Rebellion Festival 2023: Part IV – Sunday 6th August

It’s the last day of Rebellion Festival, everything hurts, especially our feet, and we can’t face any more beer, but regardless we’re going back in. The Blue Carpet Band kick off the final day of rebellion by tearing up the Casbah stage with their high octane mix of garage fuelled punk n’ roll. Their full tilt boogie hits us harder than the double espresso and is the wake up call we needed after three days of excess all areas. Then it’s a quick hobble for the welcome return of Hi-Fi Spitfires, to see what extravagance Rites Of Hadda are bringing to a much much larger stage than they played last year and to catch our very own Cherry B with Peesh.

What is the one thing that has been constant on the Rebellion bill for the past 4 or 5 years?, even when lockdown loomed and they had to do a minor event? Cherry & Peesh of course, the poetic/musical duo have given themselves a place in hearts and minds of so many that have seen them, and the Rebellion Almost Acoustic stage is a place they could now call home. Every time they play you can see old faces and new, non of whom go away feeling anything other than entertained, songs/poems that give a social and political narrative, this all mixed with comedy and an insatiable need speak truths about the state of the nation and its ever more ridiculous politicians. Punk Mum is a given on the set list, but we are also treated to some new ones off the latest album Bigot’s Banquet, which we would highly recommend.

Down in the Empress Ballroom early for Hi-Fi Spitfires and catch some of Zen Baseballbat‘s uplifting pop, enough to make us wish we’d got here earlier. Definitely a band to check out outside of the festival. Hi-Fi Spitfires are a perfect Rebellion band, authentic old school punk that is fresh and not at all derivative. It’s an early slot in the Empress Ballroom on the fourth day of the festival and you’d be justified in thinking that turnout might be affected. But it ain’t. Hi-Fi Spitfires guitarist Steve’s other job in UK Subs may have brought people along, but the size of the crowd is simply a reflection of how good this band is. Anthemic, melodic punk rock enthusiastically received. Superior quality rock n’ roll in any context.

Whereas last year there was shock and awe in response to what is a truly unique band, this year Rites Of Hadda have accumulated their own dedicated following as well as the curious and those mesmerised by the visual spectacle that is an inherent part of their show. With vocalist Wasp transforming from a bizarre taffeta version of their namesake into their party gown, with further layers shed as they complete their metamorphosis over the course of the set. It’s very easy to get distracted from the rest of the band, they deliver the foundation upon which Wasp dances, it must also be said that musically this feels like a much more muscular set than I’ve previously seen by them, sometimes words can’t quite describe a band, Rites Of Hadda are one of those bands. On a side note an actual Summer’s day has broken out, this coincided with the Pagan Witchpunks appearance, coincidence? 

Yur Mum come highly recommended by people who know their shit, so their set in the Pavilion is keenly anticipated. This must be a general feeling because the Pavilion is well-filled. It’s ironic that God Save The Queen is killed on the PA as the band start, as this is very much the new guard. It’s heavy, bruising punk that belies the simple drum/bass set up, a mighty noise for two people to generate. File under Uneasy Listening.

Rebellion veterans and favourites Pizzatramp greet their adoring public in the Casbah by telling them they are a “bunch of cunts”. It’s their way and no one should be surprised. Pizzatramp are not about fine and nuanced musicality. They’re very animated and quite angry Welsh punks who will sonically batter anyone who disagrees with their world view into a pulp. They’re right to be angry, and they’re preaching to the converted. It’s a kind of joyous if not masochistic communion. And definitely good value as the average Pizzatramp song is about 37 seconds long. Not for the faint-hearted. Props for dedicating My Fucking Back Is Fucking Fucked to headlining no-show Dave Vanian of The Damned.

Tom Spencer, who is probably best know as the current front man of The Professionals, but who is in musical terms a man who can turn his talents to so many styles and bands, he is a talented lead guitarist & vocalist who has graced the stage with the likes of Urban Voodoo Machine, The Lurkers and The Men They Couldn’t Hang, so as you can imagine, seeing him playing a solo set on the Almost Acoustic stage at Rebellion Festival, that he took as his “band mates were off doing other things, and how else do you get a free ticket”.  We walked in just as he was hitting the first chords of Silly Thing, and why wouldn’t you do this great song written by your band mate. The rest of the set was a mixed bag of songs that come from corners of his career and songs that he may have in his own record collection, all played with heart and soul, and worth every second of our time listening to, don’t take my word for it, if he ever does this solo set again (and we hope he does), get yourself there and have no regrets.

