Llanberis Bomb Store

 

Charlie and I went exploring just outside Llanberis, drawn by the half-whispered legend of an old RAF bomb store buried in the slate hills of North Wales. It's not a place you’ll find on tourist maps or TripAdvisor—no signs, no footpaths, and certainly no welcome mats. Which, given the place’s history and hazard warnings, is probably for the best.

After some determined poking around (and a few wrong turns), we eventually found a hole in a fence and clambered down a slope of loose shale. The kind of descent that crunches underfoot and makes you feel like you're about be snowboarding, or shaleboarding.

At the base was a large, imposing building—industrial, forgotten, and eerie in the afternoon light. There's one door, thick and rusting, and forced ajar. With a little effort and a lot of caution, we stepped inside.

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Inside the Bomb Store

What we found wasn’t just a space—it was an atmosphere. The kind that presses in on your ears and settles behind your eyes. The inside swallowed sound, thick with damp air and decades of silence. Our only light was the dim torch on my phone, which flickered against rusted steelwork, and darkened concrete corridors.

We didn’t venture too far in. Something about the place suggests self-preservation and you shouldn't overstay your welcome. It’s not fear, exactly—more like reverence. A respect for a space that once held thousands of tons of ordnance, and where a catastrophic collapse in 1942 buried a loaded train and forever changed the site’s role in the war effort.

We stood in silence for a while, trying to make out shapes in the dark, then quietly made our way back to the light of day.

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A Vision for a Gig in the Void

Back outside, I couldn’t stop thinking about that front façade—the wide open slate amphitheatre, the silent bulk of the building, the raw acoustics. It sparked a vision: a Spam Javelin gig right there in front of the bomb store. No audience, no festival logistics—just the band, a film crew, and the slate echoing every distorted riff into the hills.

It brought to mind Pink Floyd’s "Live at Pompeii"—a concert with no crowd, just the music echoing through a space heavy with history. A performance for the ghosts, the ruins, and the mountains themselves.

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Final Thoughts

There’s something about that place—about all of Glyn Rhonwy, really—that sticks with you. It’s a relic of a world at war, buried in a landscape that's older than memory.

And maybe one day, with the right light and the right sound, we’ll bring some noise back to it. Just briefly.

Spam Javelin at the bomb store: no merch stand, no crowd surfers—just riffs in the void.

Stay tuned.

Red Or Dead - Anarchy Is Liberty

Talk about bad timing (or perhaps bad tidings), Red Or Dead (and myself as link2wales records) put this album out just as the whole world decided to impose martial law on a flu ravaged population. 

It was my 22nd release on link2wales, (a kind of record label that upped the ante every now and then when the mood takes me). Never for profit, I let bands use the link2wales platform so long as they paid for the pressing and I got a few copies to cover my own costs. Most pressings were in batches of 100 and (for gigging bands) they usually sold out pretty quick.

Link2wales Records are proud to announce the release of the second album from Penmachno’s Red Or Dead.
Anarchy Is Liberty is available on CD in a card wallet and features 9 socially active punk-folk songs that you can shake an angry stick at. It follows on from 2018’s well received debut album Trotsky Waltz.

The Ginger Quiff wrote this about the album:

The new album, Anarchy is Liberty, from North Wales’ acoustic punks Red or Dead is a timely comment on the current state of the planet. It proves you don’t have to scream and shout and thrash on loud electric guitars to make a point as 21st Century anarcho punks.

I believe I made this comparison before, but the band fills the ground somewhere between Wigan folk punks The Tansads and the now legendary Levellers, with a host of ideals and influences shared with original anarcho punks, Crass and taking influence from the music of Joe Strummer and The Clash.

Zombieland

Take the first track for example, Zombieland, with Rob’s vocal delivery paying tribute to The Clash’ Magnificent Seven complete. The track is all about the masses walking around with eyes and minds closed and accepting everything we are spoon fed by the media and government. We close our eyes in Zombieland, do what we’re told in Zombieland… A little closer to home in the current climate.

The theme of standing up and being counted continues throughout the album with Take the Streets a call to arms for the “woke” amongst the population (why have we started shortening words that are already short?). The album takes its title from this song and highlights some of the divine harmonies between Rob and Gala.

Gala takes the lead on In the End to great effect accompanied by some sweet acoustic guitar runs and riffing. Greed takes on a more sinister tone with ominous bass and sombre acoustic guitar introducing the lyrical subject matter which I’m sure you can guess at based on the song title.  There is also some sublime acoustic Spanish guitar riffing later in the track.

