Bad Manners – Tuning Fork, 16 April 2025: Review & Photo Gallery

The Fat Bastard rides again.  Buster Bloodvessel and Bad Manners bring the big brass Ska circus to Auckland.

You could feel it in the air before they even hit the stage. A battered but booming sound system blasted The Specials’ Too Much Too Young into the ears of the assembled crowd, and with it came the unmistakable energy of British Ska. A bubbling, bouncing, boot-stomping promise that things were about to get rowdy.

Then, as the lights dimmed and the floor began to shake, the crowd already warmed up like a pot of Rudeboy stew, roared to life.

Bad Manners, the long-running Ska juggernaut fronted by the irrepressible Buster Bloodvessel, were in town, and The Tuning Fork in Auckland was about to become a pressure cooker of dancing limbs, brass blasts, and joyful chaos.

Only one of the band was sporting the classic Doc Martens look tonight. A small detail, but one that somehow underscored the sense that this wasn’t some tribute to nostalgia. This was a living, breathing party machine still evolving in its own sweaty, stomping way.

From the first track, the crowd was on their feet, and it didn’t let up for a second. Walking in the Sunshine had bodies bouncing like kids at a sugar-fuelled birthday party.

Strangers hugged, beer flew, and grins spread like wildfire across the packed room. A scene more akin to a Ska revival tent than a downtown venue on a Wednesday night.

By song five, a minor scuffle erupted. A guy in a Rasta cap pushing his luck in an otherwise happy, peace-and-pint loving crowd. But luckily, the tension disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

Then came the moment of comedic genius. Buster limped theatrically to the mic and declared, I’m going to get my leg changed. Cue laughter and the perfect segue into Walking on Sunshine, a tune that got the biggest cheer of the night up to that point.

The band were in full party mode. Jumping, spinning, crashing into each other with brass instruments raised like battle flags. They were having the time of their lives, and it was infectious. Think Joker’s manic grin meets Cheshire Cat’s sly joy. That’s what every face in the crowd looked like.

Are you having fun? Buster shouted, that unmistakable glint in his eye.

YESSSS!… the crowd thundered back.

Well, we can’t put a stop to that now, can we? By the way, you’re all looking so beautiful tonight. Everyone!

And beautiful it was. During Too Good to Be True, the band danced in unison like a Ska chorus line from a musical scored and directed by Monty Python. There was something theatrical about it. Ridiculous, wonderful, unpretentious fun.

You could tell Buster’s knee was giving him hell. He grimaced occasionally, but not once did it slow him down. He’s no spring chicken, more like an old bulldog with a grin, but he gave it everything. No half measures. Just Ska at full throttle.

A highlight? Skinhead Love Affair, which only happened because the band didn’t want to play it, Buster joked, and the sound guy didn’t.

They played it anyway. Of course they did.

Throughout the show, fans shouted the now-legendary chant YOU FAT BASTARD!

Buster’s timing was perfect. He’s turned up again. He’s always here! Then he surveyed the room. There’s more of him now, ain’t there? The crowd roared.

During Woolly Bully, the horn section pulled pranks, literally tilting the keyboard player’s rig uphill, forcing him to solo on a slope, which only added to the lunatic charm of it all.

Then came the tongue. Buster’s infamous, cartoonishly long tongue made its cameo appearance, wagging, curling, taunting the front row with pure slapstick delight.

The night seemed to close with Special Brew as the band exited stage right — but the crowd weren’t having it. They erupted into a pounding, rhythmic chant:
YOU FAT BASTARD! YOU FAT BASTARD!

The band turned around laughing, joined the beat and kicked straight into Pipeline for the encore.

By now, even the most rhythm-challenged in the room were skank dancing like serpents hypnotised by Ska sorcery. My friend Jade moved like she was born in Camden Town, hips swinging and grinning from ear to ear.

And then Lip Up Fatty. The one. The anthem. The crowd didn’t just sing along, they owned it. Arms waving, voices howling.

When the band stopped, the audience kept going. Lip up fatty, ah lip up fatty, for the reggae, reggae, reggae, reggae…

And the band came crashing back in like a double shot of Special Brew straight to the chest.

And just when you thought it was over, they tore into The Can Can, igniting a final skank-a-thon. People kicked legs like it was the Moulin Rouge via Brixton, with Ska horns blasting full force.

This wasn’t just a concert. It was a Ska-fuelled carnival. A sweaty, stomping, tongue-waggling reminder that music should make you feel something, preferably joy. Bad Manners didn’t just play a gig in Auckland. They threw a party the city won’t forget.

Buster’s right knee may need ice, but his soul? Still on fire.

Paul Marshall

Photography by Leonie Moreland