There’s something both insane and profoundly satisfying about having already done your first music festival of the year on 6th January! That is a claim that a record number of punters can make after 2025’s Rockaway Beach festival.
Celebrating its tenth year, this Butlin’s-based shindig in Bognor Regis (Britain’s “sunniest place” – or so they claim) has cut a shape of aural excitement from the mundane cloth of New Year’s celebrations. Unlike other Butlin’s Weekenders (although this is not an official one) like Shine On or the 80s/90s/2000s fancy-dress stag/hen do magnets, Rockaway doesn’t stagnate in its own nostalgia – balancing classic legacy acts with a real penchant for forward-thinking new bookings (they have a knack for getting bands on the up).
Ten years in, it made sense for one of the bands who topped the bill at the very first event to spearhead the “headliners”. Spiritualized took to the stage on the Friday night for a masterclass in powerful nuance. In the new massive Studio 86 venue on site, with a colossal sound system and production, each minor variation to Jason Pierce and Co’s gospel-driven psych came through loud and clear. These days the rockier numbers are dropped (or softened) with a focus on the transcendental shimmer that the band have perfected so well. Opener ‘Hey Jane’ from 2012’s Sweet Heart Sweet Light remains a Velvets-style bluesy-stomper of the finest order, and the rest of the set whilst focusing on the modern times finds space for an extended version of ‘Shine a Light’ from their 1992 debut Lazer Guided Melodies. Spritiualized are a band like no other, and again prove there is world-changing power in subtly, which they performed to perfection.
Spiritualized. Photo: Shaun Gordon
Another headline slot saw Leftfield lay waste to the place with their magnificent dub-techno-whatever blend. ‘Phat Planet’ lifted the crowd into the cosmos and despite no ‘Open Up’ every element of the show indicated just what big “dance” acts can bring to the largest arenas.
Finally, shoegaze legends Ride closed the weekend with a career-spanning set before Andy Bell forces a hiatus by joining Oasis on their we-will-hear-about-nothing-else tour this year. And that’s a shame, because the Oxford lot are as good as ever, arguably even tighter than their heyday, as the intrinsic pop-melodic nuance of their song-writing shone through the haze of noise to perfection. In the afternoon’s Q&A chat with BBC 6 Music’s Chris Hawkins, Steve Queralt and Loz Colbert talked about Andy Bell’s story of his mum listening to the Beatles with the hoover on, and from henceforth that is my description of Ride: swirling noise with gorgeous melodies. Whilst not the most enthralling performers (the music speaks for itself ), the new material shone as much as classics like ‘Vapour Trail’ and ‘Peace Sign’. The highlight is an epic ‘Leave Them All Behind’ which remains one of the classic intro sections to any song, and lifted the venue to new heights.
Ride. Photo: Shaun Gordon
A new schedule-format brought acts after the headliners in ‘Centre Stage’ (the old main venue) closing the night on Friday and Saturday, and these arguably outshone the headliners in many ways. Scottish post-rock legends Arab Strap confounded expectations as they always do, coming to Bognor with a full-band set after their previous duo tour. Anyone expecting a subdued, dour slice of pure miserabilism was shocked with opener ‘Allatonceness’ which was the heaviest track of the weekend with driving power forcing Aidan Moffatt’s singular poetry and dry delivery. The rest of the set was nothing short of breath-taking, with the band’s bedroom paeans to “shagging” (and “not shagging”) dancing through post-rock, disco and electro-pop in their unique way. As the rock gave way to the downbeat electro of ‘Bliss’ it was apparent this set was never going to sit in one place – variation on a theme is Arab Strap’s superpower. ‘Sociometer Blues’ completed the three opening tracks from latest album I’m totally fine with it. Don’t give a fuck anymore.
Arab Strap. Photo: Shaun Gordon
The rest of the set danced around their career, from 2003’s folk-with-beats ‘Shy Retirer’ to the classic building epic ‘New Birds’ from 1998’s essential Philophobia album. The majority came from 2021’s As Days Get Dark and the latest, which are stunning and make up for the lack of their oldest material including fan favourite ‘The First Big Weekend’, which is shouted for at least once leading Moffatt to comment “We are not a fucking jukebox” to sniggers from the crowd. They left on a majestic ‘Turn off The Light’ before coming back to a dour ‘Soaps’ (also of Philophobia) because “I hate to have any one leave happy”, exclaims Moffatt with a wry grin. Arab Strap’s contradictions, eclecticism and solid uniqueness was on show and proves that those that know, really KNOW how important this band is.
Arab Strap. Photo: Shaun Gordon
The second “afters” slot went to New Yorkers Bodega, who effortlessly condensed the history of New York music into slabs of pure new wave and post-punk joy. It’s all in there – from the Velvet Underground and Television, to Talking Heads and Kid Creole, and Gorilla Biscuits to James Chance. They have a deft understanding of the intrinsic cool of this music, whilst adding their own louche, silly humour to the mix – all with a musical ennui that detaches them from knowing how bloody good they are. The only band I know of to start with a cover of the Ramones’ ‘Rockaway Beach’, they do it without being lame before a scattershot run through their catalogue with huge bangers like ‘How Did This Happen?’ within their jokey stage show. Each song is a winner, and an audience-request portion bringing in ‘Jack in Titanic’ was incredible. Bodega deserve to be bigger than they are – they are tight, cool and have the tunes.
