Get Together Festival 2026: A Photographer’s First Festival Experience
First Impressions of Kelham Island
There was a sense of anticipation from the moment I arrived.
Despite having attended countless live shows over the past year, this was the first time I had stepped into a full festival environment as a photographer. That difference alone carried weight. In many ways, I wasn’t just arriving to document an event — I was stepping into an entirely new working environment.
And I was nervous.
Not in a way that felt negative, but in the way I’ve come to recognise as essential. Nervousness, for me, is usually a sign that I care about the outcome. If I ever reach a point where I don’t feel that before a shoot, it would concern me far more than any pre-show anxiety ever could. It means there’s nothing at stake.
As I made my way through Kelham Island shortly after midday, the atmosphere was still relatively calm. The morning had begun with good weather, but by the time 12pm arrived, the skies had begun to shift. Grey clouds gathered gradually across the horizon, softening the light and hinting at the possibility of rain later in the day, although for now the weather remained on our side.
Kelham Island itself felt immediately alive in a different way to a standard gig venue. Rather than a single entrance point and a single room, the festival sprawled across streets, courtyards and converted industrial spaces. There was movement everywhere — crews preparing stages, early attendees navigating between venues, and the quiet build-up that comes before the first performances begin.
In total, the festival spanned multiple locations across the area, but my focus for the day would be three main spaces:
The Get Together Stage at Peddler Warehouse — the main hub of the festival.
Yellow Arch Studios — a creative complex hosting two stages, including the BBC Introducing stage set inside an intimate antiques shop space.
And Victoria Yard — an outdoor venue known as The Curious Yard, offering a completely different atmosphere to the indoor stages.
Each venue already felt distinct before a single note had been played.
After collecting my Media Pass and Photo Pass from The Old Workshop, the reality of the day began to settle in. This wasn’t a single stage, single set experience. It was movement, timing, decision-making and constant adjustment.
And it was already clear that the scale of the day was bigger than anything I had experienced before.
Not overwhelming in a negative sense — but expansive.
A city-wide festival unfolding in real time.
Lily Moore: Setting the Tone
The first performance of the day came from Lily Moore, opening proceedings on the Get Together Stage at Peddler Warehouse.
After spending the previous hour moving between venues and mentally preparing for what lay ahead, this was the moment the festival properly began. There is always something significant about the first set of a festival — not just for the audience, but for the photographer as well. It is the point where theory becomes practice, and preparation gives way to instinct.
The crowd at this stage was still building. Early arrivals gradually filled the space, creating an atmosphere that felt relaxed but attentive, as if everyone was collectively settling into the rhythm of the day.
From a photographic perspective, it was also my first real test of the lighting conditions inside the main venue. The combination of stage lighting and the industrial setting of Peddler Warehouse created a visual environment that would define much of the day ahead — contrast-heavy, atmospheric, and constantly shifting.
When Lily Moore stepped onto the stage, there was an immediate sense of calm control. Her presence was understated but confident, allowing the music to take centre stage rather than relying on theatrical performance. It was a fitting way to open a festival built around discovery rather than spectacle.
Musically, the set provided exactly what was needed for a first performance of the day — space to listen, adjust and settle into the environment. The audience response was warm and gradually built throughout the set, with attention tightening as each song progressed.
For me, it was also the point where I began to properly adapt to the pace of the festival. Shooting in a multi-venue environment requires constant recalibration, and Lily Moore’s set allowed me to find that rhythm before the day accelerated.
By the time her set came to a close, the festival no longer felt like something I was preparing for.
It felt like something I was already inside of.
The Secret Set: Ellur at BBC Introducing Stage
One of the earliest surprises of the day came not from the main stage, but from a space that would go on to become the most intimate venue I shot all festival.
The secret set was revealed shortly after arriving at Yellow Arch Studios, where Ellur were scheduled to perform on the BBC Introducing stage inside a converted antiques shop space. Unlike the larger Get Together Stage at Peddler Warehouse, this room immediately felt different — smaller, darker, and far more enclosed.
Having arrived early proved to be a crucial decision. By the time soundcheck had concluded and word had spread, the room was already at capacity. The space filled quickly, with attendees spilling towards doorways and windows, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening inside.
By that point, I had already secured a position towards the front of the stage, which allowed me to capture a series of more detailed, tightly framed images as the set began. From there, I was able to gradually reposition towards the sides and rear of the room, shifting focus between close-up performance shots and wider atmospheric compositions that captured the density of the crowd.
