Punk rock music has many facets in these days. Before the Covid 19 pandemic anyway. An energetic range of punk music styles, hardcore punk, street punk, classic punk, pop punk, indie punk, noise punk … punk punk The nostalgia circuit still pulls in the punters, and bands like Idles cut it with national radio play and increasing audience numbers.

However, is punk rock still a rebel music? Like, really? Like, in its early days when it seemed proper dangerous. Just the sound of the music appeared incendiary. You know, a genuine threat to society, influencing the young and scaring the old. Generations would run to the hills at the sound of God Save The Queen, California Uber Alles and Suspect Device. It galvanised followers, with its fire-starting lyrics and agitational sounds.

Is there any of this left at all? Or is it just as sanitised as everything else in life? As inoffensive? As safe?

Of course, no way was punk rock the first rebel music. Woody Guthrie killed fascists metaphorically with his guitar machine and was ‘punk’ in every sense of the word. Ska and rocksteady morphed into reggae music, its beautiful melodies containing confrontational and revolutionary statements louder than any buzz saw six string ever did. Body Count, Rage Against The Machine and others brought in dance and rock influences whilst still providing a threat to the ‘establishment’.

Fast forward to the turn of the millennium. And a definite working class, street movement. Urban music. With a whole host of sub genres. To be at a sweaty, up close UK Garage show was quite the experience. Not for the feint hearted. At The Attik, a venue in Leicester, England I used to run, we were fortunate to have many such nights. Drum n bass, Hip Hop, Dubstep. MCs spitting verse after verse, DJs spinning vinyl. Crews in the audience, on the ‘stage’. Real togetherness. But with a volatile edge. It could ignite at any given moment.

I loved it.

After several evolutions, in 2017, Grime was born. And it was angry.

And the mainstream public seemed once again threatened. Many couldn’t make any sense of it. The often dark, haunting, aggressive sound. Lyrics were audible and despite many a cliché, often confrontational. Rabble rousing. Political messages were contained, and when an artist such as Stormzy emerged above the pulpit, the public at large appeared reticent. His DIY hand-held videos promoted his music. And after rising the ladder further he used the BRITS award show, beamed live into the front rooms of Britain at prime time, to make a point to Prime Minister Theresa May. People had died, and others continued to suffer, following the Grenfell Tower fire in 2018. They needed help, and answers and weren’t getting any of this from the Government. Stormzy didn’t stay quiet just to be nice and to preserve his career. Some people were horrified – what right had this guy to make them feel uncomfortable in their front rooms? I tell you – he had every reason to make that point. And he got a reaction.

So, after the Pistols had created a stir on Bill Grundy television show in 1976, here was someone doing the same on the Brits in 2018. And both had the defiant sound to back it up. The sound of anger.

It really is an energy. So, would it not make some sense to combine these musical forces?

Yes, it definitely would. But the result had to be spot on, not contrived.

For the uninitiated, let me introduce Bob Vylan. The very essence of a working class, street level Punk Rock and Grime collision.

Pronounced Bob ‘Villain’, the duo’s second EP (or mini album) had an unerring sense of timing. Written months before its eventual Bandcamp release on 5th June, vocalist Bobby Vylan described it as ‘scarily relevant’, given brutal murder of George Floyd and the subsequent protests.

The music industry establishment, whether it be record labels, radio DJs or industry magazines, have long feared issuing and publishing material too far out there. Long feared backing something too extreme –

‘Multiple people in the industry have said it’s too extreme. If I was to meet this much resistance doing anything else and something that wasn’t so based around social commentary, then I don’t know if I would continue.’ Bobby Vylan, NME.com June 2020.

This level of rejection forced the duo into releasing material in a do it yourself manner. Which is, of course, the very essence of punk. Do what you want to do, not what you’re told to do. Or told what you cannot do. Do, and say, what you want. This is true artistic freedom – the output is not sanitised in any way. The true punks in music, from The Slits to Extreme Noise Terror, did exactly this. Bob Vylan very much join this brigade.

Bob Vylan are a duo, comprising of Bobby Vylan on vocals and production, and Bob13 (aka Bobbie Vylan) on drums and spiritual guidance. You realise you’re dealing with a band with a different approach, even before you’ve heard them. They are from East London, though Bobby originally heralds from Ipswich. The Suffolk town itself has a strong indie rock heritage. This influence is a good example of the variety going into the Bob Vylan pot.

‘Ipswich was full of grime MCs and crews, but there was also a big indie scene there. Then having a general curiosity for music, we both found punk and other rock music. So, when it came time to create, instead of making one genre, we just kind of smashed them together and saw what happened.’ Bob Vylan, Afropunk, 2019

Bob Vylan formed in 2017, and soon discharged a rapid fire of releases, giving fans plenty of good reason to sign up. Debut EP Vylan and the singles Cannon (The One About The Gun), Frontline (The one About The Wall), Frontline Interlude (The One Before The One About The Wall) and Moonrise Pulcher/Say Bye Bye all quickly hit the mark. All were accompanied by DIY videos, for example using a games arcade or market as a location. There was no messing about.

