DEADLETTER return to Deer Shed with the kind of reputation most bands would happily dine out on for years. Last time they hit the main stage, they left as one of the most talked-about acts of the weekend — the sort of band people kept bringing up on the walk home, trying to explain to friends who’d missed it exactly what just happened. Loud, wiry, and impossible to ignore, they felt like a group arriving mid-stride rather than making introductions.

Formed in the South London scene, Deadletter channel post-punk tension through something far looser and more dangerous. Guitars snap and slash, rhythms stay taut and propulsive, and songs move with a sense of urgency that never quite tips into chaos. At the centre of it all is a frontman who commands attention instantly — all strut, swagger and elastic movement, recalling the kinetic, confrontational energy of a young Mick Jagger without slipping into imitation.

What makes Deadletter so compelling live is how alive everything feels. Songs stretch and snarl, feeding off the crowd and spitting it straight back. There’s confidence here, but also risk — the sense that things could come undone at any moment, and that’s exactly the point.