The big review: Mad Cool festival 2024

While the UK is bogged down in what feels like the wettest summer ever, we head off to Madrid and the scorching Mad Cool festival for four days of the biggest and brightest bands in rock and alternative.

From returning grunge legends to pop-punk farewells to brawling Irish hip-hop, and much more besides, the Spanish megafest is one of the hottest tickets around. Literally. So we've donned our summer moshwear, slapped on the factor 50 and are heading into the pit with 40,000 more music lovers from across the globe.

Here's what went down...

“If I look weird with fucking ice packs on my head, it’s because I grew up in a very cold culture,” laughs Shirley Manson. “I’m a goth, I’ve always been a goth – I was a goth at 13 and I’m a goth now.” Yet, despite the mercury rising to 35ºC and spending an hour in a rather extravagant red and tartan dress, the Garbage vocalist never wavers, instead relishing in the moment of effectively opening for Smashing Pumpkins once again – the first band they ever toured with.

Having performed in Spain for three decades at this point, the alt.rock veterans haven’t lost a single ounce of vitality or vigour in that time, bringing serious attitude to the second of Mad Cool’s main stages. Ploughing through a career-spanning set featuring Stupid Girl, I Think I’m Paranoid and The Men Who Rule The World, Shirley is on formidable form. And as the set descends into an emphatic, cathartic Only Happy When It Rains, the smile on the band’s faces say otherwise.

After Dua Lipa’s masterclass in pop on the other main stage, now the sun has well and truly set, it’s up to Chicago legends The Smashing Pumpkins to send Mad Cool off into the night. Holding his hands in prayer, Billy Corgan receives a hero’s welcome. With just one hour and 20 minutes to fill, it’s a pared-down version of the band’s recent UK arena tour, focusing much more on fan-favourites than deep cuts, with half of the set dedicated to Melon Collie… and Siamese Dream’s heaviest hitters – who can deny the majesty of Tonight, Tonight as the clock nears midnight and the moon rises?

And since said tour, new recruit Kiki Wong has grown exponentially in confidence and charisma, taking real ownership of the stage, while Billy presides over proceedings like an alt.rock preacher. “Is everybody having a reasonable time tonight?” he asks, in typical fatalistic fashion, and the rapturous response of the masses is answer enough, before Pumpkins deliver the knockout one-two of Disarm into Bullet With Butterfly Wings. With today marking 36 years of Billy and guitarist James Iha playing together, this headline set really does feel like a celebration of sorts, as Pumpkins enter another new era and can still demand (and deserve) such energy and emotion from crowds thousands of miles from home. Rounding off with the sublime Cherub Rock and Zero, there are few better ways to close the first day of a festival.

The queue to get in one of the twin indoor stages is snaking across the site long before the Belfast wrecking crew are due to arrive. One of the most anticipated performances of the festival, following their critically-acclaimed debut album Fine Art and astonishing Glastonbury set, a strong Irish contingent – complete with wigs and flags – has appeared seemingly from out of nowhere for Kneecap’s first-ever set on Spanish soil. As the doors fling open, fans sprint to the barrier, as more and more bodies pile into the tent – some curious, some already converted to the trio’s loud and lairy brand of hip-hop. “Fuck the people at the back queuing, let’s make ’em jealous,” barks Móglaí Bap, calling for bigger and wilder pits throughout, flanked by co-vocalist Mo Chara and balaclava’d DJ Próvaí, stalking the stage like a pack of hunting dogs in sportswear.

Making the most of their 40-minute set time, they blast through ragers from the Fine Art LP like Sick In The Head alongside OG viral hits like Get Your Brits Out. Calling for complete darkness except for strobes, there’s an authentic, no-fucking-about edge that feels more like an apocalyptic rave than a summer party in Madrid. With adrenaline and sweat levels pumping at lethal levels, the baseball bat blow of Your Sniffer Dogs Are Shite (introduced by Kneecap explaining they’ve “got a problem with giving dogs jobs”), and I’m Flush send the melting pot down front into a limb-flailing frenzy. By the time the punky punch of H.O.O.D. kicks into gear all bets are off, as the floor erupts into human soup, before heading back out into the scorching sun bellowing ‘Olé, olé, olé…’ as one. A truly unifying experience.

While many overseas artists have resorted to the tried and tested method of dropping the odd “muchas gracias” into their set, Eddie Vedder has come prepared with a full-on Spanish script to describe his love and gratitude for the monster crowd gathered for the grunge legends’ headline set. Armed with his trusty bottle of wine for courage, it’s an endearing display of dedication and genuine love for his audience, as he welcomes tens of thousands “a show about friends”. With one eye on their recent 5/5-rated Dark Matter LP, Pearl Jam find room to take us through their almost 35-year history, peppering in Corduroy, Do The Evolution, Unthought Known and the timeless Even Flow, with Mad Cool duly losing its collective shit.

