It’s pouring again in Rotterdam, but no one’s slowing down. Crowds sprint between venues, dodging puddles and clutching wristbands, chasing the next noise in the distance. Ultimately Left of the Dial brings us hope that the next doorway hides our new favourite band, and faith that the chaos is worth it.Â
What makes Left of the Dial different is the care that holds it all together. Artists drink for free. Strangers swap recommendations between venues like they’re passing secrets. There’s no hierarchy, no VIP section, and no distinct headliners - just a shared excitement for finding something new in every room, every set, and every corner of the city.
With a constellation of shows dotted across the city, between the hyped acts and fan favourites it’s clear from the careful curation that no matter where you end up, you’re sure to be in for a treat. The festival champions the sticky floors and peeling posters. From a bar that smells like old beer and new possibilities, to churches, boats, buses and all sorts, there’s a constant sense that you’re catching something half-formed and perfect, that you’re watching people build the next version of the music scene as we know it.Â
While all the care in the world seems to have gone into this festival - you can never take control of the weather. With Thursday’s storm Benjamin dampening the mood alongside a fair few of my winter layers, few things could have raised my spirits - but walking into the dulcet tones of Green Gardens at De Doelen was the perfect remedy. The Leeds band's touching indie anthems were like stepping into a warm bath. Harmonies melt into their dreamy hooks leaving a lingering cinematic resonance.
Feeling soothed with a new lease of life - my Left of the Dial was truly underway. Gathering the momentum to fight the storm, we make our way over to Rotown to settle in for the night ahead. The venue breathes as crowds empties and refills in time for Scottish act Tanzana to take to the stage. Think heavy shimmer with guitars that glitter and bite. It’s pure theatre without the pretense, their charisma filling every inch of the room. A band that feels half ritual, half riot, and entirely captivating.
Curser followed, commanding the crowd with a wall of charged noise and coiled energy. Having watched them climb through the ranks over the past few years, seeing them play to a packed house felt like a victory lap. Their songs land with intention, with layers of chaos pinned together by precision. Fans wearing their shirts shout along to every lyric. Curser are no longer the underdogs - they’ve arrived.
Friday was a bus, club, ‘nother club kinda day - starting with Manchester outfit Yaang literally performing on a moving bus. It was everything you’d hope it to be: chaotic, sweaty, unhinged. Between sloshing beers and collapsing mic stands, they turned a logistical nightmare into the most joyfully human set of the weekend. The crowd join in with the trio, jumping and dancing around as they try to manoeuvre themselves upright. Surely this is joy in its’ purest form?
Over at Perron, Junk Drawer command the stage with tight, infectious energy. Every song snaps into place with sharp precision. Guitars weave intricate patterns over driving rhythms that keep the crowd on edge and grinning. Their musicianship shines through in the unexpected twists and layered grooves, each track a rhythmic gem that rewards attention and invites movement.
One of the most hyped bands of the festival came with a warning - with intense references to abuse, Piss’ poetic punk is hard hitting. Despite sniggers at the name, the anticipation of their sets were what had everyone talking at the festival - but the moments afterwards had us all in silence. From moshing to tear jerking, their set surpassed the hype and then some.
Saturday begins with beers and bands on a boat. Setting sail with Y at the helm, they commanded a boat full of slightly hungover festivalgoers ready to shake away the night before. Captivating the room with a bright, chaotic set, their fun-fuelled anthems bring a sense of playfulness. Guitars twist and drums drive the chaos, but it’s the saxophone that cuts through - jagged, urgent, and perfectly placed. Their set feels alive in every corner of the room, tight yet wild, each moment a collision of precision and unrestrained energy that keeps the audience leaning in.
Preaching to her followers over at the Arminius church, Molly Payton blends subtlety and precision. Guitar lines and soft percussion cradle her voice.  Harmonies with bandmate Oscar Lang shine through, while the audience hangs on every phrase. Her set is a masterclass in tension and release, letting the quiet moments bloom into powerful crescendos, leaving the room both still and electrified. By the end of her set, the audience is suspended in the hush of her songs, caught in the effortless intimacy she creates.
At the other side of town, Big Long Sun brought a softer approach to their set. Drifting between psych and indie rock, their tunes brought a soothing calm over the crowd that elicited a well needed dance. It was music that made the room sway instead of stomp; a welcome exhale after so much intensity.
Closing out the weekend, Kean Kavanagh stitched together grooves and introspection, wrapping the crowd in soulful warmth. His performance felt like a deep exhale - a slow-burning celebration of connection - and the perfect note to end on.
Across venues, churches, buses, and boats, Left of the Dial proved that Rotterdam is one of Europe’s best music cities. While the festival’s love for the UKs ever growing underground is clear, it also highlights what the UK scene could learn from the Dutch: care, hospitality, and a refusal to treat creativity as disposable.
Beyond the silliness and shenanigans (both of which were plentiful) lies a festival with genuine purpose. From sticking bands on public transport to hosting hungover singalongs in churches, Left of the Dial never loses sight of joy. It remembers that discovery should be fun, that connection is the point, and that music doesn’t have to be serious to matter.
By Saturday night, Rotterdam was wrung out - tired, rain soaked, and glowing. The festival doesn’t end so much as it dissolves. One last song fades, and you’re left blinking at the quiet. You leave with your ears ringing, a hazy memory of new band names and a dream of it all happening again next year, just a quick city-hop away.