And The Bands Played On

AND THE BANDS PLAYED ON

In a final farewell to 1982, for the paper's Christmas edition Penny Rimbaud was asked by the NME to write about Punk in a year of revived patriotic fervour and the Falklands war. Under the title 'Over A Thousand Dead And The Bands Played On', Penny went for it:

'The debate continues - is Punk dead? Was it ever alive? Who the fuck cares anyway?

Punk rejected media lifestyles, exposed lies, upset tables in the temple of youth market. Tired of exploitation by cynical elders, Punk discarded the Jagger/Bowie mafiosa and reclaimed rock'n'roll revolution for itself; the godfathers could sod off.

Punk was do it, make it, take it, yourself. It never was a style, three-chord thrash was a media misrepresentation, there was always more to it than that. Punk was an attitude, "this time round we're all Elvis and fuck the King".

Punk was about personal politics. The Right and the Left wings tried to exploit it and failed. The music business tried and succeeded. Cash speaks louder than conviction.

Punk made many promises, few were kept. Critics of stardom became stars, independent became another word for subsidiary, anti-fashion became radical-chic, mohicans bobbed with bouffants on Top Of The Pops. Those who only played at revolution were devoured by the sharks and excreted as commodity. Bought out, cleaned up and wrung dry, Pop Punk became a sideshow in the media pantomime, another social joke. They deserved everything they got... But did we?

1982 was 'Falklands Year', over one thousand dead, but Thatcher was "proud to be British", proud to be a part of that pointless slaughter, proud because pride's a glossy surface that hides the guilt, shame and lies. The media reinforced the lies. The dailies pumped out hysterical, heroical crap. TV toed the party sham. Business was as usual and the bands played on, superficial escapist drivel to cover the pain.

However, beneath the tinsel and stardust Punk lived on. Not Pop Punk - that remained at best silent, at worst supportive of Thatcher’s barbaric little war and was as dead as those who were sacrificed for her mean arrogance. No. Punk lived anywhere that people got together to demand peace and sanity, that's the real gig. Sometimes there was a band, sometimes nothing but people and that's the crux of the matter, people not musical fads or transitory fashion, just people, people who care - and that's something the music business could never buy.

Rather than ignoring the death and mutilation by turning up the stereo, the real Punks were out protesting against Her Majesty's government's murder machine. The music means no more than any other form of protest, it should offer information and inspiration, not escape. The charts are brainwash for the suckers. Punk's protest lives in the hearts and actions of ANYONE with the courage to stand against the authorities who oppress us ALL.

1983 is 'Cruise Missile Year'. Thatcher and Reagan, naively believing that "the threat of war is prevented by the threat of war", plan to make Britain into a giant launch-pad for their nuclear armoury.

The Task Force was Thatcher's international mask, Northern Ireland is the face beneath it. Her national hand-out is three million unemployed, recession and depression; the SPG and SAS are the fists she uses to deliver it. Do you really trust this megalomaniac with your future? Are you prepared to see life destroyed by the insanity of her and her government?

The world is a very precious place, FUCK THE MUZAK, let's get on with the REAL job, there may not be a second chance.

You've got the keys, find your own fucking door.'

The Zig Zag Squat Gig

THE ZIG ZAG SQUAT GIG

The following weekend - after the 'embrace the base' action at Greenham Common - another similarly remarkable event was unfolding but this time in London: Crass were throwing a Christmas party and everyone was invited.

Out of the blue, Crass along with a whole bunch of people experienced in squatting had entered and taken over the deserted and boarded-up Rainbow Theatre in Finsbury Park with the intention of staging a free concert there. Having locked themselves in, their plans were rudely interrupted by the arrival of security guards and police who promptly evicted them. Not to be thwarted, the equally deserted Zig Zag club in Westbourne Park was chosen instead to play host to the concert and via word of mouth and the use of a telephone hotline the news was spread.

On gaining access to the Zig Zag club, work began in earnest to transform it into a suitable venue for a Crass gig. The electricity was turned on and the building made safe and secure before being decorated with banners, flags and posters. Film projectors were set up along with information stalls and even a soup kitchen to serve vegetable soup and cups of tea to the guests. Down in the cellar, barrels of seemingly abandoned beer were discovered and requisitioned.

