Pierre Donahue
Battered, windswept, damp, full of ancient Celtic spirits and still standing defiant. That could describe St David’s mighty cathedral, but it also describes how I’m feeling after three days at the wonderful Boia Festival, way out on the edge of Wales.
I arrived in the UK’s smallest city on Friday night as darkness fell, after a long drive from Swansea through gale-force winds, a wrong turn and some heavy rain. But that wasn’t enough to stop me. Running late, I grabbed my wristband and headed straight for the beautiful Tabernacle church to see Katherine Priddy take the stage. Or pulpit, perhaps.
Birmingham native Katherine has had an impressive couple of years and arrived fresh off the back of a European tour. Onstage, she has a humble, ethereal presence, with a lovely, crystal-clear warmth to her voice and a distinctive fingerpicking style. Both were enhanced by the chapel’s acoustics. Her songs speak of searching for meaning and finding her place in the world she has created for herself. I’ve been a fan for some time, and this set simply cemented what I already knew: she’s one of the UK’s finest contemporary folk voices right now.
With my Boia experience up and running, I made the short dash to the City Hall to catch Oxfordshire’s effortlessly charismatic Willie J Healey and his band. Garage rocker Willie oozes easy charm, and it speaks volumes about how much I enjoyed his set that, by the end, I’d found myself a lot closer to the front than I’m normally comfortable with. When in Boia.
Running alongside the main shows at the City Hall and Tabernacle is the Boia Trail: a series of gigs and secret shows in pubs and venues across the city. Spoiler alert: lots of the headliners play these slots alongside their headline shows. It’s absolutely genius. Hence, my Friday night ended with Pictish Trail in a completely packed Bishops pub, so close I was almost under the armpit of frontman Johnny Lynch. A real treat. The music, not his armpit.
Johnny took us on a spellbinding journey through lo-fi pop, folk and psychedelia. He has an exuberant, almost manic presence onstage. It’s organic, euphoric and sweaty, and I absolutely loved every second. It was going to be very hard to top that. Or was it…
Suitably pumped, and perhaps a little overly imbibed with the brilliantly named Yma O Hyd beer, my night ended in deep conversation with my mate Rob and Elis of Cardiff psych-rockers Mantis about Owain Glyndŵr, Taliesin, Avalon and the Mabinogion. Eventually, I retreated to my trusty Berlingo camper to catch some shut-eye.
Saturday came around rather too quickly, and rather croakily. It turned out Friday’s weather had merely been a precursor to what was to come. Things were getting seriously nasty. Howling winds and driving rain lashed the town, making movement between venues a bit of a chore. But the joy of an indoor festival is precisely that: you can always find shelter.
I pulled on my trusty Lidl kagool and ventured into the storm before taking refuge inside a packed Dead Sea Records for a witty Q&A between old friends James Yorkston and Pictish Trail’s Johnny Lynch. Yorkston is about to release a book of short stories, and the conversation took a hilarious turn when James announced that, thanks to Michael Caine licensing his voice to AI, it was now possible to listen to his book being read by the famous Cockney. To prove his point, we listened to the audio evidence. One of the more surreal moments of the weekend.
Heading back out into the gale, I spotted Mari Mathias of Mwsog in full Welsh traditional costume, casually strolling up the street with a long staff in one hand. Like some ancient Celtic princess summoning the spirits of the Demetae tribe, I was entranced and dutifully followed her to the City Hall.
Mwsog are a psychedelic Welsh prog-folk-rock explosion I’ve been obsessed with ever since stumbling upon them at the Laugharne Weekend last year. They’re a bit like the bastard Welsh children of The Incredible String Band and Goat, with some Black Sabbath thrown in for good measure. A heady brew. Intoxicating stuff.
They go from strength to strength and stormed the Green Man Festival this year. I reckon they blew a few minds here, too.
By now, the storm was becoming a real challenge. I got soaked to the bone walking just a few hundred yards, my previously excellent kagool failing me at precisely the wrong moment. It was a Lidl’s middle-aisle bargain, after all.
I decided to hunker down in various cosy cafés and pub corners, staying dry and warm. As a result, apart from an excellent John Blek duet with Jodie Marie and a surprise Katherine Priddy secret set at the Farmers Arms, I sadly missed much of the day’s programme.
A surprise Saturday highlight was Kelley Stoltz in the Bishops pub. He wasn’t someone I’d encountered before, and his brand of synth dream-pop was something else. Part comedy, part music show, he really set the night alight.
The San Francisco-based musician’s jovial musings, conversations with the crowd and stories were hilarious, especially when delivered through a heavy dose of reverb that he seemed to control from the stage. It was kinda surreal and a bit trippy. Like I’d stumbled into some late-night American dive bar run by David Lynch.
Saturday ended in the packed City Hall for a headline set by Sea Power. The band, formerly known as British Sea Power, changed its name in 2021. Their appearance perhaps says something about how far this festival has come in such a short space of time. Here’s a band with a history of top-ten albums and festival headline slots at the likes of Latitude and Reading, playing in a small city on the western edge of Wales.
Sunday found me back on the Boia Trail to see Cardiff’s genre-bending five-piece Spirited Followers. I thought they were excellent. Like stumbling upon the long-lost collaboration of Ravi Shankar and Led Zeppelin. Ones to watch.
Irish singer-songwriter Arborist was another act on this year’s bill I knew little about. I particularly enjoyed his dry wit as he stood in the church pulpit, thanking the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit with his tongue firmly in his cheek.
The weekend was approaching its conclusion, but the sun had finally made a belated appearance, so I took the opportunity to walk down to the ancient cathedral and gawp in awe at its incredible Renaissance wooden ceiling.
A delicious Sunday roast later, courtesy of the Bishops, and I was right where I wanted to be for Seamus Fogerty at the City Hall. The Irish singer-songwriter was a highlight of last year, and I’ve had his new album, Ships, on repeat for months.
Seamus has a lovely, warm flow, and his Moog-generated rhythm tracks are delightfully wonky, perfectly suited to the Sunday vibe. Just to top it off, he got a huge cheer when he brought festival organiser Steve Prior onstage to sing harmonies on “I Passed Your House”, coincidentally my favourite track from the album.
It was a beautiful moment.
Sunday was almost done, but not before festival headliner Ezra Furman took to the Tabernacle pulpit. There was a palpable excitement in the air. Ezra is an artist at the top of her game, and it was a bit of a coup to get her down to this windswept corner of nowhere.
But she seemed just as awestruck by the venue. Her line, “I feel just like you would if you were standing here”, hinted at just how nervous she was. That didn’t stop her from delivering one of the most gut-wrenching, raw and mind-blowing sets I’ve ever seen.
Prowling the pulpit with just an electric guitar, brilliantly supported on piano by Ben Joseph, Furman beamed giddily before launching into song after song, laying bare the heartbreaking angst of being a closeted genderqueer person in Chicago.
The Tabernacle erupted at the end, giving her a thoroughly deserved standing ovation.
Wow.
And with that, my Boia 2026 came to an end. This has to be one of the best festivals in the country. It’s cosy, intimate, friendly and brilliantly curated. And there’s something about this ancient place that makes the whole thing feel a little bit magical.
Whatever it is, I’ll be back.
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