Crass - Reality Asylum

CRASS - REALITY ASYLUM

Shortly after the release of The Feeding Of The 5000, Crass released their debut 7" single on their own record label - Crass Records - for the princely sum of 45p. Being so cheap, how could anyone not buy it? Reality Asylum was a version of the song that the pressing plant in Ireland had refused to deal with when due initially to go on Feeding Of The 5000 and after hearing it, it was very easy to understand why it had caused offence.

Sung - or rather, spoken - by yet another Crass member going by the name of Eve Libertine, it was completely at odds with any preconceived notion of what this Punk group called Crass should sound like. No Punk Rock record was this but more a soundscape, a cut-up collage of sounds taken from the radio interspersed with a child's prayer. And yes indeed, it was very blasphemous and in more ways than one: "I am no feeble Christ, not me. He hangs in glib delight upon His cross, above my body. Lowly me. Christ forgive? Forgive? Holy He. He holy, He holy. Shit He forgives. Forgive? Forgive? I? I? Me? I? I vomit for you Jesu. Christy Christus. Puke upon your papal throne. Wrapped you are in the bloody shroud of churlish suicide. Wrapped I am in the muddy cloud of hellish genocide. Petulant child. I have suffered for you where you have never known me. I too must die. Will you be shadowed in the arrogance of my death?"

The voice of Eve Libertine was authoritative, confident and sincere; pronouncing the words precisely in a calm and measured tone: "He hangs upon His cross in self-righteous judgement. Hangs in crucified delight. Nailed to the extent of His vision. His cross. His violence. Guilt. Sin. He would nail my body to His cross. As if I might have waited upon Him in the garden. As if I might have perfumed His body. Washed those bloody feet. This woman that He seeks. Suicide visionary. Death reveller. Rake. Rapist. Gravedigger. Earthmover. Lifefucker. Jesu. You scooped the pits of Auschwitz. The soil of Treblinka is rich in your guilt. The sorrow of your tradition. Your stupid humility is the crown of thorns we all must wear."

This in no way was rock'n'roll and neither was it a laugh or a giggle. So what then was it? Shock for shock's sake? Hardly. Therapy? Possibly. Expurgation of Catholic guilt? Not sure. An articulate and heartfelt attack on organised religion? Don't know.

If listened to carefully, it wasn't so much an attack upon Christianity or upon organised religion but an attack upon Jesus Christ Himself: "Lame arse Jesus calls me 'sister'. There are no words for my contempt. Every woman is a cross in His filthy theology. He turns His back on me in His fear. His vain delight is the pain I bear. Alone He hangs. His choice, His choice. Alone, alone. His voice, His voice. He shares nothing, this Christ. Sterile, impotent fucklove prophet of death. He is the ultimate pornography."

For those not already inoculated against Christianity through religious education and being made to recite the Lord's Prayer every day whilst at school, Reality Asylum would have been an ear and eye-opening experience, if not a shocking one. For those who didn't care either way about religion, it wouldn't have really meant a lot. And possibly for those who only saw Jesus and Christianity as pillars of authority, it would have meant a well-aimed and deserving blow. Whether or not it was the original intention, what it was in the end, however, was an exercise in free speech. An exercise, ultimately, in being able to express such things and of course, it fell at the first hurdle as in the pressing plant refusing to deal with it. Once finally released, it also instigated a visit to the house of Crass from the police who warned the band they may be breaking obscenity laws. In the end nobody was prosecuted for what was being expressed in Reality Asylum nor has anyone ever been but Crass certainly came close to it: "You sigh alone in your cockfear. You lie alone in your womanfear. You die alone in your manfear. Alone, Jesu, alone. In your cockfear, cuntfear, womanfear, manfear. Alone in your fear. Your fear, your fear. Warfare, warfare."

In its composition, echoes of Allen Ginsberg's famous poem Howl could be detected (for those who knew of him) and also an echo of Patti Smith in its last line: "Jesus died for His own sins, not mine." An obvious nod to the opening line from her seminal Horses album. Whether or not Reality Asylum succeeded in its intentions (whatever those were?) was debatable but for all that it was without doubt a unique and brilliantly controversial creation that certainly showed Crass to be 'different'. It revealed an 'otherness' about Crass. Something strangely dark yet beautiful born from an awareness of something more. Something better. Reality Asylum may not have been Punk Rock, but it was certainly Punk.

