Who do you think you are kidding Mr Butlin…a festival in early January? The decorations have only just come down but the glitterball in Bognor shines brightly – hmmm maybe delay that dry January for a while yet. Armed with a wonky trolley load of pale ale, camera batteries and loose change for the arcade, Backseat Mafia heads for the 9th annual Rockaway Beach Festival.
Hey ho, let’s go!
There are two main music venues at Butlin’s. Reds tends to showcase what most would consider are “new” bands whereas more established well-known acts end up at the Centre Stage area. It’s testament to the magic of Rockaway that both areas are mobbed whoever is performing.
Still stuck in the looping afternoon queue to get entry passes, sadly Ghost Car came and went on the Reds stage – so this Rockaway experience begins with Teessider Kingsley Hall and his punky performance poetry in Benefits. Angry, tribal and unsettling at times Hall sets the tone and template which is followed by several bands over the Rockaway weekend. Dubliners M(h)aol step up next with similar lyrical grit and tackle gender issues with a hypnotic sound creating a nihilistic fug. Having previously played the 2020 event, Polish indie rockers then return to the Reds stage with their now-familiar indie rock.
Around the corner at the Centre Stage it’s Dublin raised (now Belfast based) boys Chalk who have the honour of opening the show. Vocalist Ross Cullen and his coiffured New Romantic barnet leads the compulsive dance beat like Underworld on downers. An air of despair dominates, hold off on releasing those party poppers for now.
Back at Reds David McAlmont and Hifi Sean are in a celebratory mood marking the release of their new album Happy Ending. David is rejuvenated and in fine voice. Remarkable, since he admits it’s only the second time they’ve played together. Chilled grooves aplenty from David. Refreshing too to see a non-white face at the festival since Rockaway wins no awards for diversity. The sea of overwhelmingly white, middle aged punters is perhaps not sinister but hardly reflects society and just doesn’t feel inclusive.
Meanwhile on the big stage Bob Vylan limbers up with his usual stretching regime. The Rasta is ready for action. The stage banner reads ‘Bob Vylan is killing punk rock’…and so he is. Punked up grime and hip hop and an explosive, athletic display follows featuring stage jumps and a cricket bat – howzat! The most delicious moment sees Bob getting a swathe of the crowd to chant “A C A B” before performing his timely anti-police polemic Pulled Pork. Some seem to squirm and it’s hard to determine who is a muso or a militant but Bob unites everyone against the pigs!
Back at the other stage, Pale Blue Eyes have taken Reds into the metronomic underground with mesmeric krautrock. Contemporaries may try to imitate but without the chemistry, it would be a self-indulgent dirge – Pale Blue Eyes have mastered it. A most engaging set.
The guest packs at Rockaway contain wristbands stating ‘That Weekend Feeling’ – but to be honest, Butlins hasn’t quite got there yet. Maybe this dad’s army needs a bit of time to unwind. Don’t panic, Pauline Black is here with The Selecter who know instinctively how to get the party started. Bang! Bognor explodes in a skanking frenzy as Pauline and friends including Arthur ‘Gaps’ Hendrickson play 2 Tone classics like Three Minute Hero and the sublime Missing Words interspersed with new songs from their latest album Human Algebra. Butlins has awoken!
It’s getting late and Patrick Wolf is being very…well…Patrick Wolf. The last time I saw him he was in a drunken daydream laying on a table backstage at the second ever Latitude Festival. A decade and a half later he’s at Butlins describing how he actually was a “hopeless drunk”. Wolf tells a tale of a Bognor visit in his youth when he was searching for William Blake’s cottage after consuming a bottle of gin for breakfast. A futile search which ended in him being sick by the pier and “leaving a trail of vomit to Worthing and back…”. Wolf is quite the late night raconteur…or a drama queen – depending on your view but Reds is certainly feeling cosy and most are absorbed by his chamber pop and the calm, classical vibe. Holiday camp.
It’s late, approaching one in the morning and headliners Hinds still haven’t started. The generation gap is showing. Boomers are craving cocoa, slippers and their chalet, the majority Gen X crowd still have their beer and are smug they won’t need a kebab and cab tonight. Meanwhile for the millennials and the handful of Gen Z the night is still very young. Hinds are Spanish – hey, it’s probably only just dinnertime in Madrid! The tech crew get the issues sorted and the Spaniards are ready. Joy oozes from these women. Dominating the stage with chaotic fun at every turn – it takes skill to so effortlessly entertain the Hinds way. They do what everyone should expect at a festival – engage and enthral the audience and win many new fans. The liveliness is all the more amazing when Carlotta Cosials reveals that they all took a budget flight at stupid o’clock that morning. Oh and it all ends with their mates invading the stage with bananas, obviously. Deserved headliners and an anarchic, exciting end to the first day of Rockaway.