True to his word about the amigos and amigas here, it really does feel like a show about community, camaraderie and a shared experience. The deafening chorus to Black, the euphoric Alive, and even calling on the capacity crowd to sing happy birthday to Eddie’s brothers, the spirit of Seattle truly lives in Madrid tonight. “We’ve been here before but this is the best,” he beams, receiving no disagreement from the faithful tonight who were no doubt here in 2018 too. Shouting out the incredible and inspirational Motxila 21 who opened the festival earlier today, a band comprised of musicians from the Down Syndrome Association of Navarra, Pearl Jam’s undiluted and unwavering love and passion for music, their fans and Spain itself pours off the stage. As we get to the traditional finale of Rockin’ In The Free World and Yellow Ledbetter, that adoration is returned with change, and you know it won’t be another six years before they headline again.

‘U changed my world’ reads a sign from one fan at the front, and looking at his repertoire, it’s hard to imagine the rock and metal landscape in 2024 without the influence of Tom Morello’s rebel spirit and inimitable guitar playing. And judging by the talent and tenacity of his son Roman, joining his father onstage to play their track Soldier In The Army Of Love, the future is in very capable hands. In similar fashion to his Download Festival set last month, it’s a whistle-stop tour of Tom’s career and influences, from instrumental Rage Against The Machine medleys (because let’s face it, no-one can do the vocals justice besides Zack de la Rocha) to a cover of Springsteen’s The Ghost Of Tom Joad, those at Mad Cool looking for some serious grit and groove have come to the right place.

Joined onstage by Måneskin’s Thomas Raggi for a blistering run of MC5’s Kick Out The Jams, it’s a duel between two generations of guitar hero, shredding their fingers down to nubs. Dedicating his track Hold The Line to “the working class radicals”, the sun begins to set and the revolution starts to build, as more and more comrades join the crowd. The power of the people is the focal point not just figuratively but literally, as Tom turns the mic on the audience for a heart-wrenching rendition of Audioslave’s Like A Stone – “that’s more of a prayer than a song” – and the peerless petrol bomb Killing In The Name that he jokingly introduces as “an old Spanish folk song”. And like those old standards we all learned in school, that RATM battlecry has been etched into the core of everyone here. If music is the great communicator, there’s no clearer message than screaming ‘motherfucker!’ with thousands of your new friends.

As AC/DC’s TNT blasts over the PA, the biggest crowd of the entire weekend is gathering to witness Sum 41’s farewell run. Thousands upon thousands of fans here grew up with these underclass heroes, and in January next year, the pop-punk icons will take their final bow. “After almost 30 years of Sum 41, I think the world has had enough of this band already,” laughs frontman Deryck Whibley, introducing a stonking setlist that’s packing “old songs, older songs, and the oldest songs” in a true celebration of a very special band. Unleashing some real heavy metal pyro, true to their word all those years ago, it’s still all killer and no filler – even new tracks from Heaven :x: Hell fit seamlessly into scene staples Over My Head, Motivation and Still Waiting.

The pure, undiluted energy from crowd and band could replace jet fuel with its potency, with all five men playing like it’s their last – because they’ll literally never be on this stage ever again. As the lights dip onstage and the festival is illuminated by an ocean of phone lights, the air turns thick with Madrid’s voices for Walking Disaster and With Me, a fitting, tender moment that comes as proof that Sum 41 are – and always were – much more than gurning skater dudes. Breaking out riffs from Smoke On The Water and Seven Nation Army, and a punked-up cover of We Will Rock You, the mile-wide grins on the band’s faces say it all. Ending on the unfuckwithable triple threat of In Too Deep, Fat Lip and Still Waiting, it dawns on everyone just what we’re going to be missing come 2025: one of the very best to lace up their Converse, who had an indelible, undeniable impact on pop-punk then and in its resurgence today. The final UK and European run kicks off this autumn – be there.

It’s staggering just how at home Måneskin are on these kind of stages now, having only really broken onto the scene three years ago. Perpetually the coolest-looking people within a 100-mile radius, the Italian superstars’ headline set is undoubtedly stylish and slick, but lacking that huge groundswell of catharsis and unadulterated joy that Sum 41 brought. As bassist Victoria De Angelis and Thomas Raggi strut and slay through GOSSIP, ZITTI E BUONI and HONEY, vocalist Damiano David holds court in fluent Spanish, yet doesn’t seem perhaps as engaged as his bandmates.