Unlike the main stage at Peddler Warehouse, there was no dedicated photo pit in this space. This meant working entirely within the crowd itself, constantly adapting to movement, limited sightlines and the constraints of a tightly packed audience. In many ways, it required a more instinctive approach to shooting — reacting to moments as they unfolded rather than relying on structured positioning.
Despite these limitations, the atmosphere inside the room was electric.
There is something about small venues that is difficult to replicate on larger stages. The physical proximity between artist and audience removes any sense of separation. Every lyric feels more direct, every reaction more immediate. It creates a sense of shared space rather than performance and spectatorship.
Ellur’s set embodied that perfectly.
The performance felt personal, unguarded and immediate, with the crowd responding in kind. From a photographic perspective, it reinforced something I have come to realise more and more over the past year — that some of the most compelling live music moments do not come from scale or production, but from closeness.
Standing in that room, surrounded by people, cameras, noise and movement, it felt less like documenting a performance and more like being part of it.
In many ways, that is exactly what live music should be.
Gwenno: A Shift in Pace at the Get Together Stage
Following the intensity of the BBC Introducing stage at Yellow Arch, the return to the Get Together Stage at Peddler Warehouse brought with it an immediate change in scale and atmosphere.
Gwenno was, in many ways, the most sonically and stylistically different artist I photographed across the entire day.
Where earlier performances had leaned into immediacy and crowd-driven energy, her set was far more restrained, shaped heavily by atmosphere, texture and songwriting rather than direct interaction or visual intensity.
There is a particular quality to Gwenno’s work that sits somewhere between minimalism and emotion-led storytelling. Her approach to performance does not rely on constant movement or theatrical presence. Instead, it allows space for the music itself to carry weight, with each track unfolding gradually rather than demanding immediate reaction.
From a photographic perspective, this presented a different challenge.
After the tightly packed, low-lit environment of the previous stage, Peddler Warehouse felt more open again, both in terms of physical space and stage design. This created opportunities for wider compositions and cleaner framing, but also required a shift in approach — less reactive, more observational.
What stood out most during the set was the contrast it provided within the wider flow of the festival. In a day defined by movement between venues, loud energy shifts and crowd interaction, Gwenno’s performance offered a moment of stillness.
The audience response reflected that.
Rather than the physical movement seen earlier in the day, there was a noticeable focus in the room — people standing more still, listening in a different way. It felt less like a performance being consumed and more like something being absorbed.
That difference is what made the set stand out.
Not volume.
Not spectacle.
But restraint.
In the context of a festival built around discovery and variety, Gwenno’s set felt like a reminder that live music does not need to be loud or chaotic to hold attention. Sometimes the most powerful moments come from space, simplicity and the confidence to let songs exist without interruption.
Lucia & The Best Boys: Weathering Victoria Yard
Lucia & The Best Boys marked the transition into a completely different performance space.
For this set, I moved away from the indoor stages and over to Victoria Yard — known within the festival as The Curiously Yard — an outdoor stage that would ultimately become the most exposed environment I shot all day.
It was also the furthest point from the Get Together Stage at Peddler Warehouse, which became more significant later in the day when planning the movement between Deadletter and The Horrors. At that point, every transition between venues began to matter in terms of timing, distance and workflow.
But for now, the focus was Lucia.
Stepping into an outdoor stage for the first time that day brought an immediate shift in energy. After hours of working in low-light, enclosed spaces, the presence of natural daylight felt like a relief. From a technical perspective, it allowed for faster shutter speeds, cleaner detail and a more flexible approach to capturing movement.
Lucia & The Best Boys also arrived with a level of experience that was immediately apparent from the moment they stepped on stage. Having previously performed at major festivals and supported acts such as Garbage — the Grammy-winning band whose music famously featured in the James Bond film The World Is Not Enough — there was a clear sense that this was a group comfortable operating on larger stages.
That professionalism translated directly into their performance.
Everything from their stage presence to their visual identity felt considered and confident, and it suited the open-air setting of Victoria Yard perfectly. There was a natural alignment between artist and space, as if the stage itself matched the scale and energy they were already accustomed to.
However, outdoor shooting always comes with its own variables.
Throughout Lucia & The Best Boys’ set, the weather gradually began to change. What started as a heavy overcast sky slowly developed into darker cloud cover, followed by a light drizzle that rolled in midway through the performance. At first it was subtle, almost unnoticeable, but it steadily built into a consistent rain that changed both the atmosphere and the working conditions.
From a photographic point of view, it became a balancing act.
