Green Man is more than a music festival

Nestled in the hills of the Brecon Beacons, Green Man is a festival so deeply connected to Wales that it appears to grow from the landscape itself. This is most striking at the Mountain Stage, where rolling green hills and wooded slopes stretch towards the peak of Table Mountain. It’s the kind of backdrop any artist could only dream of. 

This year, though, the view looks different. The usually lush hillsides are brittle and scorched underfoot, still bearing the scars of the wildfires that swept across Wales the week before. For the first time in Green Man’s history, the giant wicker effigy that gives the festival its name won’t be set alight, as the country’s drought raised fears of sparking further wildfires. And yet, Green Man’s spirit burned brighter than ever. 

I’ve been going to the festival since I was five-years-old. I could always rely on those four days in August to offer an escape from the rest of the world, a suspended reality where the rhythms of ordinary life give way to mountain air and late-night dance sessions. Back then, it was a few hundred people gathered for some old-fashioned folk. Nearly 20 years on, I’ve watched Green Man evolve into the 25,000-capacity event it is today, drawing artists and makers from around the globe while somehow remaining entirely independent.

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At the heart of that independence is Fiona Stewart, Green Man’s owner and the only woman in the UK with controlling ownership of a large music festival. ​“Green Man has never been run like other festivals. There’s a lot of freedom with curation, which is unusual,” Stewart says. ​“We have this freedom through lack of sponsorship.” 

It’s autonomy that ensures the festival’s Welsh roots remain central. ​“The ethos of Green Man is very Celtic,” she explains. ​“It’s fun, affectionate, slightly naughty. There’s a lot of the personality of Wales in what we do.” She’s careful not to platform Welsh artists in a way that feels merely tokenistic. ​“Any Welsh artist is there because they’re good enough. We’ve been asked to have Welsh stages, but we’d never do that because it would be very damaging to their careers.”

Stewart’s commitment extends through the Green Man Trust, the festival’s charitable arm, which has been channelling resources back into Wales since 2013. ​“It’s the third least funded country in Europe for the arts,” she says. But their work goes well beyond music. Alongside its Green Man Rising competition for emerging talent, the Trust delivers a training programme with Cardiff-based charity Oasis, giving refugees front-of-house and stewarding experience at the festival. This is part of a wider ambition for Stewart. ​“We’re not in a place of security for festivals. What we’re doing is important for Wales, it’s important for the arts,” she says. ​“If we had a permanent base, that would make a significant difference.”

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Green Man 2026 burst into life from its very first notes. Thursday kicks off with an all-Welsh line up in the Walled Garden, where Pontypridd’s CVC brings their joyous blend of ​’60s-inspired melodies and ​’80s synth-riddled disco, before Tokomololo layers Welsh-language vocals with field recordings from the Eryri mountains. Over at the Far Out, Charlotte Church’s riotous Pop Dungeon sets the tone before the night tips into Wishbone – the festival’s secret cabaret bar – where drag queens Rhys’ Pieces and Dolly Trolley serves up a feast of debauchery.

Among Thursday’s Welsh roster is Wrexham-born Polly Mackey, better known as Art School Girlfriend. Mackey has been making music for over a decade, first as part of shoegaze band Deaf Club, before going solo. Her music is now a world of shadowy synths, dream-pop textures and soft vocals, but Wales remains a constant thread. Mackey has played Green man three years running, and for her, the festival is close to sacred ground. ​“It’s like a little utopia,” she says. ​“It’s the one festival I actively message my agent asking for.” Mackey even shot the artwork for her most recent album, Lean In, in the surrounding valley. ​“It’s a testament to how good the festival is, because a lot of bands want to play despite not getting the best fee in the world. The fact that it lets the festival stay independent is really important.”

Mackey’s story reflects Green Man’s commitment to developing Welsh artists. ​“The first time I played was at midday in the Walled Garden. Then it was 4pm, now it’s 9pm. I really earned my stripes.” She points to Melin Melyn and Adwaith as proof of the current depth of Welsh talent, as well as emerging Cardiff-based artist Ivor Woods. 

