I Popped Off, I Complained, I Got Sunburnt: Primavera Sound Barcelona 2025

Right then. Let’s get this straight. My sunburn is just starting to peel, a flaky reminder of three days spent under a relentless Barcelona sun. That, a tote bag full of Schwarzkopf products, a freshly customised Levi’s tee, and a €100 Vueling voucher are the main souvenirs from my annual pilgrimage to Primavera Sound. The voucher was just pure, random luck. It’s a pretty perfect summary of the Primavera experience: a chaotic, slightly absurd collision of corporate presence and raw joy.

Primavera Sound 2025 (Photo Credit: Christian Bertrand)

This is a festival that has earned its reputation. Selling out in January, five months before a note was played, shows the trust it has built over 23 editions. This isn’t just a three-day event; it’s a week-long city-wide takeover, from the opening parties at Sala Apolo to the closing electronic marathon of Primavera Bits x Nitsa. The main event, though, is the Parc del Fòrum itself. A temporary city on the industrial coastline, its fourteen stages feel like a Brutalist playground under a Mediterranean sky, populated by nearly 290,000 of us from 136 countries. The festival’s “Nobody is Normal” protocol isn’t just a slogan; it’s a tangible ethos you see in the fearless fashion and casual acceptance. There’s an ease here that feels worlds away from other major festivals, as everyone tries to solve the puzzle of a schedule boasting over 220 shows.

Thursday: A Festival Haul

Thursday wasn’t just the first day; it was a festival in itself, stacked with so many heavy hitters it felt almost cruel. The afternoon began with the dreamy, sun-drenched guitars of beabadoobee. On stage, she has a quiet confidence, leading her band through a set that perfectly captures the current 90s revival. Her charisma is undeniable, a blend of Stephen Malkmus’s laconic cool and Aimee Mann’s pop phrasing that had her very young, very devoted legion of fans sighing along before erupting during a raucous “She Plays Bass”. A perfect, hazy start. Later, the sophisti-pop texture of Cassandra Jenkins, sax included, sounded so sincere and perfectly suited to the sea breeze. It felt like a moment of pure, cinematic serendipity.

Primavera Sound 2025 (Photo Credit: Christian Bertrand)

The artistic core of the day, and maybe the entire festival, belonged to FKA twigs. After a string of cancellations, finally seeing her walk on stage felt like a privilege. Her performance was a total rejection of the pop star rulebook; a study in strength and vulnerability on a stark stage, armed with just a metal scaffold. This was theatre, a narrative that focused entirely on her body and voice. The show’s most indelible image was a sword choreography against a red background during “Numbers,” a scene worthy of a Tarantino film. To witness this stark performance, and then consider the roaring energy of IDLES happening elsewhere, was to understand the sheer breadth of Primavera. Joe Talbot is a magnetic, snarling presence, conducting a mosh pit that heaved like a single organism, their dedication of “Danny Nedelko” to the people of Palestine feeling less like a platitude and more like a core tenet.

Beabadoobee (Photo Credit: Sharon Lopez)

In stark contrast, the cerebral bliss of Spiritualized revisiting their masterpiece Pure Phasewas a spiritual-narcotic tableau of electric tension and swelling brass against the sea breeze. Digging into the smaller print revealed gems like Magdalena Bay, whose prism of influences from Gwen Stefani to ABBA radiated an infectious, novel energy driven by Mica Tenembaum’s sheer charisma. Then there was Nourished by Time, whose baritone soundscapes felt like an exercise in aural acuity, tracing lines between The Avalanches, Outkast, and The Blue Nile to create something utterly unique.

To cap it all off, the main stage hosted the weekend’s true international exclusive: the one-and-only European performance of Charli XCX & Troye Sivan’s SWEAT tour. If last year’s Primavera was the birth of the brat summer phenomenon, this felt like its coronation and closing ceremony rolled into one. The concept? A dual headliner show, with two artists riding the waves of their respective miracle years. Troye, celebrating his 30th birthday on stage, delivered his polished, evil-twink performance, an escalation of scorching choreography through hits like “Got Me Started” and the feverish thump of “Rush”. But let’s be honest, it felt familiar. For anyone who saw him last year, it was essentially the same show. A competent but unsurprising victory lap.

FKA twigs (Photo Credit: Clara Orozco)

The real story was Charli. After a Coachella set that felt, for me, a little phoned-in, this was a staggering return to form (did she read my review?). The moment the flowing green curtain dropped, she gave it her absolute all in a marathon of running, jumping, and rolling across the stage. With several outfit changes, she dispatched the club-ready gospel of brat, with the abrasive synth stabs of “Von Dutch” and the anthemic pulse of “Club classics” and “360” sending the crowd into a frenzy. The audience, a sea of the green brat-themed t-shirts that had been haunting me all day, was a convulsive organism for Charli, only to become noticeably more subdued for Troye’s sections. Their sets alternated until they finally met for the supreme nostalgia of “1999” and “Talk talk”, which served as the grand finale.

