It hits us somewhere between the second antihistamine and the first ice cold pint of Inches. Outdoor gig season has officially begun! The breeze was just on the right side of bracing and despite the grey stretches and threat of thunder earlier in the day, the clouds held. No welly’s in sight, just cider, bucket hats and a crowd ready for to soundtrack their Saturday. Summer 2025, or “Britpop Summer”, it seems, starts with the Stereophonics.

Within the space of two songs, the tone was already set. Stereophonics weren’t here to coast on old hits, they were here to stake their claim, again, as one of Britain’s finest live acts. They opened with Vegas Two Times, a swaggering, stomping juggernaut of a track that still snarls and grooves like it’s fresh off the studio floor. It’s long been their most confident curtain-raiser and tonight it sounded downright feral. Kelly Jones wasted no time leaning into the moment, stepping right to the lip of the stage, soaking up the roar, and handing it back with a grin. You could almost see the energy transferring between him and the crowd, arms raised, phones aloft, voices already hoarse.

From grit to grace, the follow up was I Wanna Get Lost With You. Still loud, still bold, but with its own aching weight. One of the band’s most affecting later career tracks, it pulsed with intent and landed like a warm hand on the shoulder. Between these two songs, one all chest-puffed strut, the other soaked in longing the blueprint was clear: melody, muscle, and that knack for stadium sized emotion. By the time the last chorus rang out, we were already in shoulder mounted territory, arms wrapped round mates, every word sung back like scripture.

There was something quietly striking about the setting too. Huddersfield Stadium, with its sloping tree lined backdrop, felt unusually intimate for such a scale. As daylight dimmed and the forest fringe silhouetted against the dusk, it cast a kind of quiet magic. A Thousand Trees didn’t make the setlist, but the scenery made its spirit feel present. A song tied to their beginning, echoing gently in its absence.

At the centre of it all is Kelly Jones. Part rock ‘n’ roll statesman, part street poet, and still one of the most distinctive voices to ever rise from the valleys. He’s never been one for theatrics, but his presence is magnetic. That voice, still carrying the weight of backroom pubs and broken hearts, remains unshaken. At 50, he’s not reinventing the wheel, but he’s steering it with absolute control. He wears the songs like old denim. Lived in, familiar, and still cool as hell.

The set moved with the confidence of a band that knows exactly who they are. No rushing, no gimmicks. Just hit after hit, each one given room to breathe. Just Looking felt effortless, Handbags and Gladrags was treated with reverence, and Jones’s deadpan nod to Mike d’Abo, “Thanks Kelly, I can build a big fucking conservatory now” got a ripple of laughter that spread like a wave.

It’s not the only moment of wry reflection. Later in the set, Kelly shares an anecdote about supporting David Bowie on what would be the Thin White Duke’s final North American tour. Out of sheer politeness, Stereophonics kept their soundchecks short so as not to keep Bowie waiting. Eventually, Bowie turned to him and quipped, “Kelly, if you made those songs a little longer, you might be on to something.” The line draws a swell of laughter spreading through the crowd. Jones loves telling stories, it’s at the very core of his song writing and in moments like this, that instinct spills naturally into the live set. It adds a personal warmth to the night, a sense of real connection. It’s as if he’s retelling the story to his friends down the pub, only tonight, his pub is a stadium of 25,000 people.

By the time Jones picks up a ukulele to rework I Wouldn’t Believe Your Radio, the crowd is firmly under his spell. The track, in its new twanging form, becomes a highlight, unexpected, loose, and full of charm. And Traffic, another early gem from their debut, proves they’re in no short supply of beloved material. Tossed into the set with the ease of a band spoilt for choice, it draws a mass singalong as rich and full throated as anything all night.

And it’s not all about the hits. A handful of later era gems land with real force tonight, none more so than All In One Night. Built around a narrative of two strangers brought together in the midst of crisis, it grows into something huge live, atmospheric, urgent, and finished with a thunderous outro. It’s classic Jones: cinematic storytelling wrapped in melody, and impossible not to get swept up in. Tracks like Mr and Mrs Smith and C’est La Vie also slot in with ease, lapped up by the crowd and standing strong alongside the band’s more established favourites.

But it’s Mr Writer that hits the hardest. Always something of an outlier in their discography, moody, brooding, introspective, it remains one of their finest achievements. What began as a swipe at music press cynicism has, over time, matured into something far more complex: a meditation on mistrust, misrepresentation, and the cost of exposure. The arrangement tonight is lean and deliberate, all slow burn menace and controlled release, and the lyrics land like quiet daggers. It’s a track that captures a different side of Stereophonics, their ability to move beyond anthems and into atmosphere, to speak not just to the crowd but for themselves. And in a live setting, Mr Writer becomes a spell of its own: simmering, cinematic, and laced with that melancholy bite that sets it apart. For all the songs in their catalogue that elicit a singalong, this is the one that still makes you lean in and listen. It’s our personal favourite for a reason and tonight, it felt like the set’s dark jewel.

Then Local Boy in the Photograph arrives like a punch to the chest. It remains the band’s emotional peak, capturing the poetry of real lives, small towns, and sudden tragedy with a clarity that hasn’t dulled with time. When it plays live, you feel it. You remember where you were the first time you heard it. And tonight, it lands with all the weight it deserves.

The closing stretch is a celebration. Bartender and the Thief remains a shot of adrenaline chaotic, relentless, loud and it’s nice to hear Jones still throw in his spirited shout of “the Ace of Spades, the Ace of Spades” between riff and chorus. It’s a nod to Motörhead, sure, but also a little peep behind the curtain, a glimpse into the kind of records that shaped him, the punk and rock ’n’ roll lineage that still fuels the band’s engine. And then, of course, there’s Dakota, the final word, the biggest roar, the euphoric exhale at the end of it all. As that unmistakable opening riff rings out, confetti cannons fire into the air, raining colour down on thousands of raised arms. It’s pure release. Few songs in the modern British rock canon capture the open road yearning and widescreen emotion that Dakota does. It’s both restless and romantic, a song about escape and memory that somehow feels personal to every voice shouting it back. It arrived like a tidal wave the loudest, most unified moment of the set. Every chorus was a declaration, every beat a pulse racing in time with the crowd. As the lights flooded the stadium, it was clear: this is their best song. Not just commercially, but emotionally crafted to cut across generations and genres, and built to close nights like this. It’s rightly held back to end the set, because there’s simply no going bigger.

Decades in, and Stereophonics aren’t chasing relevance, they’re mastering resonance. They’ve evolved without losing their grit, always threading feeling through force. There’s no need to reinvent when you’re this good at the original idea. Still loud, still moving, still essential. So why don’t we tell it how it really is? Stereophonics remain one of the great British bands and one of its finest live acts.