If Reality Asylum was indeed an exercise in freedom of speech that caused eyebrows (and for some - hackles) to be raised then the record's flip side was an exercise in raising questions - along with the tempo. With Eve Libertine again taking on lead vocals, Shaved Women starts with her screaming out like a clarion call to the world: "Shaved women collaborators!" Then to the sound of a hurtling train the phrase "screaming babies, screaming babies" picks up the rhythm and runs with it accompanied by Eve continuing to scream: "Shaved women collaborators, shaved women are they traitors? Dead bodies all around. Shaved women instigators, shaved women shooting dope. Shaved women disco dancing."

The whole track is startling in its ferocious passion though the actual meaning of it can only really be gauged by the photo montage on the back of the record's sleeve depicting a shaven-headed woman clutching a swaddled baby, depicted as running before a group of nuns led by a Seig-Heiling clergyman. The cropped image is taken from an iconic photograph by Robert Capa revealing the dark side of liberation from the Nazi occupation of France at the end of World War Two when thousands of women were accused of collaboration though without any form of trial. As punishment they had been beaten, spat upon, and ritualistically shorn of their hair. Whether they deserved to be treated in such a manner has always been an ongoing debate among historians but one thing has always been clear: the retribution administered was completely misogynist in nature.

So, if this was possibly the subject matter of the song then the sound of a train throughout it was presumably a representation of a Nazi death camp-bound train? In terms of rock'n'roll, where had such an idea for a song sprung from? This was totally and absolutely like nothing before. Just who the fuck were Crass?

"In all your decadence people die!" screams Eve near-hysterically into infinity, as the listener is left with the sense that this song with Eve's vocals is something really quite astonishing. But in whose decadence was it that people die? The individual listener's? Society's at large? The Western world's? God's decadence? And where did shooting dope and disco dancing come into it?

Shaved Women was a classic slice of Crass at their best. Nobody was quite prepared, however, for what was to come next: the debut album from Crass - a double album at that, retailing for just £3.00 - entitled Stations Of The Crass....

Crass - The Feeding Of The 5000

CRASS - THE FEEDING OF THE 5000

Recorded in October of 1978 and released in February of 1979 on the Small Wonder label, like Anarchy In The UK and White Riot, The Feeding Of the 5000 was a seminal record that to many people came as a revelation. Nobody could have guessed at the time, however, that Crass would go on to be one of the most important rock'n'roll bands of all time.

On its release, people didn't flock to buy it at all but instead came to it slowly through word of mouth but this was nothing unusual with independent label records. At that time the main way of knowing about latest record releases was through John Peel playing them or through the weekly music papers as in Sounds, the NME and Melody Maker. If there wasn't a review of the release in any of the papers then they might be listed as an entry in the Independent Chart. And that was it: a mere mention in that chart might be all the publicity a band might have, or in some cases all that a band might need.

Even though most of the original '77 Punk bands had started to progress or in the case of the Pistols, split up with John Rotten having gone on to form Public Image Ltd, there was still a very large audience still very much interested in Punk. This audience would be attracted to any band who were still keeping the faith or to any new band flying the flag. So, via a combination of these aforementioned ways people began to take notice of this unknown band called Crass who had a 12" record out that played at 45 rpm but contained 18 tracks and sold for a mere £1.99.

Interestingly, just as the Pistols had grappled with censorship and bannings, Crass too had their problems. The Feeding Of The 5000 begins with a few minutes of silence given the title 'The Sound Of Free Speech'. The pressing plant in Ireland that Small Wonder were using had refused to press the record if it was going to include the intended first track called 'Asylum', due to it being blasphemous. And they weren't wrong, Asylum was indeed extremely blasphemous. Rather than cancelling the whole pressing of the record, it was decided to just not include the contentious track so instead the record begins (and ends) properly with Do They Owe Us A Living?

Ironically, due to their first words being censored in this way the first recorded word from Crass turned out to be the word 'fuck', as in "Fuck the politically minded, here's something I want to say."

Do They Owe Us A Living? would become a Crass anthem and would be the song they would for ever be immediately associated with. A call and response song to which the furious reply to the posed question was "Of course they fucking do."

Do They Owe Us A Living? was the sound of a line being drawn in the sand. A non-negotiable assertion that was the antithesis of one of the main planks of conservative Britain's social philosophy. A declaration of unwillingness to have any truck with what and whom was clearly despised, made even more clear later on in the track Banned From The Roxy: "Fuck 'em, I've chosen to make my stand against what I feel is wrong with this land."

Ostensibly concerning itself as the title suggests with Crass being banned from The Roxy, this particular song (and soon to become another Crass anthem) is very much more than just that as it leaps from the matter of being banned from a Punk club in Covent Garden for not being "well behaved boys" to the reason as to why they might not actually be well behaved. And there is a reason for it, all stemming from a basic anger and disgust with how the world is: "They just sit there on their overfed arses, feeding off the sweat of less fortunate classes. They keep their fucking power cos their finger's on the button, they've got control and won't let it be forgotten... Defence? Shit. It's nothing less than war... The same fucking lies with depressing frequency. They say 'We had to do it to keep our lives clean'. Well, whose life? Whose fucking life? Who the fuck are they talking to? I tell you one thing, it ain't me and you."

