Nineteen Years of Noise: Plymouth Punx Picnic 2025

For nearly two decades, Plymouth Punx Picnic has been a highlight of the city’s underground music calendar — a gathering of bands, friends, families, and the punk community at its loudest and warmest. The 2025 edition kept the streak alive, delivering another weekend of raw energy, camaraderie, and unforgettable performances. Community Reporter, Joshua Edwards, was there to review it for Plymouth Culture.

I have been fortunate enough to attend the last nineteen Plymouth Punx Picnics in some capacity and can scarcely recall a bad experience I’ve had; the only one that comes to mind is sustaining a concussion whilst onstage at my very first one, but that was entirely my own doing. I’ve been present for some of my favourite live experiences there, performances by the likes of Justin Credible and the Droogs, Big Meek and Piss Midget, to name just a few. 

The 2025 event continued that win streak. 

I was unable to attend the Thursday and Friday nights, though I’ve been informed they were both fantastic. My Picnic began on the Saturday, arriving at the Nowhere Inn for Leah May’s set of heartbreaking acoustic songs, before Scumfuzz took the stage to bash out a… well… scummy and fuzzy collection of bass driven punk songs, the lyrical content of which I don’t believe I can put to print for this reputable online source.  

Two bands in and the diversity of acts booked for the Picnic was on full display.  

Then it’s down to the Pit and Pendulum where Hideous Finch were set to play their now mandatory opening show there. It is likely the only gig they’ll play this year so I choose to see it over Varicosa at the Nowhere, which is a shame, but testament to the embarrassment of riches on offer. Finch are ramshackle and chaotic, but the songs are well written and the brothers Finch are so damn charismatic that any deficiency is forgiven. 

“I started playing keyboard when I was 13,” says Chris Finch mid set, “but gave it up because guitar is cooler. I picked it up again yesterday,” and the addition of reborn keys is a welcome addition to their sound. 

I remain at the Pit for the duration, catching up with old friends and seeing parts of all the afternoons bands, until evening comes and with it, Funband.  

Funband are fast becoming a favourite of mine to the extent that I’m planning an article to spotlight them specifically in the near future, so I won’t say too much about them here. There is no-one putting on shows like theirs in Plymouth currently though, and I would strongly recommend you go and see them as soon as you possibly can. 

The rest of the Saturday evening is made up of Plymouth’s own Cold Showers and Stoaters from Scotland, both of whom serve up thoroughly enjoyable slices of Punk rock. I also have a really long and thoroughly interesting conversation about Biblical philosophy with a lecturer who is also attending the event, before I rush to the last bus home. 

Sunday is the best day of every Picnic, as all of us nurse our sore heads and spread out across the street in front of the Nowhere, usually coinciding with the freshers being dropped off to nearby halls by parents who look terrified at the prospect of leaving their darlings amongst the throng of mohicans and day-glo. It’s also the day that I take my daughters to every year, which they look forward to as much as I do. 

Opening Sunday are Prison Wife, a wall of noise. At some point the singers microphone starts to malfunction, but it takes a minute for anyone to notice because he’s so loud anyway.  

CDS next, a staple of the Punx Picnic since it’s beginnings. Dave Jones remarks as we watch them that “they never get any better.” I counter that they never get any worse either. I really enjoy their set, and am pleasantly surprised to hear it end with a brilliant cover of Husker Du’s Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill. 

Dean Hutchinson follows, with his warmly received brand of acoustic folk punk, then, before the raffle, the Spoils Collective.  

Spoils are incredible. Utterly mad, they cover the stage in various car-boot and pound shop accoutrements. Singer Marion wraps tape marked fragile around her mic stand, guitarist Mo’s arm and her own waist during the opening number, leading to an inevitable collapse of everything which impeded their playing not a jot. It’s a curious mix of Crass style psych-punk and Dave Bensen Philips style mischief. The Butthole Surfers writing the Beano, Fawlty Towers directed by Captain Beefheart, The Banna Splits fronted by Frank Zappa. The girls are dancing the whole way through and I am told off by a barmaid for standing on a stool to better view the band over the heads of the attended. 

After their set, as we listen to the calling of the raffle, Marion gives my youngest daughter a handful of coloured chalks which she uses to decorate the pavement outside the Nowhere. Then she wins with four of her five raffle tickets and says it’s the best day ever… My daughter, not Marion. 

A short and sweet set by the Bus Station Loonies (who I have talked about quite enough recently: www.plymouthculture.co.uk/whats-on/news/plymouth-punk-legends-the-bus-station-loonies-bow-out-after-30-yearsnbsp) follows, then we catch the incredible, breakneck punk of the Denada 3 before we have to run for the train. 

Another welcoming and enjoyable festival run by and put on for a community of the friendliest weirdos. Same again next year. 

You can see Funband at Café Momus on November the 1st, Dean Hutchinson at the Pit and Pendulum on the 20th of September and the Bus Station Loonies at the Junction on the 28th of November.