THE BLUNDERS: Live @ Rockaway Park (25/01/20)


The Blunders rock Rockaway Park on a wet january night.

We couldn’t leave Wales till Cosmo could find his trousers, so unfortunately we had to miss the first two artists. Word around the campfire was that they were good, but we had to make do with sitting in Rockaway’s vegan cafe munching on a sausage burger thing, eavesdropping Steve from Zounds and Dunstan from Chumbawamba / Interobang exchange stories from the rock and roll frontline back in the day.

What this does mean is that this review has to be pretty much all about The Blunders. Given it’s only two weeks since I last reviewed their live set, I’ll have to dig deep.

Mark Blunder

This Trowbridge based three peice have been stirring up trouble since 2012 and have two albums under their belt.

The Convoy Cabaret Crew have taken a shine to them which has helped them take their show out of the South West and out into wider festival land.

So tonight, in a garage, in a former scrap yard, in a venue run by members of The Mob, in front huge travellers caravan, they are perfectly at home.

Ian Blunder

Angry outsider punk, but not Anarcho Punk. Musically bridging the gap between old school punk and post punk, but with occasional chunky rhythms that are irrisistably danceable on times.

Despite being from the west country the vocals are more Phil Daniels than Wurzells. Pretty much every song has socially conscious lyrics, sharp observations about the state of the nation. Yet somehow they manage to have a sense of humour about them and spend most of the gig smiling.

Tonight’s set appropriately kicks off with Rebel, before going into Fireproof, a song about the working class tragedy of Grenfel Tower.

Bang, is a reference to the cleaning product and an ode to the cleansing and disinfecting of society, subduing resistance.

Karl Blunder

We get a momentary respite from the anger with Helen, a tune about missing your loved ones on tour, but still played at a furious pace.

TV Bastard is a crowd pleasing rant about over paid celebrities, nepotism,  propaganda and Simon Cowell selling us crap bands.

The set draws to an end with Legion, before a short encore and bang. It’s over.

Another day in DIY Land done and dusted. And everyone goes home smiling. Till the next time.