Fall Down

Talking of Spanish, Calles Del Delor (Streets of Pain) packs a powerful anti-drugs and corruption message. Sweetly strummed mandolin adds an extra texture to one of the album’s highlights, Fall Down. Its harmonious layered chorus documenting the greed influenced dragging down of protagonist in the song. This maudlin track gives way to the driving incessant driving beat of Limited Vision

The penultimate track is their previous single released around the time of the last Royal Wedding. Inspired by the news stories of homeless people being moved on from the streets, lest the world should see that there are homeless people on the streets of the UK. It attacks the Royal Family and its lack of relevance. A mere publicity machine to bring in the tourists.

A Storm is Coming is the last, the most delicate and the most beautiful, almost prescient song on the album. The repeated refrain rises in volume and pitch and adds a choir at the end. The power of the song finally revealed in all its glory. A storm is coming now, it comes for us all …

This album has been on constant rotation. It gets better every time I listen. The harmonies and melodies are exquisite. The songs demonstrate the capacity and impact of cleverly created lyrics proving you don’t have to play loud guitars to show your anger and passion to get a point across.

Riga / Koln / Rome

Sunday, 9th February 2020 — Bangor to Manchester to Riga (via Storm Ciara)

What a windy night – they're naming wind and rainstorms now. This one was Storm Ciara, and she made her presence well known. I just hoped she wouldn't delay our flight. Maybe they should name the storms after carbon burning companies - This week's storm is sponsored by Esso.

Spent the night listening to three tracks off The International Split which got played on BBC Radio Wales last night — what a buzz! Storm Ciara was battering roads and paths, forcing bus services to close and even the swimming pool at Eirias Park shut to accommodate people flooded out of their homes. Serious stuff - storming actually! Armageddon.

Charlie and I headed to Bangor for a bit of a swim before I dropped him off as I had to leave for Latvia at 2PM, so I met up with Tim, Steve, Mic and Carlos, and we drove down to Manchester for our flight to Riga.

Airport security was horrendous. Packed, slow, stressful for some, although why get angry about it? The flight was only slightly delayed despite the weather chaos — small win. Landed and made our way to a swanky hostel at midnight. Tired but buzzing, hit the town briefly, and had one too many beers. The storms might rage, but so do we.

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Monday, 10th February 2020 — Riga, Latvia

Woke up groggy, realised I’d belted out "God Save The Queen", "A Little Respect", and "Daydream Believer" at a karaoke gay bar last night (they all loved Carlos!). Too many beers, but a great time nonetheless. We stayed out way too late and only got to sleep around 5AM. Could’ve got up early, but decided against it. Slept until noon.

Enjoyed an excellent full egg, mushroom and tomato omelettey afternoon breakfast in a clay dish at Street Fries Kitchen (in the Old Town) – the perfect antidote. The bracing Latvian air sobered us up fast.

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St. Peter's Church (Svētā Pētera baznīca), one of the most iconic landmarks in Riga’s Old Town

Tuesday, 11th February 2020 — Riga and Trouble

Wow. That was one hell of a 24 hours. We spent seventeen of them on the beer in Riga, it was one laugh after another that ended... poorly. It WAS big and it WAS grown up.... well, ok... it wasn't... Read on...

The night culminated in graffiti, running from the police, flashing blue lights, and eventually being interrogated at the hostel. Steve phoned me mid-Gestapo museum visit to say the police wanted to see me after they showed him crystal clear footage of the previous night’s antics and my distinctive luminous orange hat. What a disaster. I held my hands up, took the wrap, and got fined €143 by the Latvian police. "Ya fackin' idiot," I muttered to myself (for getting caught). Nice of all the lads to chip in and split the fine... oh...

Flew to Cologne in the evening and made it to the hostel around 10PM. Had a couple of beers out of habit, but my body and mind both realised — that enuff za enuff.

Wednesday 12th – Saturday 15th February 2020 — Cologne to Rome and Back Home

After the chaos in Riga and that much-needed reset in Cologne, things began to mellow… sort of.

Wednesday 12th Feb
A fairly chilled day – did some serious walking through Cologne. Saw a cool record store and bought a badge for no reason other than it looked interesting. Grabbed some food (our eating tendencies between us range from filthy kebabs to lettuce) and got to chatting with a lad from Hull – and shared some funny stories from the road. He told us about a guy called Thierry Jaspart, a Belgian artist best known for his work in street art, conceptual art, and provocative installations. He gained notoriety in the 2000s and 2010s for playful, absurd, and sometimes confrontational pieces—often blending irony, satire, and social commentary. Hence the “FUCK THIERRY JASPART!” posters in Koln that are actually part of his own art practice. It's not vandalism against him—it’s a self-referential stunt. Jaspart has, in the past, plastered cities with these kinds of posters as a tongue-in-cheek way to mock the idea of fame.
There once was a 'Neil Crud Must Die' Facebook page in the pre-PC days. Although, far being self-referential, it was eventually taken down.