A peculiar thing about Banned From The Roxy was that Crass seemed to be suggesting that what they were saying and what they were about didn't really belong within the usual confines of rock'n'roll. And evidently, it didn't even belong or fit in with the accepted Punk stronghold of The Roxy: "Do they think guitars and microphones are just fucking toys?"

From its advent, Punk had sought to be 'real', and to depict and connect with reality. Crass, however, seemed to be taking it one step further by not only depicting reality as they saw it but confronting it also: "Mai Lai, Hiroshima... School, army, church, the corporation deal." This was a reality not of their making but a "fucked up reality based on fear. A fucking conspiracy to stop you feeling real." A reality that was in favour of "the government... The rich and the fortunate" to which Crass absolutely objected: "They're wrong and they ain't got me. I'd say they're fucking wrong. I ain't quite ready with my gun but I've got my fucking song."

It was this kind of hardline stance - suggesting that songs were weapons - that made Crass immediately stand out and set them apart from all other Punk groups. Joe Strummer had sung of "sten guns in Knightsbridge" and "burning down the suburbs with a half-closed eye" whilst sporting a Red Brigade t-shirt though it turned out in the end to be mere posturing. A slogan put forward by Crass stated 'Germany got Baader Meinhof, England got Punk - but they can't kill it', so were Crass suggesting that Punk was akin to an armed revolutionary group? It appeared so. But was such a suggestion credible? Particularly following the realisation that The Clash didn't really mean it? As Punk's potential from the start was always limitless then in theory the answer was 'Yes' but in practise was it possible or even desirable?

Banned From The Roxy ends with the single word 'Guns!' being shouted out but in all likelihood this was simply a way of saying 'Boo!' to those who were sat "on their overfed arses, feeding off the sweat of less fortunate classes". When performing live they would sometimes swap the word 'guns' for 'bums', thus suggesting that ridicule might be a weapon too.

The strangeness of Crass was apparent not only in their sound and their unique interpretation of Punk Rock but also from the torrent of words in their songs. And so crammed were they with words that it was hard to keep up even when following the provided song sheet. Thoughts, notions, suggestions, observations, statements and declarations all speed past in a blur; the rat-a-tat-tat of a snare drum snapping at their heel. Certain lines are so simple and to the point that they're almost throwaway in their logic: "Well, I don't want your crazy system, I don't wanna be on your files. Your temptations I try to resist them cos I know what hides behind your smiles." Of course Steve Ignorant didn't want the system, of course he didn't want to be on anyone's files. To think otherwise would be pretty foolish.

Again and again and very successfully, however, he would be pronouncing on Punk but extending the point he was making to apply to and encompass the wider world: "You give us conscience money, now you start to worry. The Frankenstein monster you created has turned against you, now you're hated." from Reject Of Society. Or: "Fuck the Punks. Punks are fucked. It's too loud. Awful row. They can't play. They'll give up in the end. What a shame, it's still the same. That's what you think." from What A Shame.

And then in the track General Bacardi he goes even further in detail regarding Punk (and hippy) and connecting (or not) to the wider world: "They talk from the screen and TV tube, they talk revolution like it's processed food. They talk anarchy from music hall stages, look for change in colour supplement pages. They think that by talking from some distant tower that something might change in the structure of power. They dream, they dream, never walk on the street. They dream, they dream, never stand on their feet."

Throughout the record vitriol and profanities abound, begging the question as to whether the Irish pressing plant that objected to the inclusion of Asylum actually listened to the rest of the record? One particular track - So What? - is masterful in its breadth but very much pushes the envelope in what has ever been said in a song before: "So what if Jesus died on the cross? So what about the fucker? I don't give a toss. So what if the Master walked on the water? I don't see Him trying to stop the slaughter. So what if He's always over my shoulder? I realise the truth as I get older. I get to see what a con it is because it's my life, mine not His." All sounding as though being delivered with the most caustic of intentions.

Crass vocalist Steve Ignorant was the archetypal Punk singer; his uncouth, snotty, guttersnipe voice put to brilliant effect when delivering such phrases as 'So what?' or 'I'm bored', or any time really when he was just swearing. In particular his voice gave much credibility to the declaration being made by Crass that Punk Is Dead.

