Sunburnt, hungover, covered in glitter and mud, and still finding plectrums in places we daren’t mention – The Riff Report Crew has officially made it back down the mountain.
Steelhouse Festival 2025? Proper lush, mun. But also… absolutely feral. 😵💫 Let us walk you through what the hell just happened – once we finish scraping the mud off our Docs and the regret off our faces.
🍻 THE HANGOVERS HIT HARDER THAN BLACK STONE CHERRY’S RIFFS
We came. We saw. We drank seven pints of “mystery cider” before midday.
By Saturday night, one of us was passionately arguing with a food truck about chips being “a fundamental right of the people.” By Sunday? We were collectively curled up under a gazebo like wet festival gremlins muttering about electrolytes and “the old gods of rock.” 💀
We brought electrolyte tablets.
We did not bring self-control.
We regret nothing.
🌞 SUNBURN? MATE, WE LOOK LIKE LOBSTERS IN BAND TEES
Steelhouse weather is either biblical rain or Apocalypse Now sun. This year? It was the latter. Imagine being cooked alive on a mountaintop, while also trying to scream along to Saxon.
Sun cream? Ha! One of us used a Greggs sausage roll wrapper as “reflective skin defence.” That’s the level of decision-making we’re talking about. 🥵
We now look like Neapolitan ice cream: red arms, pale chests, black t-shirts. Rock on.
🤘 THE RIFFS? LOUDER THAN OUR INTERNAL SCREAMING
From the opening chord to the final firework, Steelhouse brought the noise. Our ears are still ringing and we’re not even mad. Here’s a brief rundown of our festival highlights:
Friday: We arrived hyped, underhydrated, and already slightly sunburnt. One tent pole broke. We blamed it on Kira Mac’s energy. Fair. Saturday: We moshed, we cried, we lost a shoe. The Treatment treated us alright and Those Damn Crows summoned the Welsh gods themselves. 🐦🔥 Sunday: Somehow still alive. Skindred tore the mountain a new one, and yes, the Newport helicopter was deployed. Repeatedly. We’re still dizzy.
Full band reviews coming soon once we find the notebook someone threw into the crowd during Airbourne.
📸 PHOTO & VIDEO DUMP: COMING TO A SOCIAL FEED NEAR YOU
We’ve got:
✅ Drunken selfies
✅ Someone air-guitaring with a baguette
✅ A beautiful stranger dressed as a Viking shouting “SLAYER!” at a bin
✅ At least four band members we scared by yelling “WE LOVE YOU!” mid-solo
Give us a minute to edit out the finger over the lens and the accidental 14-minute video of the floor, and we’ll post it all up. Promise.
💬 THE CROWD? UNHINGED. AKA: OUR PEOPLE
Steelhouse crowds are something else. One minute you’re sharing a cider with a bloke dressed as Freddie Mercury, the next you’re forming a human chain to rescue someone’s flip-flop from a mosh pit swamp.
Special shout-out to:
The guy who climbed a bin for a better view of Florence Black and yelled “THIS IS MY MOUNTAIN NOW!” Whoever brought the inflatable unicorn and crowd-surfed it like a hero The absolute legend in a leather kilt handing out Parma Violets at 2AM
Only in Wales, mun. 🏴
🔥 SO WHAT’S NEXT?
The Steelhouse blues are real. The tan lines are tragic. The memories are fuzzy but iconic.
We’re back in the Riff Report office now (aka: the pub), going through 600 videos, two voice notes we accidentally sent to our boss, and a single dirty wellington boot that none of us claims.
Keep an eye on our socials this week for the full photo & video dump – you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll question our life choices.
Until next year, mountain…
C’MON BUTT – ROCK ON. 🤘🏔️🔥
#Steelhouse2025 #TheRiffReport #WelshAsRock #SunburntAndLoud #ProperJobFestival
Diolch for the chaos 🖤