Protecting equipment.
Managing exposure.
Working quickly between moments of clearer visibility.
Yet despite the worsening weather, the performance itself remained unaffected.
There is something about live music in the open air that naturally absorbs external conditions. Rather than disrupting the set, the rain seemed to add another layer to it. The crowd stayed engaged, the band continued with full energy, and the atmosphere felt even more connected as people collectively leaned into the moment rather than away from it.
Importantly, the worst of the rain held off until after the set had finished, allowing me to transition back indoors just as the conditions became more challenging.
In hindsight, Victoria Yard became a turning point in the day — not just because of the performance itself, but because it marked the moment where the festival environment fully revealed how unpredictable it could be.
Lime Garden: Controlled Chaos in the Photo Pit
By the time I reached Lime Garden, the festival had fully settled into its rhythm.
The set took place back indoors, returning to the more controlled environment of a dedicated stage and photo pit. Compared to the openness of Victoria Yard, this felt significantly more structured — but also more competitive. The pit was busy, filled with fellow photographers and videographers all working within the same restricted space.
Arriving early proved valuable once again. Before the performance began, there was time to speak with other photographers, exchange details about what publications people were shooting for, and pick up small pieces of insight about the day ahead. Those brief conversations created a sense of shared purpose — a reminder that, while everyone is working independently, there is a collective understanding of the environment we are all navigating.
When Lime Garden stepped on stage, it was immediately clear why they are so highly regarded live.
There was confidence in their performance, but also a natural ease that translated well into a festival setting. They were exactly what they needed to be in that moment — tight, energetic and visually engaging without feeling overstated.
From a photographic perspective, this set produced some of my favourite portrait work of the entire day.
However, it was also one of the more technically demanding environments.
The three-song photo rule meant limited time to adapt, while the presence of multiple photographers required constant awareness of positioning, movement and respect for others in the space. At the same time, there was the added challenge of maintaining awareness of the paying audience directly behind us — ensuring that movement in the pit did not disrupt their experience of the performance.
This is where situational awareness becomes essential in live music photography.
It is not just about capturing the image in front of you, but understanding the environment you are working within.
Lighting conditions were also heavily affected by atmospheric effects on stage. The use of fog machines added depth and texture to the performance, but at times it also obscured key moments or softened focus in ways that were unpredictable. In post-production, some of these frames could be corrected or refined, while others benefited from the haze, adding atmosphere and mood that suited the tone of the performance.
Outside of the pit, the weather continued to deteriorate.
By this point, the rain had become significantly heavier, making the transition between outdoor and indoor spaces increasingly important throughout the day. Being under cover for this set felt like a welcome pause — a chance to reset, observe, and fully engage with a band delivering a strong and well-received performance in front of an attentive crowd.
Lime Garden’s set stood out not just for the music itself, but for the combination of energy, environment and photographic challenge that surrounded it.
It was a reminder that even within controlled conditions, live music photography is still defined by unpredictability.
Fat Dog: Controlled Chaos at Its Peak
Fat Dog took to the stage immediately after Lime Garden, and from the very first moments of their set, the tone of the festival shifted entirely.
If Lime Garden had delivered some of my strongest artist portrait work of the day, then Fat Dog delivered the most intense crowd photography I have ever captured.
This was the point where audience energy reached its peak.
Leading up to the festival, I had done some research into Fat Dog’s live reputation. Online footage and clips gave a sense of chaos, movement and unpredictability, but nothing truly prepares you for experiencing it in real time, standing directly within it.
From the opening moments of their set, the crowd response was immediate and overwhelming.
Crowd surfing became constant.
Mosh pits opened without hesitation.
The entire front section of the venue transformed into a shifting, uncontrollable mass of movement and sound.
For photography, this created both opportunity and challenge in equal measure.
Unlike earlier sets where the focus had been primarily on stage performance, Fat Dog demanded attention to the audience itself. The energy was no longer contained on stage — it had fully spilled into the room, and capturing it became about reacting quickly to moments that disappeared as fast as they appeared.
This is where the real shift in perspective happened for me as a photographer.
Rather than looking for composed stage moments, I found myself tracking movement within the crowd — anticipating motion, reacting to surges of energy, and trying to document the scale of what was unfolding in front of me.
However, one technical challenge became increasingly apparent throughout the set.
The heavy use of fog machines, while highly effective for atmosphere and audience impact, made photographing the performance significantly more difficult. At points, the stage was almost entirely obscured, with light diffusion and haze reducing clarity and contrast in ways that were difficult to control in real time.