But as good as the headliners were, my Thursday was defined by two extremes. First, the surprising lull of Jamie xx. His DJ set was fine, I guess. An average run of his own classics that felt safe. The jolt I was looking for came later, in a pulsating cavern of darkness, in the form of Brutalismus 3000. This was the best show of the night, no question. This wasn’t a gig; it was an exorcism. The Berlin duo unleashed a holy torrent of sound. A collision of snarling, distorted German vocals and relentless, punishing gabber kicks that felt like it was tearing a hole in the fabric of the festival.

charli xcx & Troye Sivan (Photo Credit: Henry Redcliffe)

Friday: I “Popped Off”

Friday arrived with the promise of powerful women and searing guitars. My day began with a moment of stillness. While waiting for a t-shirt to be customised, a voice cut through the noise. On the adjacent Levi’s Plaza stage, a young artist named Chloe Qisha held a small but captivated audience with just an acoustic guitar. It was a hushed, soulful performance, a welcome antidote to the festival’s grand scale. Discovering an artist this way is a rare gift, a reminder that the most memorable moments are often found in the quietest corners.

From there, it was a short walk to the main stage for Wolf Alice. They are masters of the switch from ethereal, shoe gaze haze to snarling punk fury. Frontwoman Ellie Rowsell is a magnetic force, her presence shifting from a whisper on “The Last Man on Earth” to a visceral scream during “Giant Peach”. They are a breathtakingly tight live band, cementing their status as one of the most vital rock acts of their generation. The day continued its run of exceptional guitar-led music with HAIM’s breezy, sun-drenched rock, and the raw power of The Jesus Lizard, which feels like a history lesson delivered with a punch to the gut. In contrast, the witty charm of Wet Leg had the massive crowd shouting along to every sardonic line of “Chaise Longe”.

Brutalismus 3000 (Photo Credit: Sergio Albert)

The pop contingent was fiercely represented by Sabrina Carpenter. Making her much-hyped Spanish debut, this was a case study in modern, major-league pop production: a slick, multi-levelled affair with intricate choreography and social media-ready moments. High-energy, tightly choreographed numbers like “Taste” and “Please Please Please” were delivered with precision, but the real highlight for the devoted fans was the now-iconic improvised outro for “Nonsense”. Her custom rhyme for the Barcelona crowd, a playful tribute to tapas and Park Güell, was a perfect touch that showcased her personality beyond her pop-star polish. The crowd, needless to say, was intense. So intense, in fact, that I distinctly heard someone next to me earnestly screaming “KATRINA CARPETER”, a beautifully chaotic moment of fan devotion.

HAIM (Photo Credit: Gisela Jané)

As the main stages quietened, the night wasn’t over. The festival’s electronic heart started beating faster, with the relentless, old-skool jungle and rave energy of 4am Kru providing a perfectly sweaty, hands-in-the-air finale.

Saturday: A Portrait of a Girl in Need of Aloe Vera

By Saturday, a kind of beautiful delirium had set in. The sunburn was real, every muscle ached, and I started the day so late I only just managed to make it to the site for Fontaines D.C. Stumbling towards the main stage, feeling every bit the worse for wear, their sound hit me first. It was a performance of brooding, poetic intensity; the perfect, jarring re-entry into the festival’s chaos. This set was all about their brilliant, challenging new album, Romance. On stage, they successfully translated its recorded ambient textures into something visceral and muscular, a wall of sound that was both beautiful and brutal. Frontman Grian Chatten paced the stage like a caged panther, his delivery of “Starburster” feeling less like a song and more like a feverish incantation that seemed to pull the energy right out of the air.

Sabrina Carpenter (Photo Credit: Sharon Lopez)

To finally, the queen arrival for her European coronation. Chappell Roan’s meteoric rise over the last year, especially with so few shows in Europe, has been a true cultural phenomenon, and this felt like its explosive physical manifestation. Taking the stage in full drag-inspired regalia, she delivered an absolute masterclass in camp, theatricality, and pure pop joy. It was a community gathering. The crowd, a sea of devoted fans dressed in their own brilliant interpretations of her iconic outfits, treated the event like a religious experience. The energy during “Red Wine Supernova” was fervent, but the collective, cathartic scream-along to her massive hit “Good Luck, Babe!” was on another level entirely. It was a genuinely moving thing to witness: a safe, joyous space where a new pop icon and her adoring fanbase celebrated each other.

