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.