Where Rockaway Beach usually acts as the sonic duster to waft away the cobwebs of mundanity that comes from New Year’s, this year the end-of-year celebrations acted simply as pre-drinks to the real party – the one down in sunny Bognor Regis.
After an indisputably massive tenth birthday shindig in 2025, 2026 had a lot to live up to… which it did in a fashion. There was always a mountain to climb – starting on the January 2, an inevitable amount of Christmas and New Year fatigue was bound to be at play – and it was. The vibe was more subdued than usual (although that could have been my burgeoning chest-infection), but that didn’t stop Rockaway doing what it does best – New Year, New Music (and old music).
Also, given the heavy weight of last year’s headliners (Spiritualized, Ride and Leftfield) expectations were high for, arguably, lower-calibre acts to deliver the same kind of festival-defining performances.
Given all this, the fact that Rockaway 2026 again delivered a grand party that straddles the legacy acts and cutting-edge newcomers with ease, is a wonder. Unlike the other Butlins’ Weekenders, Rockaway is not a gaudy, nostalgia-fest for hen-do’s, stag-do’s and fancy-dress frolics (although the growing reputation had attracted more of that than usual); it is a discerning indie/punk fans destination. Even in its weaker moments, that can never be taken away from a festival that has consistently delivered for over a decade.
The brutal start date of the festival was greeted with the most brutal headliners on Friday, Soft Play. The formula hasn’t changed since their days in chains (if you know, you know) – unrelenting, two-piece, drums and riffs, punk rock. Far from “thinking person’s rock”, the charm of Isaac Holman (lead vocals, drums) and Laurie Vincent (backing vocals, guitar) is in their energy and abandon at every point. Covering mainly their new record Heavy Jelly plus some cuts from under their earlier moniker, they prove the “if it ain’t broke” mantra of their pounding punk. ‘Soft Cunts’ emblazoned on the big screens showed that there is inherent humour in the sonic violence, and while the repetition of ideas is often enough to turn some people off (“when you’ve seen one song, you’ve seen them all”, said one punter) live rock needs more of this wilful, no-fucks-given power to lose yourself in. And to judge by the sprawling mass of mosh pits and crowd surfing, that definitely hit home.
Softplay. Photo: Shaun Gordon
On the Sunday, I missed hyped-lot English Teacher because of playing a game of chicken with my own lungs in the room, which left just one of the bill-toppers to talk about here, and the band that delivered the most “headliner” set of the weekend – Public Image Limited.
John Lydon is a lot of things to a lot of people, a sprawling mass of contradictions, provocations and hot takes that has made him equally revered and reviled since he emerged in the Sex Pistols. Indeed, some of his recent political polemics has soured many people’s love of him and his band; but nothing can take away from PiL being one of the most important bands in history – one that rewrote the book on music.
Despite being an act with a legacy, PiL sidestepped the trappings of being a purely “legacy act”. Of course, they play a batch of recognizable “hits” (albeit with new flourishes from the current band, who show that PiL in its ever-morphing state is always vital). On ‘Death Disco’ (how the hell is it 47 years old!) they proved how far ahead of the game they were, and how they shaped modern music. It’s sub-dub, rhythmic pulsations (possibly morphed with the slightly different, shorter version, ‘Swan Lake’, from Metal Box in places) was purely exhilarating.
A hypnotic, longer version of ‘This is Not a Love Song’ was also post-punk perfection, while ‘Poptones’ exhibited their softer, experimental side. ‘Public Image’ remains a best-in-class post-punk single, proven again.
Throughout all this, one thing that was apparent was Lydon’s towering figure as a one-of-a-kind performer. One with a stunningly powerful voice – the grit, the growls and the operatic highs could only come from him, in his league of one. There are, of course, new tracks like ‘Shoom’ off the 2015 album What The World Needs Now… that sit perfectly in the set.
John Lydon, PiL. Photo: Shaun Gordon
Lydon toned down the political diatribes, only unleashing on an apparent move from Starmer to ban over 70’s from driving (a nonsense but funny quip, which if you ignore Lydon’s apparent support for letting visually impaired OAPs behind the wheel, was a humorous moment) but when the music speaks it does so in volumes. Hearing a room of people sing “anger is an energy” during ‘Rise’ and dropping Lydon’s collaboration on Time Zone’s ‘World Destruction’ (where he joined Afrika Bambatta on vocals) at the very time the Orange-in-Chief was kidnapping world leaders and egging on his masked thugs, made it clear where the band’s views on overreaches of power really stand.
A step into electronica on a rousing rendition of Leftfield’s ‘Open Up’ (although as much a Lydon tune as anything) again shows how PiL has moved its way through vital sounds throughout their history. John Lydon is bigger than PiL yet PiL is bigger than Lydon, and that is what makes them still such a force.
“Legends” is a term that Rockaway Beach has become highly comfortable with over the years, and there is a smattering of them over the weekend – punk stalwarts The Members and TV Smith being just some. On Friday night Scottish indie legends Idlewild proved again that they are criminally underrated, with their songs ageing brilliantly (although, arguably, not as well as frontman Roddy Woomble). A few sound niggles in the early part of the set did nothing to blight the overall power of the melodic, sad bangers – finding intense melody in big distortion has rarely been mastered as well as Idlewild on form.
Idlewild. Photo: Shaun Gordon
Of course, everything from the 90’s up to the material off the American Fiction is what everyone gathered was there for! How can you not be engaged by ‘Roseability’, ‘You Held the World in your Arms’, ‘A Film for the Future’ and ‘When I Argue I See Shapes’ which despite not having the visceral abandon of the early days, still packed a punch even if a louche, nonchalant one.