Here was a Punk group revelling in the adrenalin rush of hardcore Punk Rock; fronted by a young, spiky-haired vocalist spitting out words at maximum velocity. A ranting Punk urchin in a Punk Rock group who if anything were actually upping the Punk ante yet paradoxically declaring that "Punk is dead. It's just another cheap product for the consumer's head." Any other vocalist or group couldn't have got away with making such a statement but Steve Ignorant sounded like the real thing and Crass seemed different to other groups and so were able to deliver a few uncomfortable home truths, one being that "CBS promote The Clash but it's not for revolution, it's just for cash."

The Sex Pistols had never really made any claims or statements of intent regarding independence of business. Their forte was in their attitude that when brought to public exposure and magnified caused a veritable shift in British culture. It's debatable, however, if their influence would ever have been so wide had they not been signed to a major label, be it EMI, A&M or Virgin. Indeed, it should be remembered that had they not been signed to EMI they would never have been invited on to the Bill Grundy-hosted Today television programme in the first place and consequently would not have been brought to such wide public attention.

The Clash on the other hand were always more political (with a small 'p') than the Pistols, readily wrapping themselves in revolutionary chic. Without question they were an important stepping stone to a huge number of people's social and political awareness, though their contradictions were undeniably rife.

In the wake of the Pistols the idea of selling-out to big business - particularly to the record industry, of course - became prominent. Amongst many other things Punk came to be about empowerment, about doing it yourself; be it creating your own media, creating your own clothes, or creating your own music - free of any external pressure or constraints. There was no longer any need to train as a journalist to write, no longer any need to be a musician to be in a group, and no longer any need to sign to a major label to release a record. The Sex Pistols had successfully demystified the whole process of creativity in all forms. Anyone could now do it. Anyone could be a Sex Pistol.

'This is a chord, this is another, this is a third. Now form a band' as declared in Sideburns fanzine back in December of '76. "It was easy, it was cheap, go and do it!" as declared by the Desperate Bicycles on their The Medium Was Tedium independently released record in July of '77. Though revolutionary at the time, these kind of sentiments were soon to become hoary old chestnuts and Punk dogma to some but set standards and basic Punk ethics to others. With this it was inevitable, then, that upon signing to CBS that The Clash would be accused by some of selling out. Crass, however, were the first Punk group to openly commit that accusation to vinyl and in that same spirit even widening their scope to include Punk as a whole: "Punk became a fashion just like Hippy used to be and now it ain't got a thing to do with you or me. Punk became a movement cos we all felt lost but the leaders sold out and now we all pay the cost."

Indeed, Crass had a point: The Clash - from political potential to CBS control, the Buzzcocks - from New Hormones independence to United Artists, the Damned - from Stiff to Chiswick, Sham 69 - from Step Forward to Polydor, The Jam - straight to Polydor, Penetration - straight to Virgin, Generation X - straight to Chrysalis, and so on and so forth. But in what way might Crass be any different?

"And me, yes I, do I want to burn? Or is there something I can learn? Do I need a businessman to promote my angle? Can I resist the carrots that fame and fortune dangle?" Only time would tell, of course, though it was somehow hard to imagine Crass ever being introduced on Top Of The Pops by a delighted Tony Blackburn.

If Steve Ignorant was the sound of Punk incarnate, then fellow vocalist and bass player Pete Wright was the sound of your average next door neighbour going noisily mad. On the track Sucks, in a genuinely sick-to-death-of-it-all voice he dismisses Buddha, Jesus, Marx and Thatcher before declaring in unison with the rest of Crass his belief in Anarchy (and questioning whether even that's working). On the track You Pay he angrily rails against the public at large: "Knowing you've made your contribution to the system's fucked solution, to their political pollution. No chance of revolution, no chance of change. You've got no range. Don't just take it, don't take their shit. Don't play their game, don't take their blame. Use your own head. Your turn instead", before practically imploding with pent-up frustration: "It's not economise, it's not apologise. It's not make do, it's not pull through. It's not take it, it's not make it. It's not just you, it's not madmen. It's not difficult, it's not behave. It's not, oh well, just this once. It's fucking impossible. It's fucking unbearable. It's fucking stupid. Fucking stupid!"

His was the voice not of a snarling, shouting Punk Rocker but of a genuinely vexed man. The fact that he was balding and reasonably sensible looking only added to the impact - and the concern.

It's on the track Securicor, however, that Pete Wright totally comes into his own as he takes on the persona of a Securicor guard ("a Private in a private army") and exudes a virulent sense of menace: "I walk around with a big alsation, he'll re-arrange you with no provocation. And I'm the bugger who has got the lead, you'll have to be bright if you want to get at me."

