The reaction that many people give you when you tell them you're off to Butlins in January is understandably startled. But there's a certain je ne sais pa to Rockaway Beach that keeps us coming back every second weekend of January. This year, for the first time, we take the car, and it's a two hour drive that partially traverses the well-off rural Sussex countryside. We pass rosy-cheeked dog walkers in Barbour jackets, Range Rovers, quintessentially English village pubs, plush care homes, large-scale pet shops, garden centres, and hot tub merchants. Pondering the questionable voting habits of the man brandishing a union jack behind him as he trims his lawn, watching a couple drinking tea in their horse and kart with a trail of cars behind them, or reiterating the names of the towns we drive through: "Climping!" - we feel firmly out of the metropolis.
Arriving in Bognor, the first thing to do is take a lungful of sea air and take in the faded glamour of the purpose-built 18th century resort offers. It is truly desolate in January. There's barely a soul wandering on the pebbles and few people knocking about the streets. A single mobility scooter is parked outside the casino. The ice cream parlour man serves both his customers. The beach cafe seems closed for lunch. Without time to dig much further, we accept the serenity and solace as if was midnight at midday, and move on.
Butlins itself is similarly not heaving. The colossal holiday park is free from anyone apart from those here to see the gigs. At this time of year, it would be practically empty if it wasn't for Rockaway drawing in crowds from all over the country for its combination of a fantastic line-up and extracurricular entertainment. Remember the South Park Eric Cartman had a theme park all to himself and wallows in his glory before inevitably learning a cruel lesson? Well, the fringe entertainment here is basically that: The bar and the music venue are about the only congested areas once you leave your hotel or chalet, leaving the arcade games, all-you-can-eat buffet’s go-karts, bowling, Papa Johns, penny pushers - and so on - practically free from queues. Brilliant… The other reassuringly great thing is the crowd; which brings us on to our first point:
The community
Rockaway Beach is now in its fourth year and a large amount of people here have been going since the beginning because curator and founder Ian Crowther - a tall, friendly Scotsman whose often about the site greeting fans, and ensuring bands are on time - books consistently good headliners (Suede, Killing Joke, and Wild Beasts are among past ones). People come back for quality. But there's more to it than that. Of what might be the lure, DJ and journalist Dom Gourlay hints at a sense of kinship when asked by Gigwise: "The feeling of camaraderie. A sense of community. It's my fourth year here and I swear at least 30 annual acquaintances know my name and I know theirs. It's our once a year excuse to party and hang out together.”
Chupa Cabra's humour, tight riffs, and short, sharp solos
Founder Ian Crowther has a superb pair of ears and identifies some of the best breaking acts for this independent festival every year: Squid, Spook School, Desert Mountain Tribe are among them this time around. The first we see are the Trashmouth records-signed band from North Wales Chupa Cabra. They're a gobby, thrash-y amphetamine-addled blues-y rock n' roll band, ill-afraid to create a bit of spark with the crowd. After some good self-deprecating comments from the band about being given a dressing room for a change and ironing a shirt for the occasion, singer Hayden Hughes takes a huge glug of his bottle of red, and a remark about it from someone results in the singer spitting it out and blurting: "It's what's good for me!" After an unstoppable half hour or so, they exit the stage before the rabble-rousing atmosphere results in frontman saying, tongue-firmly-in-cheek: "Flash me now!". Watch the footage below to see:
Algiers could have headlined
Algiers are a special band. The Matador signees are playing in the Reds - the second venue but wouldn't have disappointed as headliners. The audience are completely transfixed by the Atlanta, Georgia-based band's scintillating mixture of gospel, industrial, post-punk, and soul. The band’ve a pummelling hard rock drummer who looks like he was born for the Seattle grunge scene. A studious lead guitarist who switches between using a multi-effected spring bolted on to the body of a Strat, and an actual guitar; breaking the rules and traditions of what the instrument was originally intended to do. Meanwhile, the lead singer, who barely opens his eyes he’s so deep in catharsis, easily switches instruments: Tambourine, vintage keyboard and guitar. The bassist is on fiery form, too, lifting the audience and providing solid backing vocals to broaden the sound. It’s a complete whirlwind feeling watching a band as good at plucking out enrapturing melody as they are invigorating a sense of danger and agitation through inimitable noise. There are few more dynamic bands to watch at festivals this year and would strongly recommend you check them out live.
