Day Two was always going to struggle, being that Day One had
been one of the greatest Rebellion days ever and going into it thinking that it
wouldn’t be good wasn’t the best way to approach it.
A band called Vomit were first on the menu. A few of us had
figured that they must be good with a name like that. I had been sitting in the
rooftop garden at Wetherspoon’s – I know, that sounds too fancy for a place
like Blackpool – and there was a buzz about them there too.
Some punks at the next table were saying things like “brilliant”
and “best band of the day”, so I was quite excited when I entered the Arena at
1:45.
My excitement soon turned to despair as they were nothing to
write home about at all. No new ground was being broken and it was a colossal
disappointment.
Loaded 44 were sure to turn things around. And they did. One
thing about them though – and I may have ranted about this before – is the
singer. She puts more effort into posturing and trying to move around the stage
in a highly sexual manner than she does into the singing. And her singing is
pretty good. All I’m saying is drop the sex sells bit, even though it clearly
increases your popularity among men too stupid to realise they’re being duped
and focus on being a bloody punk band. They’re more than good enough and they
really shouldn’t have been on so early in the day.
Kunt and the Gang were meant to be on at 7:10, but there
were “unforeseen circumstances”, which is bizarre in a town so full of fortune
tellers. Apparently he was stuck in traffic and was rescheduled to play after
midnight, which would turn out to be far too late for me. So I missed out on
his usual songs about unflushed toilets, oral sex on building sites, paedophiles
and sad hotel masturbation - all good, wholesome family fun.
Scottish band Fire Exit filled in and while they are quite
good, it is a bit peculiar that the singer gets dressed up as a monk for the
song where he informs us that religion is the biggest cause of war. Also, if
you’ve ever said “this punk song would be greatly improved by some fucker
playing the harmonica on it” then I can tell you that you’re very wrong indeed.
Discharge were the band I’d looked forward to and they weren’t
about to disappoint. They played for sixty minutes and performed almost as many
songs. The crowd were happy to see the Stoke hardcore legends belt out their
less-than-radio-friendly hits and it was most certainly the day’s highlight,
making everyone want to get themselves a Cro Mags t-shirt and cut the sleeves
off it, just like two of the band had.
It also led me to discover the recipe for making your own
Discharge song:
Verse:
1 chord and anger x 4
Chorus:
A different chord and for ease, just shout the name of the
song four times rather than say anything based on the theme of it
Repeat and throw in a poor guitarsolo and there you have it.
I have to say I do really love Discharge and my piss-taking
is purely for entertainment value only. And I’m also scared that the singer who
looks absolutely hard as nails will kick the shit out of me if he ever reads
this.
And that was Day Two. I intended to see The Exploited, but a
fish and chip overdose forced me to throw in the towel and retreat to my hotel room
so I could undo my belt.
Day Three awaits…
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