21 June 2025 (gig)
29 June 2025
Firmly aimed at fans of the iconic bands that came to prominence amid the UK's original punk explosion in 1976-77, this event really was a blast from the past in every sense.
With the recently reconvened John Lydon-less Sex Pistols topping the bill interest was always going to be high among the Mohican and bondage trousers-wearing brigade – whichever generation spawned them – but there was also plenty more intrigue on a big-name Summer Sessions bill.
It was The Rezillos' trademark Thunderbirds countdown intro that fired the starter's gun on the eight-hour extravaganza and we were off into orbit.
Unlike most of the bands appearing, the Edinburgh-formed outfit have managed to retain the services of their original frontperson – and both of them.
Fay Fife and Eugene Reynolds have long shared the spotlight and the pair showed they're still up for a party with an energetic performance that mixed dayglo garage classics with a preview of new material.
The lively five-piece hit the mark with the deliciously jaunty (My Baby Does) Good Sculptures and Motor Bike Beat, while as-yet unreleased surf rock anthem Edge Of Delight proved that resting on their laurels isn't on The Rezillos' agenda.
Such an outlook can equally be applied to Richard Jobson and his latest incarnation of The Skids.
The Fife-raised songsmith, author and film director has re-embraced his first band with an admirable gusto in recent years, as embodied by his own on-stage antics.
After a spell with Big Country father and son guitar duo Bruce and Jamie Watson at his side, Jobson's recently turned to 20-something Connor Whyte to replicate six-string legend Stuart Adamson's original stylings.
If anything that change has turbo-boosted The Skids, with the likes of Charade, Working For The Yankee Dollar and Circus Games sounding completely reinvigorated.
"People under 57 ask me, why do you do a cover of a U2 song?" Jobson told the crowd in his introduction to The Saints Are Coming, tongue firmly in his cheek during one of his many yarns in between outbursts of his manic dancing.
A pulsating set was rounded off in style with "the worst punk song ever" TV Stars, then a tribute to The Clash in the shape of a rollicking cover of Complete Control and a soaring Into The Valley.
Sadly, the following set from The Buzzcocks proved less successful. The Manchester band took to the stage looking like they meant business, firing into some of the standards that have deservedly made them one of punk's most venerated outfits.
However, veteran guitarist-turned-frontman Steve Diggle's declaration, "I've been drinking champagne all day long – I don't give a f***", while underlining his rock'n'roll credentials probably also served to cast further doubt on an already suspect set.
Promises, Why Can't I Touch It, Orgasm Addict and the rest are best served as adrenalin-fuelled barbs shot through with controlled attitude and aggression, but here they simply came over as ragged.
Perhaps it wasn't surprising that a vigorous mosh pit quickly developed after Diggle and his three cohorts started up – a sonic blitzkrieg was always going to go down well with an element of those present.
That said, a tune and some clarity, especially on the vocal front, wouldn't have gone amiss amid all the bluster.
The Undertones, on the other hand, ticked all the boxes that The Buzzcocks left blank. With brothers Damian and John O'Neill still masterfully handling guitar duties alongside bassist Micky Bradley and drummer Billy Doherty – all schoolboy friends in the 1970s – the beating heart of the Northern Irish outfit remains intact.
They were off the scene for 16 years after original vocalist Feargal Sharkey left in 1983, but since reforming they've gone from strength to strength.
Much of that is down to his replacement Paul McLoone, who was on top form at Bellahouston along with his fellow Derry muckers.
Among the quirky classics was Jimmy, Jimmy, Male Model Boys Will Be Boys, The Love Parade – all capturing the feelgood side of punk. McLoone has shades of Jarvis Cocker about him in his on-stage posturing, but it's his powerful and lusty vocal delivery that is his standout feature.
With Bradley offering plenty of jocular quips in between numbers The Undertones certainly proved endearing, and what's not to like about infectious beauties like It's Going To Happen, True Confessions, Here Comes The Summer, I Gotta Getta and, of course, Teenage Kicks in the sun?
When Saturday Comes proved compelling, with McLoone's impressive pipes elevating the drama ahead of a buzzing closing segment that included Jump Boys, Hypnotised, Get Over You and a glorious My Perfect Cousin.
Could things get any better? The baton was passed next to The Stranglers and they certainly didn't disappoint.
A beguiling outing for the Black And White caper Toiler On The Sea immediately pulled the unsuspecting onlookers into JJ Burnel and Baz Warne's alternative dimension, with its epic vibe setting the tone from the off.
Big-hitters came early, with Stranglers '25 takes on Duchess, Grip and Nice 'n' Sleazy landing hefty blows with a brutal but irresistible swagger that the earlier misguided efforts of The Buzzcocks had singularly failed to achieve.
A brutal slice of 5 Minutes was followed by an equally pulsating dash through This Song, a Disciples Of Spess cover from Stranglers' most recent studio album Dark Matters, showing they've still got the happy knack of being able to turn out punk bangers.
Warne has to take huge credit for the band's late-career renaissance, with most of those who felt sure the Men In Black's best days were behind them following High Cornwell's departure all those years ago and a few mixed offerings in the uncertain period that followed having gone on to see the light.
The frontman has an approach all of his own that's suitably muscular for the band's satisfyingly belligerent ethos, but which can also take on softer material like Always The Sun and Golden Brown with a fitting lightness of touch.
An interesting diversion was another Dark Matters cut, White Stallion, which saw JJ take lead vocals on a sweeping, operatic-like electro-prog hybrid that was probably as far removed from most present's conception of a typical punk track as anything performed at the event.
But that's a huge part of the appeal of The Stranglers, now as much as at any time since their formation 51 years ago. It seems like yesterday that they lost inspirational and influential keyboardist Dave Greenfield – it was actually in 2020 – but they're still moving forward like an unstoppable musical juggernaut.
Even a small touch like changing the lyrics of their set closer No More Heroes to namecheck the recently departed Brian Wilson was pure class, but it was definitely frontmen past and present that were uppermost in most minds as The Sex Pistols ambled on stage for the Bellahouston finale.
How would former Gallows firebrand Frank Carter fare stepping into John Lydon's gargantuan shoes? Answer – he owned it.
The headliners were billed as the Pistols featuring FC, but the reality was the 41-year-old had Steve Jones, Glen Matlock and Paul Cook as his own all-star backing band for the night.
Holidays In The Sun's unmistakable riff and Carter's scream of "I'm gonna go over the Berlin Wall" served to trigger a crowd-surfing frenzy amid already frenetic scenes.
Prowling the stage like a cage fighter going through his final warm-up, Carter carried the responsibility of leading punk's original bad boys like a genuine badge of honour, with his assured presence a major factor in bringing the best out of his venerable colleagues.
Almost half a century may have passed since Never Mind The Bollocks turned the world on its axis, but the Pistols as they are now smashed Pretty Vacant, Bodies, God Save The Queen and the rest with the sort of no-nonsense approach that echoed their youthful selves.
With Lydon – and the late Sid Vicious – controversially edited out of the archive footage that appeared on the big screen behind the band throughout the set, momentary respite from the sensory overload came when guitarist Jones and bassist Matlock sat down to instigate a cartoonish take on My Way.
Carter still managed to steal the limelight, however, when he launched himself into the crowd as they blasted out Satellite, somehow even managing to sing flawlessly as he was being rag-dolled by the heaving masses.
When all was said and done, few cared if the whole farce was about old punks seeking another new way to make cash from chaos.
For their sheer escapist thrills, the pensioner Pistols with their adopted kid were actually one Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle worth celebrating.
