This weekend I had the immense pleasure of spending time amongst the Lincoln Punk Collective at the third annual Badlands festival.
It was an eclectic weekend of styles, from pop-punk to folk-punk, with a little acoustic thrown in for good measure. People came from far and wide to enjoy the mix of bands and meet new friends in a relaxed atmosphere.
I went with my mates Chris and Dave, each of us keen to see a different act. Roughneck Riot, Pet Needs and Riskee and the Ridicule were headliners, but Moskito, Hell’s Ditch and Sam Russo came highly recommended. Our plan was to see some bands, drink some beer and maybe chat to a few unfamiliar faces.
One of those new friends has inspired this article. On the first night, we got talking to a guy who had come down from Middlesbrough purely for the gig. He had ridden down on his bike alone and was keen to see Riskee and the Ridicule and Roughneck Riot. Naturally, we got talking about the different bands we’d seen, and our ‘go-to’ act are Ferocious Dog. His response surprised me – ‘It’s not really punk, is it?’.
We parted for the evening after that, although the next day we chatted at length to our friend, not put off by our interpretation of punk, and he was a thoroughly nice guy. However, I couldn’t help but think of the song Punk Police when he came over the following afternoon, and since then the question has been puzzling me – what is punk?
Punk means a lot to different people, and there are so many genres of punk I’m beginning to wonder if it is a musical strand at all. On the walls of the Drill Hall, the organisers had put posters suggesting what genre different bands were – if you like folk punk, check out Roughneck Riot; if you like pop-punk, Hell’s Ditch. If you like an angry Essex boy in a tracksuit and Nike Air Max swigging Stella and shouting about the Tories being wankers, see Riskee and the Ridicule. It was helpful for people who didn’t know some of the bands, but it also got me thinking about punk in general.
What is punk? What is it to you? Obviously, it means different things to different people, and some see it as the sound of the music. For instance, was The Undertones, Teenage Kicks, punk? Is punk about that raw emotional experience, or should it be more political, like Barbed Wire Love by Stiff Little Fingers? Was the Sex Pistol’s snarling disdain for anyone and everyone punk? Or was London Calling, an album infused with US influence, ‘proper’ punk. Were the Levellers, with their fiddles and politics, punk? Or was teenage angst of early Green Day the definition of punk?
Does it really matter?
Punk, to me at least, started with Rancid. I first encountered Green Day, which by the time Insomniac came out was certainly straying into the pop-punk genre, alongside the likes of Blink 182. Rancid were different, because they didn’t conform to a style. And Out Come The Wolves was very much a punk album, but Life Won’t Wait was a ska-reggae-punk fusion. The self-titled 2000 album was thrash punk, whilst 2003’s Indestructible was perhaps as close to pop-punk as they were to get. Does that mean Rancid were, or were not punk? Whatever the answer, they set me off on a backward journey, aided by my physics teacher and, latterly, my drummer friend Tim Hall, where I discovered The Clash, The Ramones, Stiff Little Fingers and a lot more.
Does punk have to conform to certain criteria? Take Riskee and the Ridicule, with their Korn-inspired sound, rap-rock undertones and chav-styled frontman. There isn’t a single thing about them that suggests traditional punk – no catchy three-chord riffs, no mohicans, no chains hanging from their jeans, but they feel punk. They hate the government; they’re angry and have something to say. Body Bag, which punches you in the gut time and again until you’re jumping on the spot yelling the catchy four-word chorus, is neither punk, rap or rock, but instead a wonderful explosion of statement.
Is punk actually a musical genre? I’m not so sure anymore. If it is, it is broader than ‘dance’ or ‘rap’, deeper than ‘pop’. It has one foot in reggae, another in ska, a hand in thrash metal and another in rap, like a metaphorical game of musical Twister. It’s whatever you want it to be, whatever it means to you. Punk is a statement, a mosh through thoughts and emotions, a middle finger to authority and a general acceptance of everything and anything. This weekend, that was epitomised by Cherym, a collection of three non-binary artists who used the stage not only to get people on their feet, but also to make a statement of self that doubtless resonated with some of the crowd.
Back to the festival, and there was no single genre on show. Hell’s Ditch played at 7pm, but given the crowd’s reaction, they perhaps should have headlined. They felt like the main attraction, with numbers swelling inside the venue for the local boys. We saw them support Ferocious Dog a couple of weeks ago, but that was very much as an undercard attraction. Despite headliners coming after them, they felt like the top dogs when they took to the stage, backed by a loyal and sizeable local following. Perhaps had they played last, the crowd wouldn’t have begun to ebb away, a tragedy for those who chose not to stay for Roughneck Riot.
I was one of those people. We started drinking at 4:45 on Friday and finished as Roughneck Riot came on stage. By then, I was flagging, soaked in Camden Hells Lager, drenched in so much music it felt hard to digest and differentiate between them. Was it Mouser or The Mustard I’d vowed to check out on my return home? What time was my taxi going to take me from this accepted and welcomed assault on the senses?
There were no egos – some of the bands who played were in the courtyard for the rest of the afternoon, drinking and chatting. I hate things like ‘safe space’, but if you spent 36 hours in a traditional pub beer garden, there would be a group intent on causing trouble or maybe being anti-social. It’s rare to spend such time in the company of strangers and feel entirely comfortable without even the slightest hint of an undercurrent. Perhaps that’s punk.
As we left, I surveyed the scene. There were handfuls of people still drinking, all so very different. I saw more tattoos over the weekend than on gang members in San Quentin, all colours and designs. I felt like every person was unique in their own way, making their statement, open to listening and imbuing the opinion, music and emotions of others. We nodded goodbye to our ‘Ferocious Dog aren’t’ punk’ friend, with no malice or derision because punk is something different to him than it is to us.
At that moment, I guess I answered the question, ‘What is punk?’. It’s whatever you want it to be. It’s Riskee and the Ridicule shouting at you. It’s Hell’s Ditch and their loyal following. It’s the two girls who follow Mouser up and down the country because their music matters and resonates directly with them. It’s Rancid, it’s Millie Manders and the Shutup, it’s the Undertones, it’s Stiff Little Fingers. It’s all of that and none of that as well. Don’t let the punk police tell you otherwise.
One thing I think we can all agree on – punk is hating the fucking Tories and everything they stand for. To that, I’ll raise a Camden Hells the next time I get a chance.