And then from miles they came, from all corners of London and other parts of the country. From homes in the outlying suburbs, from bedsits, flats, hostels and squats. Hundreds upon hundreds of Punks, hippies, layabouts, undesirables, outcasts, and ne'er-do-wells. Dropouts, Anarcho rockers, riot rockers and rebels with a cause. Like moths to a flame, drawn to the beacon of Crass. Dressed and stalking elegantly in Doc Martens or baseball boots, black army fatigues, black Punk bondage, black Oxfam chic and black rags. Peroxide Punks, Punks with rainbow hair, spikes and dreadlocks. Street Punks, shabby Punks, hippy Punks, Punk troopers, Punkniks, Punkettes and Punkerellas. Unruly, ungovernable, free, smiling, happy hardcore Crasstafarians and Crassites.

Having extended invitations to come join and perform with Crass at the club, the cream of the Anarcho Punk crop responded and for the first time ever almost all the bands affiliated or supportive of Crass met up under the one same roof and suddenly it was no longer a gig but a festival. A free festival. Suddenly, Crass were re-creating the perfect Stonehenge festival right in the heart of London. The dream and vision of Phil Russell/Wally Hope was being resurrected.

Ever since they had attempted to play at Stonehenge in 1980 and encountered violence from the bikers there, Crass had always shied away from any kind of festival but now, two years later, they and others who had fallen victim to that violence were creating what they had initially hoped to find at Stonehenge: Freedom, autonomy, anarchy and peace.

As explained in a leaflet handed out on the day at the Zig Zag: 'We have to learn to say 'No'. We hope that today we will be able to demonstrate that together we can begin to reclaim that which is ours... Freedom. Free food, free shelter, free information, free music, free ideas. Freedom to do whatever doesn't infringe on the freedom of others'.

The impossible dream was being made real. The last bastion of Punkdom, gathered beneath the flag of the circled 'A'. The Crass empire. The Crass kingdom. A different approach to living, a shared air of understanding. Warm and brilliant. Very drunk but very conscious. Aware.

'Today is a chance to drop old constricting roles and values. A chance to get a taste of music, dancing, love and real anarchy (not the text book type). A chance to tap the reservoir of energy and inspiration that we don't often bother to break through to. A chance to take control of our own lives from the ticket touting music biz; from the money grabbing capitalists, from the multi-national corporations, from the power mad politicians, the democrats, Eurocrats, bureaucrats, from all that crap and prove that we can do it and live it better ourselves'.

Given just 30 minutes each to ply their wares and to say and do what they needed to, the bands and solo performers lined up to take their turn on the stage. Each and every one of them just as good, important and as valid as the next: Faction, D&V, Omega Tribe, Lack Of Knowledge, Sleeping Dogs, T42, Apostles, Amebix, Null And Void, Soldiers Of Fortune, Annie Anxiety, The Mob, Polemic Attack, Poison Girls (re-uniting for the last time with Crass), Youth In Asia, Conflict, Flux Of Pink Indians, Dirt and, of course, Crass.

Enhanced by the celebratory atmosphere and the drunken revelry, outstanding performances were delivered throughout the day, culminating with the entrance of Crass at the end of the night and never before had they looked so mighty and omnipotent yet so as one with the audience. Never before had they looked so fierce, so noble and so proud. The whole event from beginning to end had turned into a complete success, standing as a shining example of what could be achieved through a little bit of trust, a bit of solidarity, and a lot of determination.

'It's only through trying, only by seeing the greyness for the greyness that it is that we can add some colour. We are not advocating instant or violent revolution but neither will we turn the other cheek. We are not game for intimidation, nor will we intimidate. We are not prepared to sit back and watch what is rightfully ours being taken from us. We will defend what we believe is ours, defend what we believe to be our rights. We will try to understand those who seek other visions but we will not let them impose those visions on us.

If you're not looking for the answer you're part of the problem (if you've got the answer please contact Crass as soon as possible...). See you next time... Somewhere over the Rainbow.'

The Zig Zag squat gig as it would forever be known, would pass on into legend and in hindsight be looked upon as one of the best things that Crass were ever involved in. Even the music press came not to bury but to praise it. Not least, it would serve as an example of what was possible and act as a catalyst and an inspiration for other similar events to take place for years to come.

More immediately, it was an absolutely positive way to end a year that had been at times frightening, dangerous and intense though never to be forgotten not only for the historic events but for the historic, classic and utterly brilliant music.