Here was a song that revealed the power that Crass were harnessing. By focussing upon a particular target they showed they had the words, the ferocity and the righteousness to basically obliterate that target: "You ought to know me cos I've been a cop, out of the army where I learned the lot. Some kids still chuckle when they see my van but it's not all money, sonny. You want to come closer?"

Securicor guards could never be viewed in quite the same light again: "Securicor cares. Securicor scares the shit out of you. Do you want to come closer?"

Steve Ignorant may have been the main vocalist but he wasn't really the lead vocalist as such. In addition to Pete Wright taking over on the aforementioned songs, on the track Women a female voice comes in to play - that of Virginia Creeper aka Joy de Vivre - and cries out over a barrage of noise and radio feedback: "Fuck is women's money, we pay with our bodies. There's no purity in our love, no beauty just bribery. It's all the fucking same. We make soldiers with our submission, wars with our isolation." The same voice then advises that "War is men's money, they pay with their bodies. There's no purity in that game, only blood, death and bribery. It's still the fucking same."

Polemic, noise, swearing and anger. These seemed to be essential ingredients of every Crass song no matter who was taking the lead in vocals: "But we've all got the power. Don't just stand there and take submission on the strength of fear. Fight war, not wars."

The use of different vocalists for different songs was an example of the originality of Crass and so too was the way that each track would breathlessly lead into the next with hardly any and often no gap in between. In fact, the longest gap on the whole record was not between any songs but actually mid-way through a song, during They've Got A Bomb.

Punk in itself was a battlefield, a social war. What did you do in the Punk wars, Daddy? It wasn't until the advent of Crass and The Feeding Of The 5000, however, that the actual subject of war was placed firmly on the Punk agenda. In particular, the subject of nuclear war.

The atomic bomb was a fact of life. It was something that was always there but something that very few people had much to say about. The whole idea of atomic war was an abstraction. It was a possibility that existed in the world but a possibility that was impossible to contemplate so therefore nobody even tried. Protests against nuclear weapons and marches upon Aldermaston had all taken place during the late 1950s and 1960s but for anyone born after these times it was into a world where nuclear weapons were the norm. Crass suddenly came along not only reviving the issue but personalising it: "They won't destroy the world. No, they're not that crazy. You're not dealing with the town hall, they're not that crazy. No political solution so why should we bother? Well whose fucking head do you think they hold it over? They can't wait to use it, they can't wait to try it out. They've got a bomb and they can't wait to use it on - me!"

If the threat of world destruction was impossible to contemplate then reducing the idea down to the destruction of the individual self might make it slightly easier but what words were there to express this? Plenty, of course, but at the same time, none: "Twenty odd years now waiting for the FLASH!"

Sudden silence. Sudden silence mid-way through a song. Or had the song actually ended? Waiting. Waiting for the song to re-start or for a new one to begin. Waiting. But for how long? Confusion. A creeping sense of confusion then discomfort as the silence goes on until finally being broken by a single guitar note being struck then stretching into feedback before slamming straight back into drums, bass and vocals: "Twenty odd years now waiting for the flash, all of the odd-balls thinking we'll be ash. The four-minute warning has run on into years, are we waiting for them to confirm our fears?"

The length of the gap of silence in They've Got A Bomb was a simple but very bold and effective idea that caused if not forced the listener to stop and wonder. Songs might be weapons but so too it seemed was silence.

"Four! Three! Two! One! Fire!" was the countdown to The Bomb going off but was also very much the countdown signalling the launch and the arrival of Crass and for a huge number of people, their lives would never be quite the same again.

The image was total. The image was complete.

From the black and white photo montage on the front cover of The Feeding Of The 5000 depicting a blitzed townscape where various figures stood, played, worked and even levitated.

To its back cover, where a lone figure in a barren, mud landscape held aloft a banner.

From the banner itself, emblazoned with the Crass logo.

To the record's four-page insert and its barrage of typed-out song lyrics.

From the Mick Jones of The Clash quote on the insert accompanying the lyrics to Punk Is Dead: "Whoever said Punk is dead is a cunt"

To the last, out of breath words after Do They Owe Us A Living? at the end of the record: "Who do?", "Well, that's my opinion, anyway."

From the anger and the energy.

To the care and compassion.

From the slogans and the symbols.

To the unspoken and the hinted at.

From the "Nihilistic, puritan black" clothes.

To the stages adorned with a mass of proud banners.

From the ferocious passion that poured from them when playing live.

To the urge to always give and never take.

From the cheapness of their records and entry to their gigs.

To the constant willingness to play benefits in aid of various causes.

From the refusal to indulge or court the mainstream music press.

To the total support of fanzine culture.

From the eschewing of the music business, big-time promoters and established venues.

To the patronage of independent promoters and alternative venues.

