Rockaway Beach Festival

Rockaway Beach in January is one of those ideas that shouldn’t work on paper but somehow ends up being the perfect antidote to the post-Christmas slump. You arrive at Butlin’s Bognor Regis half-frozen, half-asleep, still digesting the last of the festive leftovers, and within an hour you’re surrounded by arcades, neon lights, a choice of real ales (yep, they have listened to the masses!), and a crowd of people who look just as relieved as you are to be back. It’s become a ritual now — a yearly reset button, a chance to shake off the cobwebs and remind ourselves that live music still has the power to jolt us back into the land of the living. And this year, Rockaway Beach didn’t just jolt us. It absolutely detonated. For us, it's not the gap between Christmas and New Year any more, it's the gap between Christmas and Rockaway...

Idlewild were the first band we properly settled in for, and they were exactly the warm embrace the weekend needed. There’s something comforting about watching a band who’ve been part of your musical DNA for so long. They walked onstage with the quiet confidence of a group who know exactly who they are, and from the first chiming guitar line the room felt like it had collectively exhaled. Roddy Woomble’s voice still carries that soft, weathered sincerity, and the band sounded tight, melodic, and full of purpose. It wasn’t a reinvention, and it didn’t need to be. It was a reminder — a reminder of why they mattered then, and why they still matter now. A perfect way to ease into the weekend. A Film For The Future and set opener, Roseability were personal favourites.

Soft Play, on the other hand, were the complete opposite of easing into anything. They hit like a brick through a window. The moment they launched into their set, the room erupted into a frenzy of mosh pits, vape clouds, and limbs flying in every direction. There’s a feral joy to a Soft Play gig — a sense that anything could happen and probably will. They tore through the Heavy Jelly material with absolute venom, and the older tracks still landed with the same chaotic brilliance they always have. It was sweaty, loud, unhinged, and utterly glorious. The kind of set that leaves you buzzing for hours afterwards, wondering how on earth you’re supposed to sleep after that.

One of the joys of Rockaway is stumbling into a band you’ve barely heard of and walking out a convert, and We Hate You Please Die were exactly that. Their name alone is enough to make you curious, but the performance sealed the deal — a frantic, sharp, punk-infused blast of energy that felt like being slapped awake in the best possible way. They’ve got that perfect balance of scrappy charm and razor-tight musicianship, and the crowd fed off it instantly. It’s the kind of set you talk about in the bar afterwards, the kind that makes you feel like you’ve discovered something before everyone else catches on.

Saturday is always the moment the festival properly finds its teeth, and this year was no exception. GANS were one of the most talked-about bands of the weekend, and it took about 30 seconds of their set to understand why. They’re loud, they’re intense, and they play with the kind of ferocity that makes you stand up a little straighter. The crowd responded instantly — circle pits, shouts, bodies flying everywhere — and the band just kept pushing harder. There’s something thrilling about watching a band who feel like they’re on the cusp of something bigger. GANS have that spark — that sense of danger, unpredictability, and raw power that makes you think, “Yeah, this lot are going places.”

Dry Cleaning were a different kind of intensity — hypnotic, angular, and utterly compelling. Florence Shaw remains one of the most fascinating vocalists out there, her spoken-word delivery and dry humour turning the mundane into something poetic. Which is why it was such a shame that the vocals were muffled for most of the set. The band themselves sounded fantastic — tight, intricate, and full of that strange, magnetic energy they’ve perfected — but losing the clarity of Florence’s words took some of the shine off what could have been a standout performance. Still, even through the muddy mix, the crowd were locked in, and the band’s presence carried the set. A frustrating one, but still enjoyable.

Chest were another unexpected highlight — a band who walked onstage looking like they’d just rolled out of a rehearsal room and then proceeded to tear the place apart. Their sound is sharp, jagged, and full of bite, and the crowd responded instantly. There’s something wonderfully unpolished about them — a rawness that feels refreshing in a world where so many bands are overly slick. They’re the kind of band who make you want to see them in a tiny, sweaty basement venue, but they held their own on the bigger stage too. A proper Rockaway discovery.