That momentum is part of a wider shift. ​“Electronic music seems to be really vibrant in Wales right now, looking at Overmono and Kelly Lee Owens,” she says. ​“Wales for me growing up was a very indie scene, and now you’ve got these huge artists bringing the electronic scene to life.” Mackey recalls a conversation with mixer David Wrench, who grew up in North Wales, about the region’s forest-rave scene in the 2000s, a reminder of just how deep those roots go. ​“I would love Welsh-language music to be played on more radio stations,” she adds. ​“It’s a very political thing to preserve a language. You can evoke so much emotion through a song, even if you don’t know what’s being said.”

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Friday afternoon sees Manchester’s Westside Cowboy bring their self-described ​‘Britainica’ to the Mountain Stage, just as a glorious downpour rolls in. After months of heat and drought, the rain feels like a much-need exhale. Saturday brings the Saharan blues of Tamikrest, as well as Kora maestro Suntou Susso and his Gambian Superstars over at Chai Wallahs. I catch the start of Four Tet’s bone-rattling techno and bass, before slipping away to Celeste at the Far Out. 

Welsh Punk girl band Panic Shack bring the unruly energy required on a Sunday at any festival, demanding: ​“Who’s got my lighter / I’m gonna fight ya / It was a Clipper / I’m gonna clip ya.” Wolf Alice deliver the weekend’s show-stopping finale, as lead vocalist Ellie Rowsell commanded the entire crowd to howl at the moon, before Anna Calvi and Galway wunderkind Dove Ellis joined her for a rendition of Mazzy Star’s ​‘Fade Into You’.

Green Man has never been just a music festival, and that’s one of the reasons it’s endured. This year, I spent as much time making, moving and unwinding as I did watching sets. I whittled naturally shed deer antler using techniques inspired by Viking craftsmanship, and carved wooden mushrooms in a traditional whittling workshop. I tried hip-hop yoga, and for the first time at Green Man, sweated out the Sunday scaries in a sauna and cold plunge session. From cabaret and comedy to science installations, eco-talks and designated spaces for kids and teenagers, it is this sheer breadth that makes Green Man welcoming to all ages. 

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The festival’s on-site cinema tent, dubbed the Cinedrome, is a prime example. This year marked the first edition curated by film producer and DJ Anna Higgs. ​“It’s become a festival within a festival. People want to be shown at the Cinedrome,” she says. Craig Roberts introduces Submarine; Beth Orton sings a Marianne Faithfull song with Adrian Utley of Portishead after Broken English; DJ Cheeba performs an AV show before The Man Who Fell to Earth; and John Maclean of Beta Band introduces his first feature film Slow West. ​“It’s about trying to create a magical experience. Festivals are experiences you can’t have anywhere else,” she says.

“The emergence of Welsh-language drama and seeing a new generation learning, speaking and protecting that language has been really impressive,” Higgs explains. ​“I wanted to make sure we celebrated that.” This is reflected in the 2026 programme, which included Marc Evans’ Effi o Blaenau alongside short film showcases and panels by Ffilm Cymru and BAFTA Wales. ​“There’s an independence to the festival that is really rare these days. I don’t have anybody giving me curatorial guidelines, which is unique.”

Beyond Green Man, Wales’ festival calendar has filled out to match. Sŵn, Boia, Westival and Nawr all offer routes into a scene that no longer fits neatly under one banner, whether your taste is Welsh-language folk, forest-rave electronica, or anything in between. ​“We’re at a really interesting time in Wales, where there are lots of problems, but also real opportunity to do things differently,” says Green Man owner Stewart. ​“We’re independent. We do things our way. I really hope other organisations in Wales think like that too.”

Next year, Green Man turns 25. Given everything it’s weathered this year alone, its survival demonstrates a resilience needed now more than ever. It remains a genuinely magical way to spend four days (or a whole week with a Settler’s pass), and one that leaves a measurable difference long after it ends. I’ll be there next year, just like I have been since I was five. 

Anna Stafford is the editorial assistant at Little White Lies.

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