From turning gigs into events.

To the bravery shown in the face of very real and ugly violence.

From the way rhythm guitarist Andy Palmer held and played his guitar.

To the way Steve Ignorant would thrust his mic-stand out into the audience.

And to the audience itself, chanting along to the complex, wordy songs...

Inspired.

Energised.

And up for it.

Crass - what?

What?

CRASS

If the world ever needed Punk, then Punk needed Crass. And if Punk ever had anything to do with anger, then Crass were the epitome of that. Indeed, if Punk ever had anything to do with passion, energy, ideas, politics, or non-politics come to that, then Crass had all this and more in abundance.

John Rotten may have declared himself to be an Anti-Christ but it was Crass who had no bones in declaring "So what if Jesus died on the cross? So what about the fucker? I don't give a toss." John Rotten may also have declared himself to be an Anarchist but it was Crass who had no qualms in declaring in unison and with utter conviction "I believe in Anarchy in the UK."

Crass cut to the quick and as Tony D in his fanzine Ripped And Torn foresaw when reviewing their debut record, immediately and effectively split Punk in two: those in it for the right reasons and those in it for the wrong.

Here suddenly and from out of the blue was a Punk Rock band taking Punk and all it stood for very, very seriously. A band who were articulate, intelligent, and apparently very caring yet at the same time as angry as fuck and spitting in the face of everything. Guided not by the profit motive (the cheapness of their debut record and the cheapness of entrance to their gigs being evidence of this) but by higher ideas. All welded to a thrusting, frantic, energised style of Punk Rock that was totally unique.

The word 'Anarchy' had been put forward by the Pistols but it was Crass who were giving it actual meaning, joining with it the words 'peace' and 'freedom'. In the eyes (and ears) of many, Anarchy simply meant chaos and destruction. "Get pissed. Destroy." as the Pistols had put it and whilst this may have held a certain attraction for a lot of people, Crass were turning the word around and equating it instead with autonomy and creativity.

The fact that Crass members were that little bit older and seemingly more educated than others lent weight to the idea that Anarchy wasn't just some infantile disorder but rather a perfectly valid and intelligent supposition. The fact that these people - these adult people - were taking Punk Rock seriously as in spiking their hair, circling their A's, swearing in their songs, dressing the part, using pseudonyms; all gave confirmation to the notion that Punk was indeed a state of mind and potentially a way of life.

When it came to light that beyond the songs, beyond the music and beyond the group they all lived together as a self-sufficient unit in a farmhouse somewhere in Essex, it simply elevated them as a living example of how ideas such as Anarchy might actually work.

Crass weren't just talking it, they were walking it.

They were living it.

They were doing it.

Crass - who?

Who?

CRASS

With the release of Anarchy In The UK by the Sex Pistols at the tail-end of November 1976 and the subsequent furore over their appearance on the Bill Grundy-hosted Today television show a few days after, the words 'Punk' and 'Anarchy' were introduced into mainstream British culture. A few months later in March of '77 The Clash re-introduced the word 'riot' with their debut single White Riot. Not that these words - apart from 'Punk', possibly - were in any way new, of course, but through the medium of Punk Rock they were being given a whole new dynamic.

'Anarchy' as exemplified by the Sex Pistols prompted an idea of absolute freedom through wild abandonment. An urgent and exhilarating declaration though more of a threat than a promise. Years later during the lead-up to their reunion concert at Finsbury Park in 1996, John Rotten would say "Anyone who doesn't know what that song is about doesn't know what anything is about," followed by a customary belch. And as with so many things, he was right.

Meanwhile, to the soundtrack of a wailing police siren, broken glass, alarm bells, dumb-ass bass, banging drums and cheap-sounding guitars as though freshly bought from Woolworths, The Clash called out for a riot. Arguably more of a call-to-arms than the Pistols' debut communiqué, Joe Strummer was leading the charge: "Are you taking over, or are you taking orders? Are you going backwards, or are you going forwards?" Just a push and a shove and all could be ours, it seemed.

As for the word 'Punk', it meant nothing less than a torn and tattered banner under which the desperate, the bored, the lonely and the plain rebellious could gather. A sudden, bright and shining beacon of hope that offered inspiration and something a whole lot better to anyone desiring it.

"I want more life, fucker." said Rutger Hauer's replicant android in the film Blade Runner. Punk offered more of everything - life included. The Sex Pistols had blown a hole in British culture and into the created space the Punk banner was raised. In towns and cities across the country whole armies of little Oliver Twists' stood up and poured into that space, all with one thing in common: They wanted more.

Everything suddenly appeared to be up for grabs and nothing seemed impossible. The spirit was revolutionary and the days heady. For once, dreams could be realised.