Photo: Cai Trefor
McCulloch muttering support for Salah
It's our second time since within a few months seeing the unquestionably godlike Bunnymen and the last time was in Estonia, a country they never performed in before, so there was very little chat. The moments of gold between songs at the Bunnymen set tonight, though are great fun. The best of the natter includes his unflinching confidence in declaring his favourite song of all time being his own song 'Killing Moon', his tale of putting nails in his dad's car tyres so he wouldn't have to go on day trips to British seaside resorts when he was a kid. And, lastly, hearing something mumbled then mutter: "Mo Salah, Mo Salah". Indeed, McCulloch tried to cancel their Bristol gig last year to see the Champions League final and is among the best Liverpool fan on the planet. It’s never tiring to be reminded of this passion in between hearing them draw from their esteemed back catalogue and silkily weave Lou Reed and Jim Morrison verses in parts to spruce things up.
Photo: Tony Jupp
Gary Numan's Saturday night headline set
Gary Numan has the main hall more packed than we've ever seen it for Rockaway Beach. Such is the devotion of fans to his music, some queue up before doors, possibly in order to run to the barrier and stay there for hours straight. Indeed, the singer commands a near-religious following. But for longtime fans or relatively new fans, he completely slays. The menacing strobe lighting, hypnotic visuals promoting his new album Savage (Songs From A Broken World), the theatrical desert robes the singer wears as he light-footedly glides around the stage as the distorted, frenetic industrial rock soundtrack blares is breathtaking. Numan’s not always been industrial but it’s the overarching feel of his show now meaning even the once sunnier electro pop sounding hits such as 'Cars', and ‘Are Friends Electric?’ are delivered with more grunt than ever. The heaviness, the darkness bleeds into everything. But the melody and playfulness of the original take is there intact enough but bring out our inner dork and bounce around with the rest of the enraptured room. Great fun.
Photo: Tony Jupp
Paul Smith's dynamism
Having first seen Maxïmo Park back in the mid-noughties - and not since - it comes as an exceptionally pleasing surprise to see that time's been kind to the band. Paul Smith, in particular, hasn't lost any of his hyperactivity or dynamism that meant they were a Reading / Leeds main stage draw for a while and flaunts the traits that make him one of the most memorable British frontmen in modern indie rock. The catchy setlist – that soars when bangers ‘Our Velocity and 'Apply Some Pressure' are unleashed – provokes the most rambunctious atmosphere the main room sees all weekend. But there’s a feeling of nostalgia omnipresent throughout as this is the very last they’re doing a set with longtime keyboardist Lukas Wooller' before he moves to Australia. The sparkle the band have conjured is perhaps spurred on more so by the feeling of a last blowout and it's great to catch wind of a set played at full-pelt.
Having Gary Numan do a Q and A with John Robb
A great part of Rockaway Beach is its Q and A's. And the big draw of the weekend is Louder Than War and Membranes' John Robb chatting to the legendary Gary Numan. We catch up with John Robb after his chat to get a sense of what it was like for him:
"'It was fascinating to conduct an in conversation with Gary Numan. It was the first time he had been in the hot seat and he conducted himself very well with a brazen honesty as he explained his Asberger’s and how much he loved his wife and the process of his creativity and how he found his famous sound discovering a mini moog in the studio whilst recording Tubeway Army demos. With a huge audience hanging onto every word Gary charmed his fans with his modesty and humility and was a hypnotic story teller - a perfect taster for his stunning show later that evening..."
Eddie Argos’ monologue during ‘My Little Brother’
Eddie Argos, Art Brut’s frontman, is completely pissed on gin. He hasn’t been touring in a while and the band aren’t as successful as they perhaps ought to have been but instead of living with his head in the sand brilliantly incorporates this into a monologue in the performance.
As crunching riffs and a solid backbeat punch through the PA, Argos unapologetically proceeds to hold his band – who by this point, he refers to as Art Brut; as if he’s not even in the band himself – hostage to his rant. On this particular monologue, with the air of a poetic class clown, the singer proceeds to detail how to get parents to worry: Form a band that’s successful enough to keep going but not successful enough to make any money and not release an album in seven years, he tells us. This tangent subverts the expected narrative bands build around themselves in trying to portray success when they’ve had past success. After ten minutes or so, he goes back into the set and the amount of gin he’s drunk, coupled with the fear he’ll go on another massive rant, keeps the set impressively unpredictable and a fun change up from the usual slick business our rockstars endow us with. A lesson in self-expression and fearless self-deprecating humour of the highest order.
