematic low-end played fully live.
Saharan desert-blues caravan — Tamasheq anthems of exile and pride, hypnotic guitar circles under open sky.
Bristol's hushed jazz-ambient miniatures — trip-hop's gentlest descendants, small songs that rewire a room's attention, quiet music with total gravity.
Melbourne guitar-pop with Strokes-y snap — Australia's word-of-mouth favorite, tight songs played loose, garage-pop craft beyond their years.
Welsh garage-pop machine — two-minute songs, endless charm, home-crowd advantage, and a work rate that shames most bands.
Gareth Bonello's Welsh-language folk — riverbank fingerstyle and hiraeth, tradition carried gently forward, one of Cardiff's quietest treasures.
Brighton's ritualistic folk-punk coven — violin, drums, and wild-eyed harmony, part gig and part rite, folk horror you can dance to.
Welsh-London jangle-punk — Richard Thompson melodies at Buzzcocks speed, folk-club craft in a punk frame, the revival's sharpest writers.
Tracey
Big-hearted showman-rock — a bar-band Springsteen for the group chat era, played with total sincerity, showmanship as its own kind of honesty.
Reverb-drenched art-rock — two guitars arguing beautifully, motorik patience under the haze, built for repeat listens.
Userband
Melbourne soft-pop sunshine — strings, Rhodes, and easy grace, '70s studio-pop craft revived gently, sunshine engineered in the studio.
Manchester's buzzy new guitar gang — scrappy, hook-first, rising fast on word of mouth, and the hype is earning itself.
The headliners
Four Tet — Kieran Hebden's glowing folk-tronic universe — patient builds that hit like revelation, two decades of textures that make dance music feel handmade.
Wolf Alice — Mercury-winning UK alt-rock — from whispered folk to full-throated fuzz in one set, Ellie Rowsell commanding every register.
Wilco — America's great art-rock institution — 'Yankee Hotel Foxtrot' to now, endlessly generous live, Nels Cline solos included.
Mogwai — Glasgow's volume worshippers — instrumental post-rock that goes from whisper to avalanche, thirty years of earplugs earned.
Up-and-comers to catch early
Westside Cowboy — Manchester's buzzy new guitar gang: scrappy, hook-first, rising fast.
Lime Garden — Brighton's wonky-pop quartet: groove-led indie with a wink.
The New Eves — Brighton's ritualistic folk-punk coven: violin, drums, and wild-eyed harmony.
Eaves Wilder — North London's wry indie-pop prodigy: glitter over grit.
Sailor Honeymoon — Seoul garage-punk cool: bratty hooks with art-scene bite.
The Bug Club — Welsh garage-pop machine: two-minute songs, endless charm, home-crowd advantage.
Other acts worth planning around
The Beta Band — Scotland's beloved kitchen-sink psychedelicists, reunited: 'Dry the Rain' at last.
Sparks — The Mael brothers' 50-year art-pop conspiracy, wittier than everyone, still ahead.
- Charlotte Church's Pop Dungeon — The Welsh voice-of-an-angel leading a maximalist covers party: pure joy, zero irony.
Scientist — Dub's mixing-desk prodigy: King Tubby's heir rewiring bass in real time.
Ata Kak — The lost-tape legend himself: hyperactive Twi rap-highlife joy.
Cate Le Bon — Welsh art-pop's crooked genius: angular, elegant, home-turf hero.
- Roni Size + MC Fearless — New Forms and beyond: Bristol jungle royalty with a Mercury on the shelf.
The lineup by day
Thursday lineup (August 20)
Mogwai, Lime Garden, Charlotte Church's Pop Dungeon, Nana Benz Du Togo, CVC, Friko + 2 more
Friday lineup (August 21)
Wilco, Aldous Harding, Baxter Dury, Dry Cleaning, Shame, Sprints + 23 more
Saturday lineup (August 22)
Four Tet, The Beta Band, Celeste, Cate Le Bon, Nation Of Language, Mannequin Pussy + 23 more
Sunday lineup (August 23)
Wolf Alice, Cat Power, Sparks, Wednesday, Anna Calvi, Tricky + 23 more
Green Man 2026 lineup FAQ
When is Green Man 2026?
August 20–23, 2026: Thursday through Sunday.
Where does Green Man take place?
The Glanusk Estate in the Brecon Beacons (Bannau Brycheiniog), Wales, a natural mountain amphitheatre.
Who is headlining Green Man 2026?
Four Tet, Wolf Alice, Wilco, and Mogwai.
How many acts are playing?
This page tracks the 96-act core music bill; the full site program adds Rising-stage newcomers, DJs, comedy, and science talks.
When do set times come out?
Green Man publishes its day splits and set times on its site closer to August. Save your acts on LineupScout and they'll become a personal schedule the moment times land.
How do I figure out which acts I'd actually like?
Tell the finder at the top of this page a few bands you love, and it'll match you with your must-see sets, with reasons why.
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