As time passed, however, and the 1970s started to draw to a close, for all the jumping and shouting and newspaper headlines Punk's full potential failed to be realised. The light that shines twice as bright burns half as long and with that the Sex Pistols imploded gloriously. "We opened all the doors - and the windows." said Sid Vicious and he wasn't wrong but by 1979 Sid was dead. The Clash in the meantime had turned their attention to America and brand new cadillacs, effectively if not somewhat mercilessly abandoning their British followers to the incoming Thatcher government.

Not that it really mattered, however, as both bands had by then spawned a legion of bastard children who were all too happy to pick up the Punk torch and to run with it. Moreover, so multi-faceted was the Punk idea that the bands and audience left in the wake of the Pistols and The Clash were wildly myriad and diverse...

From the Buzzcocks and their pop brilliance to the Damned and their pantomime chaos. From Adam And The Ants and their sex fetishism to X-Ray Spex and their dayglo plastic world-view. From Stiff Little Fingers and their barbed wire and bombs Belfast experience to the Angelic Upstarts and police oppression. From the Lurkers and their Fulham Ramones fallout to the Adverts and their poetic intelligence. From Siouxsie And The Banshees and their black psychedelia swirling to Generation X and their Sixties glam pop. From The Rezillos and their sci-fi beat to the Only Ones and their heroin flights. From Sham 69 and their football crowd stomps to Chelsea and their minimalist social commentary. From The Jam and their new Mod to the Slits and their feral rampaging. From the UK Subs and their Punk commitment to The Fall and their city sickness. From Alternative TV and their will to experiment to Menace and their Punk pride. From 999 to Penetration to Eater to the Vibrators to The Saints to, to, to... all points in-between.

Everything was suddenly eclipsed, however, with the arrival of a group seemingly from out of nowhere and the release of their debut 18-track, 12-inch single entitled The Feeding Of The 5000.

The group were called Crass.

Black Riot/White Riot

BLACK RIOT/WHITE RIOT

What better place to start than with a riot?

The sweltering heat simply added to the oppressiveness. Everybody felt it and everybody knew it but nobody had the words to articulate such things. And if there wasn't the words then how could it be understood? How could it even be?

News items about the heatwave and the drought were on the television and in the newspapers throughout that summer of 1976 and as standpipes to get water from were being set up in the streets and such 'risqué' messages as 'Save water, bath with a friend' were being emitted from the Labour government’s newly appointed Minister for Drought, there was no avoiding it. Apparently it was the hottest summer on record and for anyone living near to a coast the heat was blissful but if living inland, particularly in any major city, it was unbearable.

Other issues in the news were of British and Icelandic fishing boats clashing at sea resulting in what was called the Cod War, Prime Minister Harold Wilson being replaced by James Callaghan, and thousands of Catholic and Protestant women in Northern Ireland demonstrating together for peace. At the cinema, such classic films as Taxi Driver and The Man Who Fell To Earth were being shown and in the charts, the mighty Wurzels were slaying the nation with Combine Harvester and at the European Song Contest the Brotherhood Of Man were slaying everyone with Save All Your Kisses For Me. And in London, something still not quite defined was starting to stir; hesitatingly being picked up and reported on by the music press. That 'something' was called the Sex Pistols.

Pervading all of this, however, was a suffocating sense of greyness and dead end requirement to conform and knuckle down to the norm. The world was as presented through the three television channels available at that time, whatever newspaper found its way into any given household, and whatever might be seen or heard through first-hand experience. Horizons were limited, expectations low, education insufficient, encouragement non-existent, but curiosity - strangely - undimmed. 
What was liked was cherished, be it music, books, comics, hobbies, the pub on a Friday night or just friends and neighbours. Likewise, any space or event that engendered people coming together would be jealously guarded, be it a youth club, the local pub, a concert, a football match or a festival. And in London again, one event that was greatly cherished and guarded was the annual Notting Hill Carnival where every August Bank Holiday the black community there would celebrate the music and culture of the Caribbean.

Established ten years earlier, the carnival had been growing ever bigger with more people attending each year and at the 1976 event upwards of 150,000 people were there over the course of the weekend. It's a given that at any event of such a size there are going to be anti-social elements among the crowds and the carnival was no exception. During the 1975 event pickpockets, both organised and opportunistic, had operated freely and this had been read by the police as the carnival being a magnet if not a haven for young black criminals. 
Race relations at that time could at best only be described as primitive so when the police saw any large gathering of black people they automatically became suspicious, if not blatantly hostile.