Cologne – A Moment to Catch My Breath

Before flying to Rome, we did some serious walking around Cologne (something like 17000 steps) – the towering Kölner Dom casting its long shadow over the city and my own thoughts. It was freezing, but I felt oddly grounded. I stood in front of the cathedral — this dark, jagged monolith of human persistence — in other words; IT'S FUCKING HUGE!!!

Thursday 13th Feb

Took a flight to Rome – the moment we landed, it was clear that something's in the air with all this flu malarkey - we had our temperatures taken as we were leaving the airport. Flu virus or no flu virus, this city is alive. Much warmer, more noise, traffic, ancient chaos. Ate pizza (obviously), wandered the streets, soaked in the atmosphere. Visited the Vatican – utterly surreal, the Pope was out though, so I left him a Spam Javelin sticker on his favourite lantern. It’s hard to believe humans still worship made up shit. The Sistine Chapel, those endless corridors of art – by artists all dead, but still alive, in endless art. Did Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and listened out for echoes of Mussolini's speeches nearby - the gobshite fascist.

Also saw The Book of Mormon in Italian, of all things! Didn’t understand a fucking word but still laughed my tits off, although this was after Steve had taken us to an Irish bar.

Friday 14th Feb
Valentine’s Day in Rome – which somehow felt perfect, as the Famous Five of us love each very much. Spent most of the day in Trastevere, drinking espresso and writing postcards - Ha! If you believe that bollocks then you obviously don't know me!. Reflected on the madness of the last week – the running, the drinking, the fines, the highs, the beautiful chaos of it all. Found peace in a quiet restaurant and raised a glass to servitude. Then went on the piss.

Saturday 15th Feb
Caught an early flight out, and as you can see from the pic below, we were still firing on all 4 and raring to go. Said farewell to Italy. Landed in Manchester, then headed west, eventually rocking back in Colwyn Bay with Charlie. Even squeezed in a swim at Eirias Park. Always weird coming back home, back to mundanity of existence, the contrast to the whirlwind of travelling always makes me feel like I’ve returned from another dimension.

Barcelona, Spain

 Sunday, January 19th, 2020 – Barcelona, Spain

Just wrapped up four incredible nights in Barça with Tracey. It’s been an unforgettable trip – a true mix of sunshine, sweat, street art, beer, and sensory overload. The weather was a dream for January – warm enough for shorts and t-shirts by day. The place we stayed had 88 steps up to the rooftop terrace, and every climb was rewarded with a stunning view and, amusingly, the unmistakable scent of weed from the stoners everywhere; this made my chilled reading of the 400 page American Hardcore: A Tribal History book all the better.

We spent hours getting lost in the Gothic Quarter—a twisted maze of alleyways dripping in history, art, pimps and pushers. Stone arches and crumbling facades next to bold, furious graffiti. One highlight was a haunting, futuristic metal sculpture tucked away in a quiet courtyard near an art gallery—a giant face, welded and pierced with steel rods, staring off into nothing. It looked like thoughts were exploding from its head. There was something so introspective and sci-fi about it—like the mind made visible. I just stood there, feeling both seen and slightly disturbed. A beautiful contrast with the surrounding medieval stones.

Another afternoon, we wandered into a narrow street somewhere between El Raval and the Gothic Quarter, the kind that narrows into a living corridor of peeling walls, balconies tangled in laundry and potted plants. The storefronts were covered in stickers and grime, the kind of urban patina that says you’re somewhere real. People were everywhere—tourists, locals, a street guide mid-sentence, an old guy in a beanie looking skyward like he’s seen it all before. The vibe was alive, chaotic but grounded, like the city was letting you in on a secret and laughing at you at the same time.

We hit some brilliant dive bars too—Nevermind (a grungy, skater hole-in-the-wall, complete with an indoor skate ramp), Manchester Bar, Bollocks, and Psycho. Loud music, cheap drinks, great people, wild energy. The spirit of rebellion everywhere. I swear we did at least 14,000 steps a day, probably more. One trek up to Montjuïc Castle nearly did us in—but the views of the city and the sea made it all worth it. Same with the Sagrada Família. Honestly? It blew me away. It’s not just a building—it’s a living prayer, frozen mid-sentence. Unfinished, but complete in its grandeur.

Still – what a place, what a ride.