But the moment that defined the entire weekend — the moment people will still be talking about next year, and probably the year after — belonged to Public Image Ltd. There are bands who headline festivals, and then there are bands who take the whole thing hostage. PiL did the latter. From the moment John Lydon walked onstage, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t nostalgia, and it wasn’t reverence — it was something more electric, more unpredictable. Lydon was in astonishing form, snarling, laughing, howling, and delivering every line with a venom that felt decades younger than it had any right to. It didn't matter that he had a teeny bit of lyrical hints from his lyric book, he is 69 years old you know! The band behind him were thunderous, locked-in, and utterly relentless. Public Image hit like a shockwave. This Is Not a Love Song had the entire room bouncing. Rise was transcendent — a moment of pure communal catharsis. It was messy, it was loud, it was confrontational, and it was absolutely magnificent. PiL didn’t just headline Rockaway Beach 2026. They stole it, smashed it to pieces, and walked off with the trophy under their arm.

Sunday arrived with that familiar mix of exhaustion and euphoria. You’re tired, your feet hurt, your voice is half-gone, but you’re also riding the high of two days of brilliant music. Inspiral Carpets were the emotional core of the day for me. I’ve been a fan since the beginning, and seeing them at Rockaway felt like a full-circle moment, as the Inspirals would say (though not tonight), You've got to keep the Cirlce Around... They absolutely delivered. From the first organ swell to the final singalong, the set was a celebration — not just of the band’s legacy, but of the enduring power of those songs. The crowd were completely locked in, voices raised, arms in the air, and the band looked genuinely moved by the response. There’s something special about watching a band you’ve loved for decades still sounding this good, still connecting with people, still owning the stage. For me, this was one of the emotional peaks of the entire weekend. The mix of heavy topics in songs like This is How it Feels and Sackville still mix effortlessly with the frantic fun of Find Out Why and the anthemic Saturn 5.

English Teacher closed things out with a set that felt like a band stepping confidently into the next phase of their career. Musically, they were stunning: intricate, layered, dynamic. The songs from This Could Be Texas landed beautifully, and the newer material hinted at even bigger things to come. They’re not the most high-energy performers, but they don’t need to be — the music does the heavy lifting, and the crowd were completely absorbed. A thoughtful, powerful, beautifully executed end to the festival.

Elsewhere across the weekend, Prima Queen charmed the early crowds, Ellur delivered a gorgeous, emotionally rich set, Coach Party brought the lasers and the adrenaline, and Swallowtail filled the room with shoegaze haze thick enough to get lost in. Antony Szmierek turned the late-night slot into a full-blown party, complete with confetti and chaos, and Walt Disco strutted through their set with the kind of theatrical flair only they can pull off. Everywhere you turned, there was something happening — a new band to discover, an old favourite to rediscover, a moment to get swept up in.

What makes Rockaway Beach special isn’t just the lineup — though this year’s was one of the strongest they’ve ever put together. It’s the atmosphere. The community. The weirdness of watching post-punk bands while families wander past with bags of doughnuts. The joy of seeing a band tear up Centre Stage and then bumping into them in the arcade an hour later. The way the festival manages to feel both intimate and expansive at the same time. This year had everything: nostalgia, chaos, discovery, artistry, and that unmistakable Rockaway spirit — friendly, chaotic, slightly surreal, and completely addictive.

As we walked out into the cold January night after the final set, tired but buzzing, one thing was clear: Rockaway Beach isn’t just a festival anymore. It’s a tradition. A pilgrimage. A way to start the year with a bang, a bruise, and a heart full of music. And after a weekend like this, 2027 has a lot to live up to — but if there’s one thing Rockaway has taught us, it’s that it always finds a way to top itself.