From a photographer’s point of view, this was one of the few moments during the day where I felt a slight conflict between audience experience and image creation. While the atmosphere was clearly enhanced for those in the room, it also limited visibility and made it harder to consistently capture defined moments. If anything, I would have preferred slightly less reliance on haze, purely from a documentation perspective.
Despite this, the energy of the set was undeniable.
What made this performance stand out most was the contrast it created within the day.
From the controlled environments earlier in the festival, through structured photo pits and carefully framed performances, Fat Dog broke everything open.
It was unpredictable, physical and completely immersive.
Despite having seen footage of their performances beforehand, nothing could have fully prepared me for the reality of standing inside that atmosphere.
For me, this set marked the emotional and visual peak of the festival.
A full feature focusing specifically on Fat Dog’s performance, the crowd energy and the photographic challenges of the set will follow this post in the near future. It will explore the experience in greater depth, particularly from the perspective of capturing such an uncontrolled and high-intensity environment.
Pale Blue Eyes: Returning to Yellow Arch
Following the intensity of Fat Dog, Pale Blue Eyes marked a shift in both pace and environment as I made my way back to Yellow Arch Studios.
By this point in the day, the weather had finally eased. The rain that had defined earlier outdoor sets had stopped, leaving behind a damp but calmer atmosphere across Kelham Island. It felt like a brief reset — a moment to step out of the physical intensity of the previous performance and re-enter a more controlled space.
When I arrived, the venue was already filling quickly. Despite the change in setting, the energy inside the BBC Introducing stage remained high, with a noticeable sense of anticipation in the room as the next set prepared to begin.
What stood out immediately, however, was the familiarity within the crowd.
Several of the photographers and videographers I had spoken to earlier in the day — particularly during Fat Dog and Lime Garden — were already positioned inside the space. There was a shared recognition at this point; not formal collaboration, but an unspoken understanding of the conditions we had all been navigating throughout the day.
We all knew what this stage would require.
Unlike the structured photo pits at Peddler Warehouse, Yellow Arch demanded more flexibility. There was no fixed shooting zone, and positioning had to be constantly adjusted in real time to account for movement, crowd density and sightlines within an already crowded room.
Despite this, there was a sense of adaptability that had developed naturally throughout the day. Everyone working in the space seemed to find their own way of making it work, adjusting positions quietly and respectfully without disrupting the audience or the performance.
Pale Blue Eyes provided a welcome change in tone.
Their set felt more restrained compared to the intensity that had come before it, offering a subtle shift in atmosphere that allowed both the audience and photographers to reset. From behind the lens, it became less about reacting to chaos and more about observing detail — small interactions, shifts in lighting, and the quieter moments that often sit between the larger peaks of a festival day.
It was not a set defined by spectacle, but by steadiness.
And after everything that had come before, that balance felt important.
DEADLETTER: A Difficult Choice at Victoria Yard
DEADLETTER performed at Victoria Yard’s Curiously Stage as darkness fully settled over Kelham Island.
Earlier in the day, this same space had been defined by natural daylight and openness. Now, it felt entirely transformed. The absence of light shifted the atmosphere completely, creating a far more challenging environment from a photographic perspective.
However, the difficulty of this set was not solely technical.
It was logistical.
DEADLETTER were scheduled to take the stage at 10:00pm, while The Horrors were due to begin at Peddler Warehouse just 15 minutes later at 10:15pm. With a walking time of approximately 6–7 minutes between venues, there was very little margin for delay. Every minute mattered.
This immediately changed how I approached the set.
Rather than being able to fully commit to documenting the performance from start to finish, I was constantly aware of timing, distance and the inevitable decision that would need to be made partway through.
Unfortunately, DEADLETTER’s set began slightly behind schedule. While entirely understandable from a live performance perspective, it reduced the already limited window I had available to shoot.
As a result, I was forced into a difficult decision: stay longer with DEADLETTER or leave early to ensure I could reach The Horrors in time.
It became a moment of compromise.
A near coin-flip situation where neither option felt entirely correct, but a decision had to be made regardless.
Ultimately, I chose to leave early and make my way back to Peddler Warehouse.
It meant cutting my coverage of DEADLETTER short, capturing just over a song and a half, which was frustrating in the moment. There was a sense of disappointment walking away from a set I would have liked to document more fully.
However, in the context of the wider festival, it was a calculated risk — and one I could only fully assess once the night had concluded.
At that point, I could only move forward, hoping the decision would prove to be the right one.