2018 saw the duo gain notoriety as they ripped up the Afropunk Battle of the Bands gig in London. We Don’t Care (It Ain’t Safe) was issued the same year. A punch right in the face of inner-city gentrification, knowing through which windows to lob a bomb or two. As relevant in NYC as it is in London, for example. These places aren’t just for those people with fat wallets or privileges. Real, working class people live there too. The cut was included on an eight track, fifteen-minute EP, Dread, issued in 2019.

Thanks to Bob Vylan and one or two others, music still can be dangerous. And right on cue, and ‘scarily relevant’, the We Live Here EP was dropped on Bandcamp on June 5th, 2020. The title track was released as a single on 27th March. It is, quite probably, the tune of the year. Primal guitar, upfront in your face production, clearly lucid lyrics voiced with character and menace. And a chorus to die for. 2:12 of anger and danger. And reality. It is, frankly, awesome.

The song references the racially aggravated murder in 1993 of eighteen-year old Stephen Lawrence.

‘Remember Stephen Lawrence.

He was free to roam.

Eighteen years old at the bus stop.

Murdered on his way home.’

Not the kind of line UK radio is used to playing. It is too uncomfortable for some to hear. The lyric recounts more and more experiences of racism and is deeper and deeper in its digging. Its climax is extraordinary, its performance sensational. And it is a call to arms.

The duo were told that this music was too extreme for release. Police brutality and a media that spreads fear throughout middle England were among other subjects covered; all in all, Bob Vylan were considered too much of a Molotov cocktail for a label, magazine or radio station to handle.

‘We’ve taken it to everybody – PR, magazines, blogs, radio pluggers, playlists, everybody – and they all said the same thing: ‘We love it’, but it’s too extreme.’ Bobby Vylan, speaking to NME.com

However, this wasn’t about to stop Bob Vylan.

‘This project is scarily relevant to the climate we are living in right now and we didn’t want it to wait another day.’ Bobby Vylan.

So, the duo released We Live Here themselves. It came out on Bandcamp in June 2020 and to date, has not been released anywhere else. Early vinyl pressings sold out sharp. Bob Vylan were not about to let mediums like Spotify cash in this early. DIY means DIY.

The EP/ mini album has plenty more bullets in its holster. Intro sets a clear tone. It represents a policy and is immediately followed by the spectacular title cut. England’s Ending is up next. It stalks an intimidatory path, articulating the plight of those scrapping for rent. A great title, too, with another convincing promo video. The album is full of contemporary English social and cultural references. It paints a picture of the modern country, with its hypocrisy and inequality. It ‘ain’t so lovely’.

Next up is Pulled Pork. Police brutality is the subject matter and it unashamedly pulls no punches whatsoever –

‘Who’s the next lucky winner for a free date with death.

Not me. Wrap the pig before they kill me.’

A backing of snarling guitar courtesy of Grammy nominated Jason Aaron Butler of Fever 333 blends with Bobby’s screaming vocals. So, the EP contains a Grammy nominated artist (Best Rock Performance 2019). An ultimate acknowledgment courtesy of the ‘establishment’. Yet is too extreme for the industry.

The Lynch Your Leaders single in 2019 was as direct as its title suggests, with a picture of Queen Elizabeth II on its sleeve. Shocking to many I’m sure, just as a certain God Save The Queen was back when music was dangerous. The song is included here. Lynch Your Leaders has an up-fade opening with its title hypnotically read, before launching into an intimidatory revolutionary lyric with a brooding, sinister and grime production. Bring down the old, it’s time for the new.

Northern Line literally is, literally, from the underground. An anxious underground. Its ‘Mind The Gap’ opening bolsters England’s inner-city inequality, prevalent throughout the record. The listener is forced to wait until the EP’s final quarter to get a shot in the ear of outright punk rock. Save Yourself is a petrol bomb of energy, aggressive and uplifting. Like all good music, really good music, it raises the blood temperature. And its message is a positive one, urging the listener to rise-up and improve.

After seven tracks and seventeen plus minutes of incendiary pyromania, it is time to sit and reflect. And ask yourself, ‘where do I go from here?’ The closing cut, Moment of Silence, allows the listener seventy seconds to do exactly that.

We Live Here clocks in at under twenty minutes. But every second of it ripples with direct menace. The backing has an inner city, council estate bedroom feel. The lyrics are inescapable. The performance is breath-taking.

The music industry, particularly the so-called ‘alternative’ or ‘cutting edge’ genres, like to think of themselves as ground-breaking. As ‘punk’ if you will. Bob Vylan are genuinely ‘alternative’, ‘cutting edge’ and ‘punk’. They could have made this record at any time in memory. Nothing much has changed. But the fact it has come out in 2020 is all that counts, and my god, it needs to be heard by everybody. No matter how uncomfortable it may make you feel.

The duo’s ‘almost’ namesake, one Bob Dylan, released his first new music for some time during the lockdown, A seventeen-minute epic entitled Murder Most Foul, it received (rightly) universal critical acclaim. Bob Vylan, meanwhile, released the succinct We Live Here. It clocked in at 132 seconds. It gets the message over. It doesn’t piss about. As Steve Ignorant of Crass once said, ‘why use ten words when I can just say fuck off’.

Spot on.