Bodega. Photo: Shaun Gordon
There’s a lot of hyperbole in the above words, rightfully so, but the true triumph of the weekend was achieved by Ireland’s Sprints. Without a word of a lie, if I was still a teenager, Sprints are the kind of band that would become my life, give me identity and make me feel like the world isn’t lost. With just one album, and a smattering of EPs and singles to their name, the Irish band have a phenomenal hit rate and, in Karla Chubb, one of those natural centre-of-the-universe performers that can’t be styled or schooled. In a short period of time the band have elevated from garage punk rabble-rousers to something bigger, more complex and inventive. With a strong focus on their blinding 2024 album Letter To Self, each track played was a feminist vignette – powerful but not preachy, finding heft in not just the crushing riffs but also the softer parts, intricate noises and melodic nous.
Sprints. Photo: Shaun Gordon
There are few songs that start a tingle like ‘Heavy’ or ‘Adore, Adore, Adore’ knocking about right now, and the two new tracks played indicate even better things to come. As Chubb did a spoken word intro to ‘Little Fix’, the stark words sat atop bristling noise, and the power and poignancy of these songs was laid bare. “So tell me, doctor, how do you fix / A problem they don’t seem to think it really exists? / Should a stupid little girl ride backseat of a car / Wearing shame like a shawl and her body like a scar?” It punches like Fugazi’s ‘Suggestion’ in the personal politics stakes. When the song kicked in it was bedlam (as was much of the set with crowd surfing and a circle pit, which with the largely post-40 audience demographic was quite the feat). Then the distortion faded and Sprints left the stage as heroes.
Sprints. Photo: Shaun Gordon
Other “heroes” were The Jonny Halifax Invocation – a curve-ball booking for Rockaway who on the Sunday led a sermon of kosmiche, swamp, and psych-blues from the outer reaches. Starting a 30-minute set with a 10-minute, psych-trance-workout is a brave move, but the ritualistic nature of the band dancing with percussion and handing out instruments to the crowd, drew people in like a revelation. The remainder of the set covered all the band’s many sonic touch points – the Jonny Halifax Spritualized Neu Sabbath Blues Explosion if you will, all led by Halifax’s blues shaman persona on steel lap guitar, harmonica and gruff vocals. Words fail to capture the Invocation, they have to be witnessed to be felt.
The Jonny Halifax Invocation. Photo: Shaun Gordon
Before Leftfield, Georgia proved herself to be the kind of pop star that transcends the limited definitions of the form. If pop is less a sound but more a feeling of joyful expression, Georgia gets top marks. Commanding the large stage, surrounded by synths, electronics and drums, she conducted her own dance-pop tunes, owning it all with no support. A truly kinetic and joyful performance, it was a festival highlight (despite the usual “there’s-no-guitars” zealots bemoaning her booking) merging pop hooks with techno beats and pop experimentalism beautifully. Closing with a faithful and magnificent cover of ‘Running Up That Hill’, Georgia proves she is a talent beyond her current standing – a headliner in the making.
Georgia. Photo: Shaun Gordon
While the quality of the Rockaway line-up sometimes falls below the bar (for this reviewer at least), many of the “new bands” do hit the mark. Man/Woman/Chainsaw are rightfully in a hyper-ascendancy right now. Their Rockaway set showcased their post-everything jog around genres perfectly – indie-rock, free jazz, prog rock, no wave, alternative rock – all merged with a sense of youthful enthusiasm and boundless fun. Fuck labels, right? Discordance often danced with lush, skipping counter-melodies and group vocals that flitted between sweet and sinister. They capture “the band you need pay attention to” award for this year.
Nottingham’s Bloodworm have really cemented their goth-revivalist sound over the past few years, and are starting to find their own voice from their crib sheet of classic influences (Cure, Banshees, Bauhaus). Taking to the stage to their biggest audience to date they didn’t falter, and delivered a consummate set stuffed with nostalgia vibes from a great new band. ‘Cemetary Dance’ is a total banger and proved to be so live at Rockaway. Also advancing their cause were political-psych duo The Dirt with Jack Horner (aka Leon the Pig Farmer) holding court like a man possessed but with louche humour, while partner Sachiko Wakizaka whirled out psych-tinged garage-rock riffs. Pure energy, pure bite and pure “power to the people” rhetoric perfect for a Sunday afternoon.
A different kind of energy came from Irish political punk-poet Meryll Streek, who stalked the stage like a caged tiger to pre-programmed backing tracks and unleashed his vitriolic attacks on the ruling elites and the Catholic church amongst others. There’s a lot of anger and energy, but unlike his many peers in this genre there is no humour to lighten the haze of anger. The world is screwed and there is no solution but to scream at it, not laugh with it! It is powerful stuff, but the relentlessness of the diatribe is a little excessive, with no choruses, no bangers and not much to latch on to. Anger is a gift, though!
Rockaway Beach aside from the live music takes full advantage of the Red Coat’s penchant for entertainment options with Q&As, movie screenings, quizzes and silent discos to keep things flowing between sets. Over on Reds (the former second stage) the DJ takeovers found new life with standouts from Acid Klaus Soundsystem as Adrian Flannagan produced a eclectic DJ presentation, interspersed by vocalists doing Acid Klaus sounds and augmented by live percussion. A DJ set like no other, this was the kind of party Rockaway is famed for – silly and joyous.
Closing the event as always, Dom Gourlay and John Lynch held court for their after party with a set of standouts covering ground from Motown to Spacemen 3 effortlessly.
For its birthday year (not yet a teenager) Rockaway Beach cemented so many of the things that has made it one of my annual unmissables, and pushed it forward into exciting new places. It’s mix of nostalgia and zeitgeist-catching new acts has earned its place in the upper echelons of music festivals, and may it stay there for many years to come.
Bodega. Photo: Shaun Gordon
