F*CK CNSRSHP

Villena isn’t ready. It never is. Every year the town wakes up, rubs its eyes, and suddenly finds itself hosting the closest thing Spain has to a punk-rock exorcism: the F*ck Censorship Festival — the loudest middle finger to polite society this side of the Pyrenees. And on January 31st, 2026, as the cold gnaws at your bones and the sun remembers it has better things to do than shine, 5,000 maniacs will pack themselves into the Plaza de Toros Cubierta like a riot waiting for a beat.This year’s lineup? A Molotov cocktail disguised as a poster.

Narco are rolling in like the uninvited cousins who drink all your booze and set your shed on fire. Between their industrial beatdowns and Sevillian swagger, expect the place to vibrate like a cathedral possessed. The crowd won’t just move — it’ll convulse.

Then the Basque war machines arrive: Segismundo Toxicómano, Kaotiko, and the ever-feral Envidia Kotxina. It’s like someone opened a portal to a punk multiverse where everything smells faintly of petrol and rebellion. Every chorus feels like it was smuggled in past border control, wrapped in barbed wire and bad decisions.

Koma will stomp onto that stage like a giant steel boot smashing through the last fragile bits of your eardrums. Pure metallic artillery. No survivors. No apologies.Porretas, meanwhile, will bring that Madrid street-punk warmth — the kind that hugs you, insults you, and hands you a beer in the same breath.Kaos Urbano? They’re here to start fights with reality itself. If the venue isn’t shaking like a dying washing machine by the end of their set, check your pulse.

And then, the wild card: Loncha Velasco — the kind of band name that already sounds like a crime. Expect chaos. Expect sweat. Expect something you’ll have to explain to your therapist someday.

This isn’t a festival. It’s a pressure cooker with guitars. A gathering of the ungovernable. A celebration of every scream ever strangled by polite society. The organizers slap “F*ck the Censorship Festival” on the banner, but it might as well read: “Abandon all restraint, ye who enter here.”

Tickets started at 29€ + fees — a laughably small price to pay to have your soul sandblasted by power chords and anti-everything anthems. And inside that packed bullring in Villena, where tradition used to demand blood, the only sacrifice will be your voice, your hearing, and your last shred of respectability.

January 31st. Villena. F*ck Cnsrshp.Not just a festival — a yearly ritual where Spain tears out its own stitched-up tongue and lets it scream.

For tickets and more information: F*CK CNSRSHP