On Sunday over on the Centre Stage, Inspiral Carpets seemed a bit off the boil but there is fun in their bouncy, organ-driven indie from an era when “party vibes” were as much part of the indie-aesthetic as bucket hats and parkas. As fun as it is, leaving that early for grunge-pop brats Coach Party, proved to be a solid choice. They were exuberant fun, with the air of a band still finding their way, full of excitement and vitality, not yet jaded by industry expectations, but with the musicianship and songs to match more established bands. At their best, they could be giving stadium-acts a run for their money soon enough.
Beach Party. Photo: Shaun Gordon
The undercard was a mixed bag but is also where the festival really shone. Take Black Country rabble-rousing duo GANS who played with enough energy to power the National Grid, as an example. There is very little to separate what they do from Soft Play, the same power in simplicity, the same less-is-more aesthetic except this time with electronic flourishes amongst the pounding. Sub DFA 1979 if you will. Still, the backdrop message “GANS is good for the soul” is correct; they have a fun, cathartic energy which despite not being big or clever is vital (but having the whole audience in the palm of your hand only to get them to chant “fuck” does seem a waste). Big, dumb, electro-punk fun is always a laugh, at least.
But, away from the hype, the real undercard heroes of the weekend were French trio We Hate You Please Die, who found rhythmic power, intense melody and, at times, beauty in amongst violent rock noise. With the most complex dance of riffs and rhythms of the weekend, fans of Fugazi, Sonic Youth and Huggy Bear found a new favourite. When the thrash took hold there was nothing heavier witnessed, all the while finding air in the cracks.
GANS. Photo: Shaun Gordon
Coming in close, and showing that Rockaway still values some curveballs, Voka Gentle brought a kinetic, post-everything party to behold. A fascinating collision of the analogue and the digital, the traditional and the future-thinking, they effortlessly mashed together everything from pop harmonies and old school synth-jams to near grunge riffs and hip-hop beats, with flourishes of epic weirdness thrown in. No matter how strange it got, everything was packed into an accessible package through incredible writing and musicianship, plus a performance so infectious it bounced off the stage. A thrilling set from ones to watch.
That energy was also matched, if not bettered by hip-hop / nu-metal revivalists Blackgold who, adorned with metal masks (al la MF DOOM), wove a pastiche quilt of obvious hip-hop and rap metal tropes – one minute rinsing Limp Bizkit riffs, the next the bombast of peak Wu Tang, all with classic hype-man attitude and bravado. It lifted the room and almost the roof almost off – but the thing is, it just didn’t quite work!
For anyone who loves these sounds, it is already a pure patchwork of nostalgia; they even joke about a circle pit opening a portal to the 90’s – a jokey nod to the past but without any clear indication the band themselves are in on the joke. There is nothing wrong with recycling music history, everything goes in cycles, but there was nothing new or personal in Blackgold’s delivery. That said, on energy and performance alone this is a band worth seeing.
“Nostalgia” itself can cover a myriad of ills, that aching reminiscence of more innocent times and the fresh minds grabbing on to music that passed eras ago, often masks the fact that the new iterations often embody the moment genres settled into stereotypes.
We Hate You Please Die. Photo: Shaun Gordon
And “nugaze” (the current revitalization of classic shoegaze) falls foul of this often, as shown by the sets from Winter Gardens and Whitelands who produce lovely versions of what you’d expect from shoegaze, but settle into comfortable ground and sit there. It is fine, but not boundary pushing.
This is not an issue that Swallowtail fall foul of; their reverb-drenched descent into darkness into proving why they are being hotly tipped. In their newest configuration, in place since September/October last year, they have found a mix that works, moving from the more melody-driven tunes of old into a new “industrial” shoegaze sound that is still finding its feet.
They are a work in progress, as are the songs; singer Lucy Darke explains one new tune ‘Cowboy’ has only a working title at present, but what they have concocted while touring incessantly proves they have endless potential. With a rhythm-section that is currently lifting the sound into dub and jazz territory, crystalline-lead vocals, and tinges of electronica and trip-hop starting to weave into the noise, the shoegaze-by-numbers elements have somewhere to go as they find their own voice. With a clear desire to experiment, tight musicianship and a grand balance of violence and beauty, Swallowtail have greatness in their grasp, but “comfortable” is an easier sell. 2026 is the year to make that choice.
Swallowtail. Photo: Shaun Gordon
For me, the weekend’s biggest disappointment was the Fat White Family’s takeover of Saturday night, when Insecure Men delivered a lacklustre set that even they weren’t bothered about attending, and the usually wonderful Moonlandingz, for whatever reason (there has been talk of sound issues, and certainly Fat White provocateur Lias Saoudi was in self-sabotage mode) was true car-crash viewing, almost goading the audience in an endurance test.
The more madcap it got, the harder it was to look away – like slowing down to get a good gawp at a motorway pile-up and its tangled remnants. There is still much to enjoy in their twisted synth-psych-prog party jams but the devotion to provocation at the expense of the tunes and the audience, derailed more often than it stayed on track. Still this kind of otherness is “punk” at its very essence; in a weird way, in a world of safeness, this-no-fucks-given artistic middle finger should be welcomed. But in a haze of burgeoning illness, for me, it was a bit too style over substance and like being bullied into “fun”.
Lots and lots more happened in the haze of the holiday park – Bruise Control, Mandrake Handshake, Adult DVD, Y, and many others are worth another look when not impeded by over-the-counter drugs (not even any good ones), and Rockaway again delivered a stunning start to the year.
With fifty percent of tickets for 2027 already gone at the time of writing, what this festival has grown in terms of community and open-to-anything gig-goers is bigger than any line-up, subjective opinions on music and new-year fatigue. It is a music-lovers’ event in the truest sense of the word and needs commending for that – we need more festivals like it.
Bring on 2027!
Photo: Tony Jupp