Keeping things stripped down on a Sunday evening are Ruts DC, these (sort of) acoustic sets suit them well, and to be honest so did their their amplified set yesterday. Volume 2 of their Electracoustic album is out and this set is a good opportunity to share some subtle and more intimate versions of tracks from the recent album, Counter Culture? Kicking off though, it’s Something That I Said, a perennial favourite. From here the set winds through songs older and newer. But provenance is unnecessary as this style of delivery is framed by the song itself, not the era it hails from. Two acoustics and a minimal drum kit cannot diminish the visceral power of these songs, whether they’re rock or dub. Kill The Pain is touchingly dedicated to the late Sinead O’Connor.

The continued popularity of The Nightingales is a testament to the post-punk community’s affection for oddballs. And yet they’re surprisingly contemporary. It could be that they were so far ahead of the curve. We’ve just been catching up all this time. Awkward and angular, The Nightingales can be a challenging listen. Robert Lloyd is mesmerising as he lurches around the stage, giving this the feel rather of a performance art piece, not a gig. You know you’re watching something momentous and interesting. I’m not sure what. Robert’s John Shuttleworth no-rock schtick is not an affectation. It’s just how he is, and signing off with “That was fucking punk rock,” is more knowing that you might appreciate. To be fair, he’s not wrong.

We catch the end of Murphy’s Law that is utter chaos with a furious pit, we tip our hat to anyone still capable of anything beyond a determined hobble, by now we have developed a “you weren’t there man” 1000 yard stare and I’m only propped up by caffeine but we’re not done yet, the reason I descended into the pit is to catch DRI, a band we should have caught a long time ago. DRI have not mellowed with age, now into their fifth decade they still have brutal short sharp hits that unapologetically punch you in the gut, repeatedly, and just as your recovering off they go again, relentless and still true to their original mission objective, whatever that may have been.

Kid Kapichi are on the must see list for Sunday night for two reasons, it’s their first time on and mostly because maybe, just maybe, this is where the future of this festival lies, new artists who not only drive the punk ethos forward into the future, but also bring it about with a fresh style and musical outlook. This is a band who have been around since around 2013, but probably only made the big break through into the majority of punks consciousness with the release of the This Time Next Year album. Kid Kapichi‘s set gives this mostly older audience a taste of how the youth feel about having shit life in shit britain, they deliver songs that ring out as the crowd bounce and circle pit like they never have before in the Empress Ballroom. 

Brix Smith of The Fall. There, it’s said. Let’s move on. Or can we? There’s a perverse angularity in Brix’s work that has a definite kinship with her late ex-husband’s work. And then there’s driving, thumping and socially conscious rock music. And that’s the key to this – it’s authentic and subversive. And that’s as good a definition of punk as you need. Brix is a mesmerising and engaging focus and her band are tight as bedamned. First class. You could feel the massive love in the room for Brix and her band and maybe some minus points for not having any merch available, because there were a lot of folk looking for the album after the show.

The Backdrop says “Bob Vylan is Killing Punk Rock” a statement that was obviously said by someone who wants to see punk die without a fight, and who in Bob Vylan‘s own words is probably old and with a considerable “lean to the right these days”, think that was the moment when a few people left via the exit to the right! You can make your own mind up on their who they vote for. His stage presence alone is enough to get this crowd shouting for more, he first limbers up for the nights workout ahead and then without much further ado, leaps off into the crowd to get this riot underway. With a style that is not only fresh and new, but takes pointers from all the right places, mixing rap, reggae and punk then infusing it with grunge and powerful political, social and anti racist statements. The perfectly worded We Live Here is without doubt a song that speaks more of what this band are about than any other, but by the end of his show, you not only feel drained just watching, but you also feel enthused that the future of punk rock is actually in good hands, not being killed, but being nurtured.

The last time Gaye Bykers On Acid were caught by one of our team was back in the mists of time in a park in London, unsure of what to expect we strap ourselves in to return to the short lived era when grebo bands stalked the earth. They emerge to the UK kid’s tv show Rainbow theme tune, which is a suitably surreal opener for a band whose return wasn’t predicted. Opening with TV Cabbage from the infamous Drill Your Own Hole album, from here on in its blast through their early recordings, which were freshly pressed the last time we encountered them. Sometimes things age badly, sometimes they remain relevant and sometimes a moment in time is preserved waiting to be unleashed again, Gaye Bykers On Acid are the latter.

