Mutations Festival Pt. 1 | Big Special, Skydaddy and Many More Take Over Brighton

Mutations Festival

Multiple Venues, Brighton

7th-8th November 2025

Photography by Zosia Kibalo

Zosia Kibalo

Photographer trying to capture all the colours of the world one gig at a time. I love experimenting with my photos, both digitally and old school arts and crafts style. I also find my voice through writing about art in any shape or form. Catch me hopping around grassroots venues bopping my head and camera to some good tunes!

Brighton’s Mutations Festival becomes home to the UK’s most exciting new bands over a weekend of discovery

When deciding what bands to choose from the stacked up lineup I made a point of avoiding those I knew anything about. I let my gut feeling lead me completely – I was in the mood to discover and be surprised. And not to spoil the next few hundred words, but the festival delivered in spades: a delicious, unhinged mix of creativity that I devoured every step of the way.

It all kicked off with The Orielles, who served up a set that hooked me from the very start. The guitars and vocals tugged at your heart, while the drums crept in like a growing storm, bizarre synth sounds bouncing around with layers of reverb, each element adding a layer of texture to what might otherwise have been simple indie-pop. Messy? Sure. But in the right way – energetic, unpredictable, never boring.

Next up, Teethe took what The Orielles hinted at and pushed it into full motion. Their sound had this effortless motion – a sense of swing and tide, every instrument and voice weaving into a gentle wall of sound that felt like a seaside breeze drifting in from Brighton Pier. I could imagine their songs blending perfectly with the crash of cold waves on the beach that was right outside of the venue.

Then came Domina, the kind of band that sounds like they were born inside a retro video game. Funky, synth-heavy and just the right side of weird, their Moog and keyboard setup, hooked up to an equally wild pedal, created the sensation of floating through pixelated stars. The high, assured vocals added to the illusion of weightlessness, like levelling up in a neon-lit galaxy. The vocalist’s star jumper perhaps helped the illusion, but the music did it all on its own.

PollyFromTheDirt was the only act I bent my rules for a little. I shazamed one of his songs at a gig months ago but never dove into his music so was thrilled to see him on the lineup. Normally, I’m not a fan of artists who rely on backtracks, but Polly was a different breed. It was one of those rare one-person acts that made the whole room go quiet in awe. He layered live vocals through a maze of effects, building intricate, emotional soundscapes that felt both familiar and otherworldly. His voice, tender, warm, and full of heart, wrapped around each song like a comforting spell.

I thought I had plenty of time to catch two of the last acts I had on my list that day but when I finally squeezed into Adult DVD’s set at The Dust, the place was rammed. To be honest, if I didn’t have my magic press pass, I wouldn’t be able to get in at all. The crowd was buzzing before a note was even played, and the moment the band appeared, the room exploded. They owned the stage – wild, sweaty, infectious. Charisma by the bucketload, riffs that hit like adrenaline, and a crowd that turned into one big, grinning, dancing organism. I’d have stayed to dance longer, but the next stage was calling.

The Dry Cleaning headline set brought a different energy: sharp, deadpan, post-punk cool. Guitars clashed and twisted around spoken-word vocals that felt both detached and intense. The vocalist’s expression – unreadable, almost uncomfortable amplified the intensity of the band. Unfortunately, the mixing didn’t do them justice; the vocals were buried beneath the band, even when I was standing front and centre. As I was passing some fans in the smoking area, I could hear them airing out their grievances, but the essence of Dry Cleaning still came through: intelligent, biting, weirdly hypnotic.

The next morning I rolled back into Brighton on my 8am coach, and spent a while daydreaming on the beach and picking sea shells. Thistle was my caffeine substitute – a jolt of energy that snapped me back to life after four hours’ sleep. And then, purely because I couldn’t resist the name, I found myself watching The Man, The Myth & The Meat Slab. A warm voice, gentle guitar, playful whistling, under the firefly lights of the Folklore Room, he turned the set into an intimate hug. Between songs, he told stories and cracked jokes like we were all old friends. It was charming, chaotic, and incredibly human.

Now I NEED to talk about Skydaddy. What a revelation. Accompanied by a sprawling band, he masterfully orchestrated the set. Instruments came and went – apples, a strange looking mouth thing, mysterious shakers – each adding an offbeat colour to the sound. Yet, somehow, it never tipped into chaos. He guided us through it all with calm confidence, as if saying, “Just trust me, it will all make sense in the end.” When he stepped into the crowd with his guitar for the final song, you could feel the entire room holding its breath. It felt a little like I was in a theatre, gripping the edge of my seat, desperately not wanting the curtains to draw at the end of the act. Sadly all comes to an end eventually.

As the sun began to dip, I found myself at The Revenge to see Coilguns, and honestly, I wasn’t ready for what happened next. The vocalist started the set by shaking hands with the crowd, thanking everyone for being there. “Even if they’re bad, I can’t hate them now!” someone joked beside me. But there was no need: they were phenomenal. Within minutes, the singer was screaming into a kick drum, climbing amps, flinging himself around in joyous chaos. It was unhinged in the most wholesome way imaginable. Like watching a lovable cartoon character front a hardcore band. By the end, everyone leaving the venue was glowing, repeating the same sentiment: What the hell was that and when can we watch it again?

At this point, I’m not gonna lie, I was knackered, so I parked myself at Patterns for the final run. Waldo’s Gift played first, the only instrumental act I saw all weekend, taking us on a melodic journey through time and space. Their music darted between jazz, math rock, and electronic improvisation with an Aphex Twin-level madness that somehow still made sense. As the drummer told us, their band formed a day before their first ever gig and that origin story could not be more fitting for the type of performance they put on. It felt alive, spontaneous; I truly could not predict any of their moves but I also found myself loving everything they put down.

Then came Good Health Good Wealth – a two-man band oozing cheeky confidence, all winks and swagger. Their tongue-in-cheek lyrics bounced over bright, addictive hooks. Their set was tight, joyful, and playfully self-aware.

Finally, Big Special closed out my festival. By that point I was running on pure adrenaline, my mind teetering somewhere between exhaustion and euphoria, but by the time they hit the stage, the fog lifted. The drums crashed like machinery at full tilt, grounding the whole room in rhythm, while the vocalist commanded the stage with magnetic force and unfiltered emotion. Their sound fused industrial noise, punk poetry, and the raw honesty of the everyday grind. What truly struck me was how easily rage turned to softness, how vulnerability crept in behind clenched teeth. Looking at the pair, I wouldn’t have expected that sort of performance, yet for one last time that weekend, I was genuinely surprised.

One of the venues, the Folklore Room, had a hidden slogan at the back that read: “This is music, how it should be.” And after two days of discovery, sweat, and absolute sonic joy, that’s exactly how I felt. Seeing fourteen bands I’d never encountered before, I was filled with pride to be part of this strange, beautiful little world – one where no matter how odd you might seem to the outside, you’re safe exploring whatever floats your boat – even naming your project The Man The Myth & The Meat Slab.