Pohoda Festival 2026 @ Trenčín Airport / Letisko Trenčín
Trenčín Airport / Letisko Trenčín, Letisko Trenčín, 911 01 Trencin Kort
mið. 08.07.2026 00:00
Letisko Trenčín at 2026-07-08
Flytjendur
-
Gorillaz
Gorillaz is a British pop band created in 1998 in London, England, as the creative brainchild of musician Damon Albarn and graphic artist Jamie Hewlett. The band consists entirely of fictional members, with Albarn and various guests creating the band’s music.
-
The CureThe Cure are a band formed in 1976 hailing from Crawley, West Sussex, in the United Kingdom. Fronted by lead singer and songwriter Robert Smith, they came from the post-punk scene of the early 80’s to become one of the biggest and most influential bands in modern rock.
-
Lykke LiRA: Resident Advisor
-
The Prodigy
Rising out from Essex, UK, The Prodigy have become one of the biggest electronic acts for over the past 20 years.
-
IdlesTANGK. I needed love. So I made it. I gave love out to the world and it feels like magic. This is our album of gratitude and power. All love songs. All is love. The new album out now - https://idles.lnk.to/tangk
-
Baxter DurySon of legendary vocalist, Ian Dury, Baxter Dury (born November 8th, 1972) has crafted a career of his own, offering psychedelia-infused indie rock that has found a strong cult following and critical praise.
-
Kae TempestRA: Resident Advisor
-
Maruja
Artists in the truest sense of the word, Maruja’s ferocious combination of punk, harsh noise, and transcendent cosmic jazz is fast marking them out as one of the most exciting new acts in the country. The years spent relentlessly honing their craft are paying off in style, driven not just by passion but rather an all-consuming need to create and perform with a visceral intensity, they are both electrifying and terrifying.
Anyone who’s seen a Maruja show will know what drummer Jacob Hayes means when he talks about an atmosphere that’s “both feral and loving.” Maruja gigs are a spiritual experience – free-flow jams of uncategorisable music. Punk meets free jazz, with lyrics, rooted in rap, that are all about the message; vicious guitar loops, psychedelic bass, transcendent saxophone – and a voice, in Harry Wilkinson, that stretches from a Manchester version of Zack de la Rocha, to a call to prayer.
Their long-awaited debut album Pain to Power captures those moments in live performance when, as Jacob puts it, “things move to another level – the flow state”. The band compose in a unique way: their music is largely improvised, and they bring their personal feelings into every jam – so it was natural that contemporary politics bled into their songwriting. “Trump came in on 20 January, slap bang in the middle of our recording process,” says saxophonist Joe Carroll; and the band have followed the conflict in Gaza with grim attention, resulting in (as bassist Matt Buonaccorsi puts it) “that combination of heavy tragedy and hope. This is a tragedy that’s beyond horrific, it’s so oppressive that hope itself seems impossible to find.”
This cycle of tragedy and hope is there at the heart of Pain to Power. “It starts off brutal and turns into something powerful and expressive,” says lyricist, rapper and singer Harry. “We have to trust in that circle of life, and in our power to overcome pain.” The album follows the arc of a live show: an onslaught of energy, arriving at a place of transcendence, the music itself “rising from the ashes”.
Some of the most political music is the least prescriptive. At their heart, Maruja fight against an increasingly individualistic society. At the end of every show, Harry repeats the same mantra: “We wish you peace, prosperity and unity in these times of global oppression. Together we are stronger, please raise a fist for solidarity”. Everyone joins in, he adds.
Pain to Power was put together in an astonishingly short time – just two months, at the start of this year – and was produced by Samuel W Jones, already expert at giving Maruja records the feel of the crowd that wasn’t there.
The lead single Look Down On Us is a hair-raising critique of late-stage capitalism, morphing into a poignant meditation on the need for hope fuelled by plaintive sax.
The ferocious Bloodsport (“Complicit! Crossfire! No Vision! Live wire!”) was finished in just two hours. The song started with a guitar loop and a pounding drum roll, but the boys realised it had the same BPM as many of the records in their vast drum and bass collection: “so this is drum and bass through a punk filter.”