With extended intros, jams and solos scattered throughout, those standing on the sidelines do start to filter toward the exit, but the Kool Kids down front aren’t willing to miss a single second. Swaggering through megahits Beggin’ and SUPERMODEL, it’s a curious choice to play I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE twice just a few songs apart, but not one that fans here are complaining about. Wrapping up earlier than expected, though, it’s not an explosive ending to the Friday night of a festival.

This is quite the glow up for The Warning. After the last-minute cancellation by new pop sensation Tyla, the Mexican trio – and recent Kerrang! cover stars – have been bumped up. Running basically unopposed, the field swarms with existing and soon-to-be fans, gathering in the baking heat to see the only native Spanish-speaking band on either main stage all weekend. Grabbing the opportunity by the toro horns, early flashes of nerves are swiftly blown away by the crunch and groove of S!CK, CHOKE and Qué Más Quieres.

Sisters Dany, Pau and Ale Villarreal Vélez valiantly put Mad Cool through their paces with their youthful, vibrant brand of fist-pumping hard rock, shaking the astroturf underneath the feet of the still-growing crowd. Stomping through the likes of MORE, MONEY and the chant-along na-na-nas of Narcisita, this isn’t a band just picking up the gauntlet but using it to slap non-believers across the face. The Warning’s star is rightly in its ascendancy and being able to not just play but conquer stages of this size is evidence that there’s so much more to come. As the siblings take their bow and well-earned photo with the crowd, you can practically hear the abject elation coursing through them. Next time, they’re going to need a bigger slot.

Fans have been waiting at the main stage for well over an hour, frying so much in the heat that security are having to hose down those on the front rows. And following her capacity crowd at Glastonbury the previous weekend, Avril Lavigne has again pulled one of the largest audiences of the festival to witness her greatest hits tour. Having not played in Spain since 2007, anticipation couldn’t be higher for the first lady of pop-punk, when she makes her appearance in traditional mid-’00s scene attire of graphic print hoodie and knee-high socks, it’s less screams from the crowd and more feral shrieks of excitement. Kicking straight off with Girlfriend and an explosion of pink streamers (that get stuck on a nearby electricity pylon, which is probably fine…), Avril casts a casual figure that's so at odds with her feverish fans.

Swigging from a bottle of champagne and spraying it onto the crowd, the resultant lung-buster of Here’s To Never Growing Up strikes at the heart of all millennials in Madrid, taking them back to that carefree, formative, better time of life before rent, bills and jobs ruined everything. Winding the clock back 22 years, it’s the hits from debut LP Let Go that still go hardest, with the underrated banger Losing Grip showcasing Avril’s vocal chops, and as the sun sets on I’m With You and the supermassive Sk8er Boi, the gargantuan crowd never falters or misses a beat, all ready to go to war for The Motherfucking Princess.

Eerie, ethereal electronics emanate from a stage covered in red drapes. The tension is building. But, after 20 minutes and still no sign of Bring Me The Horizon, it’s clear something is up as anticipation turns to agitation amongst the crowd. Finally, though, the Sheffield crew take to the stage but without their synthetic sixth member E.V.E, as it’s clear the side-screens – and thus the structural narrative to the show – aren’t working. “Sorry we’re late, it was not our fault, well, not the band’s fault,” Oli Sykes explains midway through the set, the disappointment and frustration plainly visible on his face, but nothing is going to stop one of the best live bands on the planet right now from living up to that reputation. Flying through DArkSide into MANTRA into Teardrops, those who’ve been itching for some serious pit action all weekend can finally let loose, as literal sparks fly from the stage and Oli calls for more and more brutality. “That’s not a mosh-pit, that’s a puddle,” he grins. “I thought you were mad cool.”

Having to drastically cut their set short by six songs due to the tech issues, they manage to cram in the monstrous Shadow Moses and intoxicating Kingslayer with CGI BABYMETAL on the wall behind them. As Oli heads into the crowd for Drown, one fan’s sign simply reads ‘Thnx 4 saving me’, as a reminder that music connects on a deeper level than language ever could – although pretty much everyone can understand the frontman’s sentiment when he says, “Jump or you’re a 100 per cent certified dickhead” before the cacophonous Can You Feel My Heart.

No, this isn’t the full Bring Me The Horizon experience, and you can’t help but feel gutted for everyone involved when Oli dejectedly looks to the floor and apologises “for letting you down”. But they’re still a formidable force, and it’s a testament to the quality of the songs that they don’t need all the cybernetic razzmatazz when armed with the generation-defining Throne to close out Mad Cool in a wall of flames. Horizon have never been a band to give up on anything and this is defiance at its most visceral. Never bet against them.

Read this next:

• Bring Me The Horizon: “The way we’re doing stuff now, it feels like I’m making art again, for art’s sake”
• Sum 41: “If there’s one record that defines who we are, it’s this one”
  
• The Warning: “Rock makes me feel powerful… everyone connects in such a big way”