On a perfect summer evening, Dreamland hosts the Margate Summer Series’ Holidays in the Sun. With the vintage funfair as a backdrop and the sea breeze drifting in, it promises a night of spectacle and raw punk energy.
Beneath the bright coastal sky, the Scenic Stage arena hums with a quiet charge – a mix of anticipation and nostalgia that spans generations. Worn band shirts sit alongside fresh faces, all drawn here by the songs, the history, and the restless spirit that keeps punk alive.
Buzzcocks open with ‘What Do I Get?’, and the crowd’s instant reaction proves these songs remain as vital as ever. From the very first note, it’s clear that the band’s energy hasn’t faded, even decades into their career. The sharp hooks and lyrics hit just as hard, combining raw urgency with melodic craft.
Since Pete Shelley’s passing, Buzzcocks have carried forward with confidence. Steve Diggle brings fiery assertiveness to guitar and vocals, anchored by Chris Remington’s steady bass. The line-up delivers with urgency and precision, underscoring why these songs remain timeless.
The crowd sing back every word of ‘Ever Fallen in Love’, while the debut single ‘Orgasm Addict’ still unsettles as much as it fascinates. Each track in a relatively short set comes from their catalogue of classics, a punchy reminder of the enduring spirit of Buzzcocks that leaves the audience primed for what’s to come.
Baz Warne and JJ Burnel cut striking figures in all-black against the red-lit stage as ‘Toiler on the Sea’ blasts into life. The Stranglers sound fierce and assured, Warne’s vocals carrying a sharp edge while Burnel’s bass pulses with intent. By the time ‘Duchess’ follows, it’s clear this isn’t nostalgia but a band still delivering a set with menace, melody and attitude.
I last saw The Stranglers in 2010. Since then, they’ve lost founding drummer Jet Black, yet their power to grip an audience has barely shifted. The set balances crowd favourites with playful theatre: ‘Nice ’n’ Sleazy’ has Warne and Burnel moving forward shoulder-to-shoulder, teasing and delighting the front rows, while ‘Skin Deep’ and ‘Peaches’ spark instant recognition.
As the sun dips, ‘Golden Brown’ becomes a full-throated singalong, its timeless swirl echoing across the arena before the pace lifts again with ‘Hanging Around’. When ‘No More Heroes’ finally closes, Dreamland is roaring back at them. The Stranglers’ music hasn’t just survived – it thrives, and is delivered with the same conviction as ever.
Nobody expects the “original” Sex Pistols, and everyone knows Johnny Lydon’s objections, dismissing Frank Carter as nothing more than “karaoke” and questioning his commitment to the songs. But watching what unfolds on stage, those claims don’t hold up. This is less about myth or authenticity than about celebration: Steve Jones, Paul Cook and Glen Matlock provide the foundation, while Carter steps in with absolute dedication to the task of being their frontman.
They storm straight into ‘Holidays in the Sun’, setting the tone with unapologetic force. Carter, wiry and restless, is at the crowd’s edge, his voice raw and urgent, throwing himself into the songs with a mix of reverence and wild abandon. Even forty-odd years on, the music still bites, and the energy rolling back from the audience proves these tracks have lost none of their punch.
Frank may be the spark, but it’s the Pistols themselves who give the set its weight. Steve Jones stands coolly at stage left, his guitar tone raw and snarling through a pair of pink-and-yellow Marshall stacks. Glen Matlock, stylish and relaxed, locks in on bass with effortless authority, while Paul Cook drives everything with undiminished power, his bass drum emblazoned with ‘NMTB’ – the album that defined them. Together, they sound tight, fierce, and surprisingly fresh.
Before ‘Bodies’, Carter declares it his favourite track and begs the crowd not to let him down. He means it literally: stepping into the audience, he’s carried on outstretched hands, before being swallowed up and returned by security. It’s a bit of fun, and a reminder that punk at its best dissolves the barrier between band and audience.
Humour and mischief thread through the night. Carter teases the VIP platform as “lazy c#nts”, grinning that he’d probably be up there himself. Before ‘E.M.I.’ he hunts for his postman in the crowd, and a tongue-in-cheek detour into ‘My Way’ has him calling for phone lights: “It’s like a Coldplay concert without the risk of a lawsuit.” Even Jones gets involved, introducing Carter as “Frankie Baby”, while Carter hails him as “my hero … the one, the myth, the legend.” It’s warmth and camaraderie that keeps the performance alive rather than reverential.
Musically, the set is razor-sharp. ‘Pretty Vacant’, ‘Anarchy in the UK’, and ‘God Save the Queen’ still hit with searing intensity, each one met by an exultant crowd. Carter introduces ‘No Feelings’ with “are you ready for the fast one?” before Jones deadpans at the end: “Sorry, I forgot to play the solo … Nobody gives a fuck anyway!” It’s irreverent, a little shambolic, and completely fitting.
What lingers most is the sense of shared ownership. The video wall flashes old headlines and clippings, a reminder of the chaos these songs once unleashed, but the absence of Lydon’s image is telling. This isn’t about him now – it’s about the songs and the bandmates who still want to play them.
At the centre of it all is Frank Carter, a frontman who sings with passion and total commitment. Far from undermining the legacy, he helps prove why it still matters. By the finale, he has the crowd screaming back the iconic line, “IIIIIIII wanna beeee-eee Anarchy!”, fists raised and voices united – confirming that even without its most infamous member, the Sex Pistols’ fire still burns.
Review & Photography: Steve Johnston