Harry almost raps, even talking about the record, his words coming in a rhythmic flow of energy. Maruja have always been acutely aware of mental health, and Bloodsport takes world events and examines their corrosive effect on the individual: “We're swallowing our fears till our kids are overdosing… I'm an addict addicted to my bad habits…”
“How does someone feel when they have no power?” Harry says. “All they want to do is find a little bit of dopamine to release them from the oppressive cloud that hangs over their head. All of these narratives coalesce into mental health crises. How are you going to pull yourself out of that? It takes courage to try and find inner peace, to recognise our own flaws…”
Pain to Power identifies the frustrated energy of a disengaged populace, and of people who want to protest but are finding it harder and harder in the current climate. On a recent American tour, the band spoke with fans who have taken to wearing balaclavas on peaceful demonstrations, afraid of arrest and deportation.
Maruja have a strong message of spirituality and talk about it with an understanding that recalls John Coltrane and other jazz giants of the past. It is a sentiment captured in Born To Die (“We are universal spirits and our kingdom is this earth,”) which whirls into a storm of cymbals and industrial feedback.
“Music itself is healing,” says Harry, “and we should help other people in a culture that is very repressed. The only spiritual things left in the world are music and love. Spirituality is ridiculed – people would rather believe in nihilism, which shows how disconnected we are.”
The tension of Pain to Power – the rage that informs those heavy opening songs – is repeatedly built up and broken by sonics reproducing the euphoria at the end of Maruja shows.
Zaytoun, with its vocal cries like seagulls, is a fully-improvised free-jazz piece, named after the Arabic word for olive tree: a symbol of peace and resilience with connection to the land that is deeply rooted in Palestinian culture. “That’s what our jams are,” says Joe. “Coming together to release this energy. We can’t do it by ourselves, so it symbolizes our unity.”
Saoirse, meaning ‘freedom’, and inspired by the band’s own Celtic roots, is a showcase for sax and strings. This remarkable track looks at the ties between Ireland and Palestine, epitomised in the Irish protest slogan “Saoirse don Phalaistin”. Among his grandfather’s possessions in Sligo, Joe found a decades-old comic strip depicting a “Black and Tan” Irish soldier boarding a boat to Palestine. Lyrically the song speaks to the power of unity to combat division with frontman Harry Wilkinson’s deeply moving mantra: 'It’s our differences that make us beautiful’.
The exquisite nine-minute opus Reconcile, with an entrancing polyphonic interlude and a story all of its own in the drums, is about embracing love, being at peace with the cycle of destruction. “The hatred will always come,” says Joe. “Embracing love is the overall message.”
The shuddering metal of Trenches was inspired by one of Maruja’s regular messages to fans before gigs: “See you in the trenches!” The song is a nod to the band’s personal story – and to their belief in the power of music to effect change: “We use those words, see you in the trenches,” says Joe, “because the message of the band is about community – trying to make a difference.”
Does he think Maruja can make a difference?
“Yes. Music used to be a superpower – Marvin Gaye, Nina Simone, all these artists were speaking to the Black Power movement, and music was at the height of culture. The world is crying out, especially on the left, for people to build from a place of community. For years it’s been your solo artists, your Ed Sheerans – but to have a band, a community… We see it at the shows, the countless personal stories we’ve heard.”
Maruja don’t hide their political feelings at gigs, but they have to be increasingly subtle at US shows at the moment; in Washington recently, Harry spoke about a kakistocracy – being governed by those who are unfit to lead.
“We have to be careful about the way we put things, in order to reach as many people as possible. It’s strange when you have world leaders out there committing atrocities and there are no consequences at all! But if it’s harder to say stuff, it means it needs saying more than ever…
Their music, their very dynamics, speak loud enough: and the four-way friendship at the heart of the band is a metaphor for the kind of unity they’re seeking.
Matt and Harry studied music and performance together in Manchester, before Harry transferred to electronic music production. In their early days, Maruja sounded as funky as Parliament. Joe pushed it further into jazz territory when he brought his sax into the picture: his playing can bring to mind the mesmerising loops of Sufi music.
As for the jazz references, they have no training. It is more of an attitude, they say – a sense of possibility and freedom. “Jazz is having no boundaries,” says Harry, “and being completely free to express yourself. There is no formula, no rules. It comes from us loving what we do. We could improvise together all day and have the best day of our lives.”