The Horrors: Light, Shadow, and a Calculated Risk
Finally, The Horrors took to the stage at Peddler Warehouse.
By this point in the day, I was hoping that the decision I had made earlier at Victoria Yard — leaving DEADLETTER early to make the transition — would prove to be the right one.
In reality, it was a calculated risk that did not fully pay off.
That is not to say The Horrors did not deliver a powerful performance. Musically, they sounded immense. The atmosphere they created inside the room was dark, immersive and exactly what you would expect from a band with their history and reputation. There was a weight to the sound that filled the venue completely, drawing the audience into a dense, almost cinematic environment.
However, from a photographic perspective, the conditions were extremely challenging.
By the time they came on stage, the fog had reached its peak. Visibility was heavily reduced, with band members often appearing only as partial silhouettes within the haze. Combined with aggressive red and white strobe lighting, the stage became a constantly shifting environment of flashes and shadows, making consistent exposure and focus incredibly difficult.
Through the viewfinder, it felt less like photographing a performance and more like reacting to brief moments of visibility between bursts of light.
From a technical standpoint, it was one of the most demanding sets of the entire festival.
After the show, conversations with other photographers and videographers confirmed a shared experience. Many of us were facing the same issues — limited visibility, unpredictable lighting and the need to rely heavily on post-production to recover usable frames. It became clear that this was not an isolated challenge, but a shared limitation of the setup.
In many ways, I imagine that experiencing the performance purely as an audience member would have offered a completely different perspective — one that perhaps better reflected what The Horrors are known for. A band with roots stretching back to the early 2000s, performing with a sound and visual identity built around atmosphere and intensity.
However, within the context of this particular setup, it became another reminder that live music photography often exists in compromise.
Some moments are captured perfectly.
Others are not captured at all.
And sometimes, despite careful planning, timing and decision-making, the conditions simply do not align.
This was one of those moments.
Still, it remained a powerful way to close the day — even if it challenged everything I had worked to build throughout the festival.
Final Thoughts: A Day Across Kelham Island
Looking back on Get Together Festival 2026, it is difficult to summarise the day as anything other than an experience of constant movement — both physically and creatively.
From arriving in Sheffield at midday, collecting my media and photo passes, and stepping into Kelham Island for the first time as an accredited photographer, to navigating multiple venues, shifting weather conditions and overlapping set times, the entire day felt like a continuous exercise in adaptation.
Each stage brought something different.
Peddler Warehouse offered structure and intensity, Yellow Arch demanded flexibility and awareness, and Victoria Yard introduced the unpredictability of an outdoor festival environment under changing light and weather. Together, they formed a landscape that required constant decision-making and awareness, not just of the music, but of time, space and positioning.
More than anything, this festival reinforced how much live music photography depends on balance.
Between planning and spontaneity.
Between technical control and creative reaction.
Between capturing what is in front of you and accepting what is not.
There were moments where everything aligned — strong performances, clear light, and compositions that felt instinctive. Equally, there were moments where conditions worked against me, where timing was tight, visibility was limited, and decisions had to be made quickly without certainty of outcome.
That uncertainty is part of what makes festival photography both challenging and rewarding.
It forces you to think beyond individual images and instead consider the day as a whole narrative — a collection of fragmented moments that only fully make sense once the experience is over.
Not every set went exactly as planned. DEADLETTER was cut short. The Horrors proved technically difficult in ways that could not have been anticipated. Weather shifted, schedules moved, and decisions had to be made in real time without knowing the full consequences until later.
Yet despite all of this, the festival remained a success.
It was, on the whole, a successful first festival experience — but also a reminder that in live environments, things do not always go to plan.
Still, it delivered exactly what it needed to.
Growth.
This was my first festival as a photographer, and in many ways, my first true experience of working across multiple venues in a single day under press conditions. It challenged my workflow, tested my adaptability, and reinforced the importance of both preparation and instinct.
But it also reaffirmed why I do this.
The energy of live music, the unpredictability of performance, the connection between artist and audience — all of it exists for a brief moment before disappearing. Photography offers a way to hold onto fragments of that moment, even when conditions are far from perfect.
Get Together Festival 2026 was not a flawless shoot.
It was not meant to be.
It was a learning experience, a creative challenge, and a reminder that sometimes the most valuable work comes from situations that do not go entirely to plan.
And as I left Kelham Island that night, tired, damp, and carrying a full memory card of imperfect but meaningful images, it already felt clear that this would not be my last festival.
