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To the left: a tiled hot tub and mini colonnade. To the right: a show-home bar with felt-tip bright cupboard doors. Artificial grass fills the gaps. Welcome to Studio 3 at Olympus TV, home of Jupiter & Juno – reality television for those convinced The Only Way Is Ancient Rome. Or at least it was, until Juno storms off Love Island, leaving Jupiter without a co-star and the show’s producers with plummeting ratings.
That’s just the first few minutes of Rameau’s Platée in Louisa Muller’s new production for Garsington Opera. Rameau’s overture becomes the show’s title sequence (cue lurid graphics featuring posing deities, airbrushed clouds, gold horses). As played by the English Concert under conductor Paul Agnew, it’s a neat fit – Rameau’s fragmentary phrases crisp and taut, every bit the countdown to curtain-up.
In fact Muller’s conceit works like a fever dream through the first half, making near-miraculous sense of Rameau’s 1745 plot-within-a-plot. The raw materials are not for the faint-hearted. At its core, Jupiter is fed up with Juno’s jealousy, so a demi-god cooks up a plan that Jupiter should pretend to fall for the vain marsh-nymph Platée – a figure so obviously unsuitable (not least because she is cast as a high tenor) that Juno will be taught a lesson.
Turning this into a plan devised by a crew clad in athleisure-wear as the latest love-to-loathe-it reality TV gambit makes it much easier to swallow – for a while. Robert Murray and Henry Waddington are a delight to watch as seedy execs, elegantly dispatching Rameau’s ornamentation and finding a natural home for 18th-century French among the coffee cups and beanbags. The chorus is superb – diction chiselled, phrasing in high-definition – and they move with enviable ease. Yes, their lads’-night-out shrieking over a sheep-race (you had to be there) obliterated the orchestra, but the energy was irresistible.
The problem is the second half. The plot slows. Indeed, delay is the point: Jupiter (a gloriously stentorian sing’n’pose act from Ossian Huskinson) mustn’t actually marry Platée before Juno arrives. And at that point the physical comedy gets desperate: an inexplicable scramble to eat wedding cake; a chorus that keeps falling asleep in sync. Mireille Asselin’s lengthy turn as arch-entertainer La Folie was underpowered. I lost track of which plot-level we were in and gradually stopped caring.
At the centre of it all, mercifully, was a captivating performance by Samuel Boden. His Platée went from an also-ran in a swimwear contest (1950s swim cap, flippers, goggles), to a clown-style makeover for her “wedding”. Yet Boden’s singing was rarely cartoonish. His high register was beautiful – his rare lyrical moments achingly so – even while he flopped and tumbled on stage. The opera’s “happy ending” is heartbreaking – made as cruel here as it could be. Or is that just showbiz?
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The closing hours of Reading 2026 have finally arrived. Florence + The Machine brought the rain during ‘Dog Days Are Over’ at The Grid, opening the heavens and leaving the festival site completely soaked. The weary fans who have stayed behind are wet, exhausted and clearly feeling the effects of the weekend. What they need now is one final enormous celebration to make the wait worthwhile.
The Gallery tent comes alive as the speakers blast ‘Favourite’ by Friday’s headliners and fellow countrymen Fontaines D.C., receiving the kind of reaction usually reserved for ‘Mr Brightside’ at a drunken wedding reception. Moments later, Kneecap display their familiar statement accusing Israel of carrying out genocide against the people of Palestine and Lebanon, with support from the UK government. It captures the Belfast rap trio perfectly, combining serious political messages with an unapologetic party atmosphere.
“We use our platform to talk about what we believe is right,” Mo Chara explains during the performance, before recognising those who “aren’t so fucking lucky” and whose voices have been suppressed. He soon encourages the audience to roar “fuck Netanyahu” and “free free Palestine”. Later, he starts a powerful chant of “Aaaaaa-ndy Buuurn-ham’s a waaaaaaan-ker” to the melody of ‘Seven Nation Army’, targeting our new Prime Minister over his claim that “a united Ireland is off the table”. Laughing, he asks: “The BBC won’t broadcast that, or will they?” As it turned out, they did not.
Away from the headlines and the controversy, there is no denying the connection Kneecap have built with their audience. Politics may shape the conversation, but the crowd also came to enjoy themselves, ready for a rave after the rally. The performance begins carefully with the heavy rumble of ‘Smugglers & Scholars’, before exploding during the Grian Chatten collaboration ‘Better Way To Live’ and the threatening energy of ‘Sick In The Head’. “Are ya ready for a mad one?” Mo Chara shouts. The response is already obvious.
The atmosphere becomes increasingly chaotic as the hip hop rhythm of ‘Cold At The Top’ and the hypnotic trance sounds of ‘An Ra’ send the entire tent into motion. The trio jokingly thank the UK for everything it has given Ireland, listing UKIP, fish and chips, a mental health crisis, Jimmy Saville, HP Sauce and Bloody Sunday. However, the show reaches another level once the second half begins. The explosive ‘Sayonara’ brings the ‘beef’ to ‘IBEEFA’, while ‘Get Your Brits Out’ and ‘Guilty Conscience’ give the crowd every reason to obey Móglaí Bap’s demand to “oooopen up the piiiiiit”.
Anyone watching closely may have questioned why the cameras continued to focus on Móglaí Bap and Mo Chara. The pair eventually reveal that they have spent recent weeks performing alongside a “provisional” DJ Próvai. Wearing the familiar tricolour balaclava, the temporary replacement handles his role as the crowd agitator with confidence while their bandmate enjoys some paternity leave. “Some things are more important than music, and that’s family,” they explain. How sweet. Móglaí Bap quickly destroys the tender moment by adding: “As you might know, the Brits took all our potatoes from Ireland; they took all our cocaine,” before declaring, “but we still have all our caaandy.” The group then charge directly into one of the biggest tracks ever written about extremely powerful ketamine.
‘Liar’s Tale’ sparks another huge reaction with its response to Keir Starmer, “genocide armer”, while the group warn that “you’re not getting away with doing nothing”. It is a politically charged message hidden inside an irresistible anthem from musicians who have experienced the “belly of the beast” through the legal system. Their latest album, ‘Fenian’, has helped Kneecap fully embrace the celebration that has always been part of their identity. Their live production now feels capable of filling arenas, blending the intimacy of a late night lock in with the rhythmic force and visual scale of The Chemical Brothers, the reckless electronic punk spirit of The Prodigy, and the fearless political honesty of Public Enemy. The spectacular visuals complete the experience.
Kneecap fans at Reading 2026. Credit: Andy Ford for NME
Kneecap fans at Reading 2026. Credit: Andy Ford for NME
Closing with the powerful combination of ‘Fenian’, ‘H.O.O.D.’ and the enormous ‘The Recap’, Kneecap bring our final celebration at Reading to a thrilling conclusion while also finishing their last festival appearance of the summer. “It’s been a pleasure to spend it with you mad c**ts,” Mo Chara says before leaving the stage. The feeling is mutual.
Return to NME here for the newest reports, reviews, photographs, conversations and further coverage from Reading & Leeds 2026.
