Fifty years on from the start of punk’s golden reign, The Sex Pistols, supported by The Stranglers and The Undertones, packed a significant punch at Scarborough.

By Miles Salter

Photos courtesy of Cuffe and Taylor

These all-male bands played to a (mostly) male crowd. Punk was all about aggression and more than a hint of rage. Some of that was on display tonight. When I asked an ageing punk if I could photograph his colourful Mohican and studded face, he responded with the words “beer” and “your head” in a sentence I couldn’t quite decipher. But I got the message.

What all three bands had in common, apart from their roots in 1976 and 1977, was the absence of their original lead singers. So the authenticity of the occasion could be chewed over. But the acts gave it their all.

First up, The Undertones from Belfast, clearly enjoying their longevity and relishing the moment, even if they played their ace too early. The evergreen Teenage Kicks ricocheted in the evening sunshine while punters were still entering the arena in their hundreds.

It was a shame. But we also got Here Comes The Summer and My Cousin Kevin in the set. Feargal Sharkey, their original lead singer, was nowhere to be seen. These days, Feargal seems to be an environmental campaigner, focusing on water pollution.

I’m not sure how much The Stranglers deserve to cling on to their title, as only one of the founding members is in the line-up. Jean-Jacques Burnel, the band’s bassist, has been in place since 1974. He brings the band’s famously bass-heavy sound and contributes vocals on a couple of tracks. He’s also a seventh-degree black belt in Shidokan Karate, so I’d better write a nice review.

Although some of their work feels a bit pub rock, the waltz brilliance of Golden Brown, a hymn to the delights of heroin, is sublimely affecting. To their credit, they basically played the best of The Stranglers in an hour-long set. Tunes included Always The Sun and Peaches.

The band were not always pleasant. Nice ‘n’ Sleazy, their 1978 single, featured an image of a victim of the Boston Strangler on its sleeve. Ugh. That said, this was a strong set and plenty of Stranglers fans in the audience enjoyed it.

And so, to the main meal. The Sex Pistols, fronted by Frank Carter. The ghost of John Lydon loomed over this set, especially as he wrote many of the band’s lyrics and made the most of his role as a provocative, angry frontman.

I was, though, impressed by Carter, who seemed a smart choice as replacement. He shared several of Lydon’s characteristics: red hair, a gleam in his eye in favour of trouble, and a determination to be his own man. He may also be a more inclusive leader than Lydon. Carter insisted at one point that the mosh pit in the audience be expanded and filled by female audience members, who jumped at the chance to have their moment of freedom. It was a great, inclusive gesture.

Behind the band, footage of The Pistols in their prime rolled on the screen, but it was carefully edited so that Lydon was never glimpsed. It was a bit like being in a family home after a bitter divorce: Dad’s photos are no longer to be seen.

Lydon and his former bandmates have come to hate each other. There was a terrible row over use of the band’s music in the TV series Pistol. Lydon has not spoken to some of his former bandmates since 2008.

The remaining Pistols, Steve Jones on guitar, Glen Matlock on bass and Paul Cook on drums, were fantastic. The songs and delivery are uncompromising and full of angry energy. They played with huge vigour, making a blistering racket.

Jones cranks massive chords from his Gibson Les Paul. Matlock, described by Carter as a “silver fox”, looks good, a little like an English version of Robert Downey Jr.’s Tony Stark. He wrote a lot of the band’s best songs before being ousted in February 1977.

Paul Cook is still skinny but smashed the drums superbly. The guy is 70 but hammered his snare and toms like the last five decades never happened. Only Steve Jones, a survivor of booze, drugs and sex addiction, looked totally different to his former self.

They played pretty much every track from Never Mind the Bollocks, their brilliant 1977 album, including Holidays in the Sun, Pretty Vacant and EMI, a swipe at the record company who hired them before backing off. Other assorted tunes included My Way, the self-centred Sinatra ballad that Sid Vicious murdered during the film of The Great Rock ‘n’ Roll Swindle.

It was brilliant to see The Sex Pistols. I felt like I’d witnessed one of the all-time great British bands, who belong in the same pantheon as The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, The Clash, The Who and Led Zeppelin.

They finished with Anarchy in the U.K. The minute it was over, the ageing crowd headed for the exit. The stated anarchy may be limited. But it was fantastic to see what this small gang of London misfits were capable of. I’m so happy I saw The Sex Pistols, with or without Mr Lydon.

The Undertones, The Stranglers and Sex Pistols featuring Frank Carter played at Scarborough Open Air Theatre on Sunday 2 August 2026.