Never Mind the Buckfast: Rebellion 2024 Day 3
Something something Dead Kennedys something something.
There were rumours that the English far-right were out for trouble today. A planned meet at Blackpool town hall was said to be happening at around midday. To fully prepare ourselves, The Good Lady Punk Connoisseur and I bought a bottle of Buckfast to drink in the town square. Though I caught sight of a gang of children in balaclavas, what I mostly saw was a lot of punks, police horses, and bemused locals. As we swigged Buckfast from the bottle outdoors in broad daylight, we wondered if this had been a load of fuss over nothing.
Buckfast the breakfast of champions. ©dickslaughter.com
We would be proved wrong.
Surgery Without Research. ©dickslaughter.com
The afternoon started well enough though. In the Arena, Surgery Without Research kicked off our day in fine, anarcho-punk style. There was a lot of righteous anger on display, towards the government, police, the anticipated rioting racists, tempered only by an unplanned drum and bass interlude towards the end when one of the guitarist’s strings became loose. It turns out, “you do need six strings.”
Next was an acoustic double bill, starting with Dakka Skanks, mixing ska rhythms, indie instrumentation, and Eastern melodica melodies. This was followed by The Countess of Fife, who describe themselves as an alchemy of country, punk and gospel, and in their acoustic set up, they certainly had a feel of Americana alt-folk to me. It was at this point in the weekend when I wondered if the Almost Acoustic stage was where Rebellion chose to showcase some of the more technically gifted vocalists. Like many of the female vocalists I encountered across the festival, Clara Byrne of Dakka Skanks has a serious pair of lungs on her, and her vocals hit me like a tidal wave. Fay Fife, meanwhile, gave a folksier delivery, though still beautifully soulful.
Dunstan Bruce of Interrobang‽ © 1MU
I took a quick glimpse at Gimp Fist in the Ballroom and immediately gauged their brand of street-punk as not for me, much as I appreciated the Clockwork Orange motif. Much more up my alley was Interrobang‽ in the Opera House – suited and booted, they seemed to mix funk, mod rock, and German kosmiche, with the kind of witty lyrics you would expect from two former members of Chumbawamba. I propose a genre name – “punk-tuation.” I only caught the last few songs of theirs but hope to catch them in full later.
As we left the Opera House, half a bottle of Buckfast and a few other drinks in, things started to get weird. Rumours were spreading on the Rebellion Facebook group that riots had started outside. The Winter Gardens security, heavily and oxymoronically criticised up to this point for being both heavy handed and lackadaisical in their duties, locked the doors. An announcement was made:
“It is not safe to go outside.”
“I hope those are not sniffer dogs” - ©dickslaughter.com
The question was, were we safe indoors? Suddenly, all the booze on earth couldn’t stop me immediately sobering up. (I still wouldn’t have tried driving, mind.) We knew people who were locked out. A brief phone call with them ended with the words, “oh shit, I gotta go.”
For a first-hand view of what happened outside, check out Dick Slaughter’s excellent article.
“Punks got their sign back” - ©dickslaughter.com
TV Smith and Vom Ritchie. © 1MU
To relax, we took ourselves up to the Literary stage for a talk by Andy Scott of The Sweet. (This is discussed elsewhere.) This was followed by a return to Almost Acoustic, with a set by TV Smith & former drummer with Doctor & The Medics (among others), Vom Ritchie. There were no Adverts songs to be heard here – this was all solo material. Despite the apparent lack of rehearsal (as Vom said, “who has time?”), this set seemed far more high-energy than Smith’s solo set the day before, and I much preferred it. Regrettably, we left before the end, missing a guest appearance on fiddle by Rebellion stalwart and punk poet Attila The Stockbroker.
TV Smith, back on day two. ©dickslaughter.com
We left because The Good Lady was feeling ill. Remember back on Day Zero, when we crammed into a tiny, sweltering room for the Knuckleheadz? Well, there’s a strong possibility that sweat wasn’t the only thing in the air. At the time of writing, COVID-19 is still mutating its wicked way across the UK, and we concluded that there was a good chance she might have it. Having confirmed that Blackpool was once again safe, she took herself back to our hotel for the rest of the evening, leaving me to wander the gargantuan Winter Gardens dazed and confused. As such, I fear I did not give King Kurt a fair shout. Though to be fairer still, I consider the saxophone in rock and roll music to be fraught with danger. Instead, I took a chance on a recommendation – Spain’s Deaf Devils, in the Pavillion.
Reader, theirs was not only the best show of the festival, but the most eventful. I will recount this later.
Lene Lovich. © 1MU
Anglo-American bizarro queen, soldier for Arthur Brown, and one-time audience member at one of my live music shows, Lene Lovich, took to the stage in the Opera House for a wonderful set of new wave nostalgia, resplendent in black and sounding just as gloriously bonkers as the day ‘Lucky Number’ came out. Yet her oddball energy didn’t seem to be met with the rapturous reception I felt it deserved – had the mood of the day soured among some of the audience because of external events? It was a possibility.
Zillah Minx of Rubella Ballet. ©dickslaughter.com
My day ended with a trip down to the Arena for Rubella Ballet, and their rapid-fire electro rock. Under black lights and dressed in neon, their mix of Day-Glo aesthetics and Big Black guitar noise won me over. Never mind Billy Idol’s dodgy 90’s flop – this was cyberpunk.
Rubella Ballet. ©dickslaughter.com
Thus concluded Day Three. The Good Lady laid sick in bed, racism hung in the air, and there I stood, feet throbbing, wondering if Buckfast was to blame for all of this.
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