There are some days at festivals where you know pretty quickly that you’re having a good time. Then there are days that sneak up on you. You find yourself standing there halfway through a song, looking around at everyone else, and thinking, Yeah, this is a good one. That was Sunday in Stirling for me.
I hadn’t gone in trying to work out what the best set of the day would be or ticking songs off a mental list. I was just taking it all in – the music, the people around me, the familiar songs coming back into my life, and those completely unexpected moments you couldn’t possibly have planned for.
That’s what I love about days like this. You go in knowing the names on the poster, but you never quite know what you’ll actually remember once you’re back home, kettle on, still buzzing. And there was plenty to remember.
Deacon Blue gets the day moving with “Late ’88” before settling into a set that feels almost tailor-made for a Scottish crowd. There’s an ease to how they open, like they know exactly what kind of afternoon this is going to be.
“Queen of the New Year”, “Real Gone Kid” and “The Great Western Road” keep things ticking along nicely, but it’s “Dignity” that really gets me.
There’s something different about hearing that song here, in this country, on a day like this. It’s been part of the soundtrack of Scottish life for so long that the reaction feels almost instinctive. People don’t just know the words – they feel them, and you can see it on faces all around you.
“Fergus Sings the Blues” brings another huge response, and by the time Deacon Blue finish with “That’s What We Can Do,” they’ve done exactly what a festival opener should: made the place feel like it has properly, officially started.
Appleton follows, bringing a completely different kind of nostalgia – glossier, poppier, but no less powerful for it.
“Fantasy” and “Black Coffee” immediately take people back a couple of decades, but “Never Ever” is the moment you can almost see memories arriving across the crowd in real time. Phones go up. Voices go up higher.
It’s one of those songs where nobody needs encouraging. They know every word, every pause, every breath.
Then comes “Don’t Worry”, “Falling Into You” and eventually “Pure Shores”, and suddenly there are smiles everywhere you look. There’s something genuinely lovely about watching a song from another time still connect this strongly, still land the way it always did.
For a few minutes, Stirling feels like everyone in the crowd has been quietly transported somewhere else.
Then it’s time for Cast, and the energy shifts up a gear. John Power arrives with the swagger you’d expect from a man who’s been doing this for thirty years, and “Calling Out Your Name” and “Fine Time” get the crowd moving almost immediately.
“Poison Vine”, “Walkaway” and “Free Love” keep that momentum going, but it’s “Walkaway” that catches me completely off guard. There’s a warmth to hearing thousands of people sing it together that makes the song feel bigger, richer, and more alive than it ever did coming through a pair of speakers at home.
By the time “Flying” arrives, there is barely anyone standing still. The whole field seems to be moving as one.
And “Alright” is exactly that – uncomplicated, loud, joyful festival music. No fuss, no frills. Just a great song and a crowd enjoying every single second of it.
Blue brings the pop element, and judging by the reaction, nobody here is apologising for enjoying it. Quite the opposite.
“One Last Time” gets things underway before “All Rise” turns into one of those massive audience-participation moments – young fans, older fans, people who probably grew up with the song blasting from a car stereo; everyone seems to know every word.
“Fly By II” keeps the energy high, while “Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word” changes the mood completely, slowing everything down for a moment of unexpected tenderness.
Then it’s straight back into the fun with “Too Close”, “U Make Me Wanna” and “You Should Know”.
By the time “One Love” arrives, it’s pure, unfiltered pop joy. And honestly, sometimes that’s all you need from a Sunday afternoon.
I’m not completely sure what to expect from James Blunt. By the end of the set, I’m standing there grinning like an idiot.
“Weight of It All”, “Postcards” and “Tastes Like Summer” show off the more reflective side of his songwriting, while “Same Mistake” brings one of the quieter, more contemplative moments of the afternoon.
Then comes “You’re Beautiful”, and the place absolutely erupts. Blunt has always understood the importance of not taking himself too seriously, and that comes through in everything he does on that stage. “Bonfire Heart” lifts the whole crowd again before “1973” brings another huge reaction, hands in the air, everyone singing. But then he disappears. And when he comes back, he’s in an inflatable boat. Yes. An actual inflatable dinghy. Blunt climbs into it and crowd-surfs his way through the audience, and suddenly the whole festival is watching James Blunt being carried around a field in Stirling in a bloody boat. It’s completely daft and absolutely brilliant.
People are laughing, shouting, and filming it on their phones like they can’t quite believe what they’re seeing. I’m laughing too – properly laughing. It’s the sort of ridiculous live moment you couldn’t really plan, and even if you could, you probably shouldn’t.
You can almost hear the conversations happening afterwards, in queues for the bar, on the walk back to the car:
Did you see James Blunt in the fucking boat? Yes. Yes, I did.
Then Level 42 arrive and remind everyone just how good musicians can be when they’re given the room to actually play.
“Heaven in My Hands” and “To Be With You Again” ease us into it gently before “Starchild” starts showing exactly what this band is capable of. And then there’s Mark King. That bass.