Fontaines D.C. (Photo Credit: Eric Pamies)

But as the sun began to dip, casting long, dramatic shadows across the industrial landscape, the night belonged to the titans. The UK’s own Central Cee brought his signature drill energy, and the massive response to “Doja” showed how global his reach has become. Then, for a complete tonal shift, Confidence Man arrived like a shot of pure adrenaline. Describing their show feels inadequate. A whirlwind of high-camp energy, champagne-spraying, and ridiculously fun dance moves. Their costume changes were a show in themselves, going from veiled beekeeper-like outfits to glowing, light-up rave gear in the blink of an eye. It’s pure, unadulterated joy.

Chappel Roan (Photo Credit: Clara Orozco)

And then, the grand finale. LCD Soundsystem. Seeing this band close out a festival is a rite of passage. Their songs about aging, friendship, and losing your edge in a world that demands you stay sharp resonate on a deeply personal level, especially after three days of festival endurance. There’s a moment during the slow, eight-minute burn of “Dance Yrself Clean”, when the beat finally drops, that you can feel the collective catharsis of 60,000 tired, sunburnt, and ecstatic people releasing the last of their energy. It’s a sonic baptism. By the time the simple, repeating piano line of “All My Friends” began, I looked around at the faces of strangers and felt that profound, unifying sense of community that makes you forget all the grievances that came before.

Central Cee (Photo Credit: Eric Pamies)

Late-night connoisseurs were further rewarded with a masterful set from Joy Orbison, whose cerebral, genre-fluid selections provided a perfectly British counterpoint to the day’s explosive energy.

I’m Polish, So I Must Complain…

So, the music was often sublime. That’s the truth at the heart of Primavera Sound. The schedule, despite the sheer volume of artists, felt genuinely achievable, a masterclass in flow compared to the frantic, FOMO-inducing overlaps at Coachella this year. The atmosphere was another highlight. A friendly, international crowd united by a shared purpose, making the vast concrete expanse feel like a genuine community.

LCD Soundsytem (Photo Credit: Sergio Albert)

But for every transcendent musical high, there was a practical, logistical low. Let’s call them points of friction. The €1 cup deposit system became a running joke, so bafflingly inconsistent was its application. Sometimes reusing your cup earned a discount, sometimes it didn’t, and actually getting your deposit back at the end of the night was a quest worthy of mythology. The food, a standout feature last year, felt merely okay this time. While it catered to all intolerances, the quality seemed to have dipped, a likely casualty of the immense pressure that comes with a completely sold-out festival.

More pressing, however, were the welfare provisions. While I saw some facilities, I definitely found myself wishing for more free water refill stations and complimentary SPF dispensers. Having more of these readily available throughout the vast site, like they are at Coachella and most UK festivals, would make a huge difference in battling the heat. And while the journey to the Fòrum is part of the experience, the transport home could be improved. Getting back to the city at 4 AM required a degree of patience and prayer that even the most euphoric set couldn’t entirely provide.

Primavera Sound 2025 (Photo Credit: Christian Bertrand)

It’s impossible not to weigh the experience against the cost, so let’s be clear. The festival ticket itself offers almost unbelievable value. For the sheer number of world-class artists you get to see, it’s a bargain. The real financial sting comes from everything else. Barcelona, during Primavera week, is relentlessly pricey, and flights and a hotel from London can easily push the final budget into the same territory as my entire week-long villa stay for Coachella. And that is the beautiful, maddening contradiction at the heart of Primavera Sound. It’s a festival of exquisite art housed in a framework of logistical friction; an event that will burn your skin but soothe your soul.

Get Your 2026 Tickets

And just like that, before the sunburn has even had a chance to peel, the festival is already looking to the future. In their classic, relentless fashion, they’ve already announced the dates for 2026: mark your calendars for June 4th to 6th.

Primavera Sound 2025 (Photo Credit: Sergio Albert)

The Early Bird tickets are already on sale until June 19th. At €265 plus fees, the price is, frankly, a steal for a lineup of this calibre in this day and age. The usual drill applies: there’s a special price for 2025 attendees (check your AccessTicket app), a general early bird for everyone else, and the coveted discount for Barcelona residents. A word of warning: they go ridiculously fast.

On a final note, a massive thank you to Henry and his Good Machine team for the press accreditation. It was a beautiful, chaotic whirlwind. Maybe next year we’ll finally catch up for that Aperol Spritz!

Primavera Sound 2025 (Photo Credit: Christian Bertrand)