“It’s about the energy of letting yourself go, something you can only achieve when you have been at it for prolonged hours,” Jacob adds. “You have to be really comfortable with one another emotionally so you can allow your unconscious to take over. We go into a trance-like state when we’re playing – an hour goes by, and you have no sense of time.”
“When we play, it’s always to do with getting things out that have been trapped in us,” says Harry. “Whether it’s war across the sea, relationships, society’s pressures – it’s always like you’re relieving some kind of pain. It’s about not being afraid of being vulnerable on stage, completely letting yourself go. People can see how free you are. I never felt as free in my life as I do on stage, jamming with the boys.”
“killer from front to back and I can’t wait for these guys to get into album mode….when these guys eventually go into full record mode, it’s going to be incredible” – Anthony Fantano
“will leave listeners breathless but begging for more” – DIY Magazine
-
Fat DogLike many a band that has emerged from London’s vibrant music scene, Fat Dog earned their stripes at the venerable Windmill. Formed during the pandemic, the band’s DNA is characterised by a certain degree of social disgust, which is reflected in their gloriously dirty vocals and also in their songwriting. This is marked just as much by distorted rock ’n’ roll and a furious punk quality, as it is by futuristic synths and driving backbeats. -
Fanfare CiocarliaFanfare Ciocarlia are a 24-legged brass beast whose eastern funk groove has torn up halls and festivals across the planet. Their energy and ingenuity having won them fans from Melbourne to Memphis, Tokyo to Toulouse. Having learnt their craft at the feet of their fathers and grandfathers Fanfare's members proudly approach every concert as a challenge to both entertain audiences and keep the true spirit of Gypsy music alive. Fanfare Ciocarlia went on to conquer the USA, Europe, Asia and Australia. The Gypsies may only have spoken their local Romany dialect but their music spoke an international language and audiences responded to their fierce Balkan funk by turning concerts into parties. What Fanfare Ciocarlia played was something new. The Times of London described it as "a heavy, heavy monster sound" and Fanfare's recordings have taken their eerie Balkan groove into dance clubs across the planet. -
Luisa Almaguer“What do you see in the mirror? / What do you see when you look at me? / I carry wounds / from what you call love.” Mexican singer Luisa Almaguer knows that everything she does – every song she releases – is a political act. An outspoken advocate for trans rights, she identifies with feminism, speaks openly about privilege and works to reshape dominant social narratives. In 2018, she launched the first Latin American podcast focused on the life stories of the trans community. A year later, she released her second album Mataronomatar; her latest record, Weyes (2024), received praise from outlets such as Rolling Stone, Remezcla, KEXP and El País. That same year, she performed at Bahidorá festival alongside Damon Albarn and his Africa Express project – a line-up that visitors of last year’s Pohoda festival described as one of the highlights of the entire event. “For me, it was an immense school, a kind of university – the chance to work with so many artists from all over the world, speaking different languages. We had to communicate through music. It may sound like a cliché, but when you experience it, you quickly realise how universal and truly special a language music is,” she told Full Moon magazine about the collaboration that marked a turning point in her life. She continues to rehearse with Albarn while also nurturing ambitions as a filmmaker. Luisa Almaguer will perform in her Czech premiere at Colours of Ostrava with her own band, bringing a blend of folk, shoegaze, grunge and hyperpop – a performance that promises to be both urgent and uplifting.
-
Turtle IslandForget bands that started in a garage. This is Japan. These guys were born under a bridge. The year is 1999, the city of Toyota on the outskirts of Nagoya. Twelve musicians, tribal punk, taiko drums, guitars, flutes, and an almost uncontainable energy. This is East Asian temperament in its rawest form. This is Turtle Island! Turtle Island are not a band. They are a “fuckin’ orchestra.” Pure euphoria, where ancient Asian rhythms explode into anarchic dance. Music that tears down every boundary – national, genre-based, and even the line between audience and stage. In 2011, they founded their own festival in Japan, Hashi no Shita Ongaku-sai (literally “Music Under the Bridge”), which leaned far more toward anarchic protest than a neatly curated cultural event. And yet, just three years later, that very attitude carried them all the way to the legendary Pyramid Stage at the Glastonbury Festival.
