LIDO 2026

Reviewing a festival can often feel like a slightly bizarre endeavour, given the very different avenues an experience can go down due to the choices each individual makes. In an environment where we can all choose our own adventures, is it ever really possible to give an objective view of the whole offering, or produce an account that others find accurate or representative of their own? While this could be the starting point for a deep philosophical discussion about the dynamics of festival attendance, it’s also a proposition that seems to disproportionately affect the events hosted in Victoria Park — for better, and sometimes for worse.

One thing is without question — both All Points East and Lido have an uncanny ability to consistently put together absolutely stacked, expansive lineups full of genuine treasures throughout the day. This standalone version of Lido — which launched to great fanfare last year with a four-day programme — was no different on that front. Having got there early and shaken off the thoroughly discombobulating feeling of entering an almost entirely deserted site with strong post-apocalyptic vibes, I wandered over to the imaginatively named Second Stage just in time for MADMADMAD. Like a gateway drug for the eclecticism the rest of the lineup promised, they provided a great starting point for the different musical tribes drawn to attend. Fusing electronic and jazz influences, the set impressively handled a delicate balance between the type of easy, chilled accessibility needed at that time of day and the interesting, experimental flourishes that elevated it beyond most stage-opening fodder. The set was difficult to pin down: twitchy, rhythmic, slightly unruly, with the constant sense of several different ideas trying to occupy the same song — but in the best possible way.

A short walk around the rest of the site afterwards did little to quell the post-apocalyptic vibes, with a host of bars, stalls and sponsor activation experiences (or whatever the correct marketing term is) from All Points East very noticeably cordoned off behind oppressive barriers. An unexpected torrential downpour swiftly ushered us back into the tent, just in time for Marie Davidson — an act I’ve previously written glowingly about for this very site. But faced with an extremely sparse crowd in the middle of the afternoon, the set struggled to reach the heights she’s usually capable of. The beats still resonated with a spellbinding, raw, fluid sensuality — but without the energy of the crowd to feed off, Davidson’s trademark captivating performance fell flat and failed to hit the high notes I anticipated.

It’s not a problem that seems to affect the next act — drum and bass’s greatest genre bending talent, Calibre. Perhaps freed by the lack of an expectant crowd, he fully leant into his reputation for experimenting with tempos and styles most of his contemporaries would shy away from. The result was a set that sounded unique, fresh and about as far from the type of derivative nonsense most younger drum and bass DJs roll out nowadays. By easing the set through such a wide palette of electronic music while somehow remaining rooted in his core genre, the grand master managed to serve up something accessible and relaxed while also being challenging and intriguing, and only left me wishing he had a much longer slot to enjoy.

Good day-festival lineups wait for no man, so we had to duck out early and hotfoot it over to the main stage for my main draw of the day — the legendary Kelis. The time for subtlety was brought to an abrupt close as soon as a snippet of ‘Caught Out There’ beckoned her to the stage, the rallying call for what turned out to be a solid hour packed to the rafters with absolute bangers. Backed by just a live drummer, a backing singer and a somewhat cringe-inducing DJ, Kelis rattled through all her biggest hits and collaborations in a manner few others could ever manage. The songs require no explanation, and the opening bars of most of them prompt more crowd reaction than most high-end expensive production tricks could ever dream of. After more than two decades at the top of the game, Kelis remains an extraordinarily commanding performer, capable of making her wide-ranging back catalogue feel immediate rather than worthy of a place in a museum. Her voice remains sultry, husky and deeply tuneful, and the physical confidence she emanates is magnetic. She clearly knows how to make all of the big moments hit hard, giving her plethora of catchy hooks as much opportunity to shine as herself, and by the time the set climaxes with the stunning ‘Acapella’, the whole audience had been given the perfect example of an “all killer, no filler” set.

There’s barely time to catch my breath before moving across site again for more sets from some of dance music’s biggest talents. Theo Parrish and Moodymann offer something altogether deeper and less hurried. Their back-to-back set had the looseness that comes from booking two geniuses who understand there is no prize for getting somewhere quickly. The rolling groove was allowed to breathe and evolve at a refreshing pace not seen at any other point during the day, probably assisted by the fact they were granted three hours at the decks as opposed to the customary one on offer to others. I was drawn back to the tent a few times, and on each return it felt like I hadn’t missed a thing without becoming repetitive or dull — feeling like the only “proper” DJ set of the day rather than a race against the clock to weave a narrative and show off all your skills at the turntables.

Kelly Lee Owens set about solving the conundrum of those shortened sets — playing to an audience almost certainly not there specifically to see you — in a very different way. It’s a brave move to lean heavily into the mainstream when you are one of techno’s biggest current stars, but in this context the gamble definitely paid off. Delivering a high-octane set packed with dance classics and her own hits, KLO’s impeccable mixing skills, crowd engagement and her innate sense of the right time to unleash a drop truly shone through. The result was a ridiculously fun, energetic set that got everybody moving, singing along and bonding in the very best way.

Fairly happy with the choices made and the way the day had panned out, we made our way along with everybody else on site to watch the headliner, Maribou State. And this is where that philosophical point we started with returns. At Victoria Park, this is the point when the ability to choose your own adventure — a key cornerstone of the festival experience — comes to an abrupt end. All stages shut except the main stage, and you are forced to watch the headliner or give up. No more agonising choices, no more going where the wind takes you, no more stumbling across something unexpected and delightful because you’re just bimbling about between acts. It’s time to put up or shut up. And after the type of acts that had already graced the stage, topping that in an appropriate fashion was always going to be some feat for electronic music’s safest, most sanitised act.

That’s not to imply they didn’t pull out every stop to try to achieve it. Everything was enlarged: the lighting, the visuals, the arrangements, the crescendos. Even the band, with large orchestral and choral sections added in an attempt to elevate the sound to levels impossible on record. There was a conspicuous attempt to turn atmosphere into spectacle, to make this a moment and crowning achievement fitting of headlining one of London’s great parks.

The problem is that it was all just a bit bland and repetitive.

Now, don’t get me wrong — I like Maribou State. I’ve listened to their albums countless times, seen them live and DJ before, and recommended them to many of my electronic-sceptic friends and acquaintances. I’d call myself a fan. But on this stage it just really didn’t work for me, possibly because their music doesn’t support this scale of presentation. Maribou State’s sound has always traded in tasteful, uncomplicated melancholy: electronic textures softened by live instrumentation, understated and catchy grooves, vocals that seem designed to float rather than punch through. On record and in a much more stripped-back live setting, that restraint can be an asset — but here it felt like a limitation.

The songs built, but the promised release rarely arrived. Orchestral arrangements surged and swelled without becoming more revealing. Moments that ought to have felt euphoric instead felt thoroughly competent. The production repeatedly told the audience that something enormous should be happening, while the music itself remained stubbornly polite. The result was a curious kind of blandness born of so much effort to avoid blandness. There were grand gestures everywhere, yet the emotional connection failed to ignite. Enlargement was mistaken for improvement, eradicating any distinction between tracks and leaving the set feeling repetitive and slightly numbing.

This wasn’t a disastrous headline set. It was something more frustrating: an adequate one. There were moments of genuine beauty, and the crowd — while very small — was certainly receptive. But the performance never quite earned the grandeur being projected onto it, and when you’ve forced everybody to make this the climax of their day, you risk their lasting memory being an average one that pushes out all the more positive experiences that came before.