The final lap of the Winter Gardens takes us down into the Casbah where The Briefs are delivering and energising set that veers fron new wave tinged punk rock to frantic hardcore, something that makes them the perfect compliment to the Casbah’s last headliner of the weekend, the clown princes of punk, The Dickies. The soundcheck includes Stan Lee playing a few bars of Stiff Little Finger‘s Alternative Ulster, to his surprise and delight it crops up next on Rebellion’s punk playlist and there’s another jam along to the punk classic. Despite four straight days at Rebellion, too much beer, unhealthy food (generally it’s either fried or covered in cheese) and not enough sleep, there is still enough energy in the crowd and no one is going home just yet.

Remember those gorgeous Dickies singles on coloured vinyl from back in the day? Garishly bright and ridiculous, they matched the ethos, the ridiculously cartoonish delivery. So flashforward over 40 years and we’re about to find out if The Dickies‘ schtick has weathered the storm. I don’t think anyone’s expecting searing social commentary here (an arch nod to Gary Glitter aside). By all accounts, the band have been on fire on their warm up gigs, so the omens are good. Here’s a surprise. The first song is a fairly leaden but ecstatically received Anarchy In The UK. What follows in a helter skelter run through highlights of the catalogue. The early reports are correct. This is a band on fire. Nights In White Satin is ecstatically received, the mosh pit erupts with frantic dancing. Even losing Stan Lee‘s amp top mid song can’t slow this ride down. Mid-set highlights include Got It At The Store and Going Ape. Somehow wearing a snorkel and mask and holding an inflatable sex doll (amongst other oddball props) seems totally in keeping with the vibe. This is an unashamedly ‘Best Of’ set, and it’s over too soon. Unlike many Rebellion bands, it’s clear there’s going to be an encore. There’s an extended instrumental adventure while Leonard is offstage but there’s only one possible way to round of this masterclass – The Tra La La song. There are certainly people moshing furiously for whom these cultural references mean nothing, but that’s irrelevant. Joyously camp and showbiz, but also muscular and heavy bubblegum punk at its absolute finest.

One man, one microphone, one phone backing track and a flash light, that’s Meryl Streek‘s normal stage kit, but tonight he has a sound system a sound engineer and lighting man, but what doe this Irish punk poet want, strobes only and half way into his first song “can we not turn this volume up to much higher”, yes its how it should be for this very angry but very driven and purposefully directed artist. You can feel the caged tiger wanting to get out song by song, the stage is not a place he wants to be, the crowd are there to be fed off and the need to give them the full distain he has for the establishment, be it in Death To The Landord a song that spits at the thieves who steal from the needy and prey on the vulnerable, or in two of the most harrowing songs you could ever witness, 796 and False Apologies, that give no quarter to the institutions that should have been there to help, rather than what they actually did. By the end of his set Meryl finally gives in to his need to share every second of his being there, and gets over into the audience with mic stand and all, now we are fully immersed in his world of electronic power pop that embodies and encompasses the words perfectly. It’s a place of anger as well as hope and compassion that we all feel perfectly at home in, a place where we are being as one and you do feel that this is how change might actually happen one day.  An end to Rebellion that actually did feel like a beginning, let’s hope this continues to be a place where Punk can grow and survive.

And that’s it for another Rebellion. Once the euphoria has subsided, it’s a weary trek to the hotel to reflect on what the fuck has happened. This festival is like a gigantic family wedding; family is the key here, because it’s multi-generational but familiar. Punk is too small a word to encapsulate the vibe over these four days. I suspect everyone is genuinely sad to leave, to go back to a life where maybe you can’t be yourself as freely and safely in a world full of misconceptions and stereotypical thinking. Did we see every band we wanted to, no you can’t, you just can’t, did we meet everyone we planned on meeting, again no. These are given, but as always Rebellion represents the punk scene past and present like no other, new discoveries, old favourites, the Rebellion family never disappoints. We’ll see you all next year and do it all again. And for the final time this year we head off into the night in search of fried food and our hotel.

Photography by Phinky, Scott Bradley (Phukin Photos), Mark Cartwright and Brad Bennett

Words by Peter Hough, Phinky & Mark Cartwright