“The Sun Goes Down (Living It Up)” gets a huge response, while “Running in the Family” turns the crowd into one enormous, joyful singalong.
But it’s “Something About You” that really gets me. There’s something timeless about it – something that transcends the decade it came from – and hearing it live makes you appreciate just how beautifully constructed the song actually is, piece by piece.
“Lessons in Love” brings another massive reaction before “The Chinese Way” and “Hot Water” give the musicians a chance to stretch out and show off a little, and rightly so.
For a festival crowd more used to singalongs than solos, it’s a welcome reminder that musicianship can be its own kind of spectacle.
And then, finally, Simple Minds. There is something fitting about a Scottish band closing out a massive festival in Stirling – like the whole day has been building quietly towards this.
Jim Kerr walks onto that stage, and the reaction tells you everything you need to know. “When Spirits Rise” leads into “Waterfront”, and suddenly the whole place feels enormous, like the field has physically expanded to hold the sound.
“I Travel”, “Glittering Prize”, “Beginner Boys”, “Love Song” and “Promised You a Miracle” follow one after another, and there’s a real sense that we’re moving through decades of memories rather than simply watching a set list play out.
“Someone Somewhere (In Summertime)” brings another huge response before the band push on towards the big emotional moments of the night. Then comes “Belfast Child”.
And everything changes. Jim Kerr doesn’t just sing it – he looks completely consumed by it, swallowed whole by the song. You can see the emotion written across every line of his face. His eyes close. His features tighten. His whole body seems to lean into each word, as though the song is physically pulling him forward. His voice carries this deep, almost painful weight, rising and falling like something being dragged up from somewhere far deeper than memory, deeper than performance.
There are moments where he almost seems to struggle to get the words out at all – a slight catch, a pause that lasts just a fraction too long – and then suddenly his voice opens right up and fills the entire park, every corner of it.
And the crowd feels every second of it. Thousands of people who, only minutes earlier, had been singing along and dancing without a care are suddenly still, quiet, just watching him. Nobody needs to know what this song means or what it’s carried for nearly four decades. Kerr lets the silence between the lines do as much work as the words themselves, and somehow that silence is louder than anything else all day.
I’m not thinking about taking notes anymore. I’m not thinking about the review I’ll have to write later. I’m just standing there, watching him, completely still myself. It’s raw. It’s powerful. And for those few minutes, “Belfast Child” feels less like a song being performed for a festival crowd and more like something Jim Kerr is actually reliving, right there, in front of thousands of strangers who suddenly don’t feel like strangers at all.
Then the drums kick back in. “See the Lights” leads towards the inevitable moment. “Don’t You (Forget About Me). “ And after the sheer intensity of “Belfast Child”, the explosion from the crowd feels absolutely enormous – like something finally released after being held for too long. People are singing every single word. Arms are wrapped around shoulders. Phones are in the air, catching what they can. Some people are filming; others have simply given up trying and are just taking it all in with their own eyes instead.
This is the kind of festival moment you hope for the second you buy the ticket, months in advance, not knowing if it’ll actually arrive. “Alive and Kicking” keeps that momentum thundering along, and “Sanctify Yourself” brings the set to its conclusion. Simple Minds leave the stage for a reaction that shakes the whole field.
Then, for a few seconds, it feels like that’s it. Everyone has had their big moment. The music stops. The crowd starts to shift and move, gathering bags, checking phones, and thinking about the walk back. And then the fireworks go up.
I just stand there and watch them, rooted to the spot. The sky above Stirling is lighting up in reds and golds, people are cheering and taking pictures all around me, and somewhere underneath all of that noise I’m still hearing “Alive and Kicking” and “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” looping quietly in my head.
I start thinking back over the whole day – Deacon Blue setting the tone, Appleton’s unexpected wave of nostalgia, Cast’s pure momentum, Blue’s shameless pop joy, James Blunt somehow ending up in an inflatable boat above a sea of people, Level 42 reminding everyone what real musicianship sounds like, and then Simple Minds bringing the whole thing home with something far more emotional than anyone had quite expected.
It’s funny what sticks with you after a day like this. It isn’t necessarily the biggest song or the biggest name on the poster. It’s the little things you didn’t see coming. A line in a song that suddenly hits differently than it ever has before. Thousands of people singing something you haven’t properly listened to in years and being surprised by how much of it you still remember. Looking around mid-song and realising everyone near you is having their own private version of the exact same moment.
That’s what I’ll take home from Stirling. Not just seven acts on a bill, but a whole Sunday full of memories – some emotional, some genuinely ridiculous, some loud and joyful, and some that just quietly made me smile without me noticing at the time.
And as the last of the fireworks fades into the night sky, I’m still standing there for another minute, not really wanting the day to end, not quite ready to walk back to the car and let it become a memory instead of a moment.
Simple Minds are still ringing in my ears. And honestly, that’s a pretty good way to end a day.
Reviewed by Lisa McLean & Karen Edmond
Photographs by Frank Murphy Photography