Their way then of dealing with an event such as the Notting Hill Carnival, particularly as a way of tackling the criminality was to try and prevent it from taking place. Having failed to do this and then also failing to get the carnival moved out of the streets and into one of London's parks, the police's next solution was to stamp their presence upon the carnival by flooding the area with officers, making themselves highly visible to everyone.

This was all well and good but in those days rather than trying to create a good-natured atmosphere by, for example, dancing with revellers or even just smiling, the officers cast an oppressive mood over the whole event and showed no respect for anyone or anything. Resentment at their presence became apparent immediately and scuffles between revellers and the officers would break out intermittently. "We were being provoked," commented writer and broadcaster Darcus Howe "And I knew by Sunday that it was going to be a battle royal."

It doesn't really matter what specific incident started it but sure enough fighting between black youth and the police erupted, leading to hundreds of police officers charging at the crowd with their batons flailing. To the shock of the police, however, whilst many fled in terror a large section of the crowd fought back and rained bricks, cans and bottles down upon the them, causing the police themselves to turn and flee. "We'd pick up a brick and bottle," commented musician and film maker Don Letts "And like 'have some of this, you bastards', you know what I mean?"

Notting Hill suddenly became a riot zone and the carnival suddenly became a time for payback. It was the biggest riot seen on mainland Britain in almost 20 years, ending up with around 300 police officers being injured and 35 police vehicles damaged.

Even though the riot made newspaper headlines, for most people throughout the country it was off their radar and registered merely as a metaphorical distant plume of smoke on the horizon. For a lot of the black community, however, there came a sense of pride in giving the authorities a bloody nose. For Darcus Howe there was a feeling at the end of the carnival of victory, and for Don Letts the riot was extremely liberating. For other witnesses to the event it was inspirational.

Joe Strummer and Paul Simonon of The Clash had only the previous night played their second ever gig supporting the Sex Pistols at the Screen On The Green, in Islington. They had been at the carnival when the rioting erupted and so found themselves to be at what was for them and subsequently for a huge number of other people a pivotal moment in their lives.

"It was a hell of a day," said Joe Strummer "This was one time where people went 'we've had enough and we're gonna say so. Now!'." Though white people were also involved in the riot with even both Clash members participating themselves, Joe was fully aware that it was primarily the black community that were fighting back and that essentially it was a black people's riot. Joe recognised the bravery of the black youth in standing up against the police and the positiveness in doing so. 
That night, back at his squat Joe Strummer penned a song that was to become not only a Clash anthem but one of the most famous Punk Rock songs of all time. It was a call out to the white community to replicate the achievement of the events of that day and to do so by using the same method. Joe called the song White Riot.

An introduction of sorts

LEARNING TO SAY NO

No, we won't be ruled - No, we won't be governed - No, we won't be told what to do

AN INTRODUCTION OF SORTS

There's a story that's still not been fully told and it needs to be as it's an important one that involves many people's lives, my own included. There's no real beginning to it and no real end, just a series of snapshots that when joined together create a bigger picture. The bigger picture is called 'history'.

To the victor goes the spoils of war and that includes the power to record history as the victor would have it. And if history teaches us anything, it's that history is always written from above though it's almost always made from below. War, however, can never really be won and history is always in the making and can be constantly wrestled to and throe between different versions. This story I'm about to tell is just another version based on information received at the time; from records, pamphlets, magazines, fanzines and newspapers. The most important source, however, is from records and there's a reason for this that anyone aware of how life was before the Internet would understand.

I don't pretend that this is in any way a definitive version. It's not based on any insider's knowledge or on in-depth interviews with main players. Neither is it a complete history as some of the snapshots that go to create the bigger picture are missing because there were times when I wasn't in possession of a camera and I was certainly never in possession of a microscope, if that makes sense? Nor a telescope either, come to that.

But no more apologies or fumbling explanations because really there's nothing to apologise for and in fact there's everything to be proud of. And as it goes along, I'm sure the story will explain itself.

So I'll begin properly with a very simple quote from Penny Rimbaud, founder member of Crass, from an interview that took place once upon a time on BBC Radio One:

"The world is a mess. It's a very cruel and barbaric earth to live on and we want to say 'No'. We don't agree with what's happening to the world. We won't be ruled, we won't be governed, we won't be told what to do. It's our life, we've only got one of them. It's our planet, we've only got one of them. And we want to reclaim it. We want to say it's ours. And the more people who individually say that, the more individual people can live. It doesn't matter at all about the government, they can get on with their rules and regulations. We've got to learn to step outside of that and form our own rules, for ourselves, for each individual. And if that comes at odds with the status quo - then we must oppose the status quo."

Happy reading. And see you soon, maybe... somewhere over the rainbow.

John Serpico.