The arrival of Cruise

THE ARRIVAL OF CRUISE

There was no doubt at all that Mark Mob didn't mean every word he sang and every sentiment he expressed in his songs, and just like everyone else with an iota of awareness was totally dismayed at the way the world was going. Mark's anxiety could only have been ratcheted up another notch when Michael Heseltine announced that any protester caught within the boundary of Greenham Common missile base ran the risk of being shot.

As it was mostly American troops deployed there it obviously meant that British citizens on British soil would be shot dead by agents of a foreign power. And this was meant to be deemed as being acceptable. For his troubles, a short time later when attending Manchester University to address a meeting of Conservative students, to shouts of “Better red than dead!”, Heseltine was sprayed with red paint and pelted with eggs by anti-nuclear weapons protesters.

When Heseltine condemned the attack as being 'undemocratic', as to be expected by that time his condemnation was supported by the CND leadership. Threatening to shoot dead peaceful protesters was acceptable it seemed but not so taking direct action against the perpetrator of that threat.

The atomic bomb might well have been less culturally relevant than the poems of Charles Baudelaire but it was still without question of huge social relevance even to Penny Rimbaud, so when the first Cruise missiles started arriving at Greenham Common on November 14 of 1983, the impact was emotional, to say the least.

Tears were shed and anger was vented in abundance. Outside the House of Commons over 300 mainly women peace protesters were arrested for trying to block the entrance with a lie-down protest, whilst at Greenham another 150 women were arrested after conducting a sit-down protest outside the main gates.

Had it always been a fanciful and naive notion to believe that the deployment of Cruise could be halted? Cynics would have said 'Yes' but then they would also have chosen to remain cynically silent about the whole issue and of course, that silence would always be taken as a sign of consent.

If the anti-nuclear protesters had been even greater in number would they have succeeded in their aims? As there never seemed to be any tipping point in sight it was unlikely. If the anti-nuclear protesters had been more militant would they have been more successful? Possibly.

If all the marchers traipsing off to Hyde Park or Trafalgar Square had stopped off in Whitehall and started rioting or had made their way to the City and brought it to a grinding halt, for example, what might have happened? Whilst potentially giving ammunition to the pro-nuclear brigade both in the government and in the Right-wing press, it would certainly have made Thatcher's (and also Kinnock's) position more difficult and it may also have led to a Constitutional crisis.

Such thoughts, however, were purely hypothetical because rather than rioting or stopping the City, protesters had chosen instead to remain within the law, penned in on marches by police and CND stewards. Contained.

The government had refused to listen and for all the marching and non-violent direct action, Cruise missiles were now in Britain with the only thing to raise the spirits being the promise from anti-war groups that the deployment would open up a whole new round of demonstrations and actions.

The Mob - The Mirror Breaks

THE MOB – THE MIRROR BREAKS

In a more calmer and reflective moment, Penny Rimbaud would remark that the poems of Charles Baudelaire were infinitely more culturally relevant than the atomic bomb, which if true could have just as easily been said about the songs of The Mob. Whilst grounded in the despair of 1980s Britain, their Let The Tribe Increase album had transcended all external forces of fear and repression to shine a light upon a profound sense of virtue. Their follow-up 7” single entitled The Mirror Breaks, released in the Autumn of 1983, acted as a final confirmation of this and sealed their reputation as being a band in possession of a rare poignancy.

Containing all the essential elements of a typical Mob composition – the driving bass, rudimentary guitar, neat drumming, soaring backing vocals and even the tremble in Mark Mob's baritone – there was a melodic lightness of touch to The Mirror Breaks that whether intentional or not made them of even greater appeal than they already were.

The Mob were in the enviable position of being unable to do no wrong and in what was essentially another state of the nation address this latest release not only fulfilled all expectations but surpassed them also, encapsulating all that was good about their album and boiling it down into just under four minutes of sheer beauty.

Opening with an admission of living a life of fear and an acknowledgement of there being very little to be done when facing the overwhelming power of those who rule the earth, Mark Mob was still taking a stand, insisting that his understanding of the way things were was a correct one: “You may think I don't know anything, you may think I've got it wrong but I know what it means when I hear the hangman whistling his song.”

Ranged against “the knives they keep in Whitehall,” Mark sees “hope and fragile love” as the only weapons available to fight back with and once again places his faith in children and that one day when the world is theirs they might use it well. As for their elders, he wishes them all the best but hopes that they “burn in hell”.

His final observation is in regard to himself where he faces the fact that ultimately he is alone, emphasised when the mirror breaks and he is nothing more than a drowning man without even a reflection.

With the release of The Mirror Breaks, The Mob were on their way to greater things. Though still loyal to the squat/DIY circuit, they were at the point of being easily capable of filling more mainstream major venues as well, particularly within London. With this in mind it was strange to say the least that this was the moment when Mark Mob decided to load up his truck and go off travelling with the Peace Convoy, effectively causing The Mob to vanish in the sunlight never to be heard of again (apart from posthumous re-releases) until almost 30 years later.

It may well be better to burn out than it is to rust but for many this was a sad day. The Mob would be missed but the memory of them as being one of the best Anarcho Punk bands and one of the most special groups of the 1980s would always remain.

Grenada invasion

GRENADA INVASION

In a speech delivered to a Christian fundamentalist organisation in America earlier in the year, President Reagan had described Russia as “the focus of evil in the modern world” and called for his audience to “pray for those who live in that totalitarian darkness, pray they will discover the joy of knowing God”. There was no reason to believe that Reagan was just playing to the gallery and telling the congregation what they wanted to hear because after all, he was merely a mouthpiece for his political masters and every speech he made – or rather, had written for him – would have always been sanctioned by his Administration so as not to stray from or contradict official policy.

So essentially, the government of the United States of America was defining Russia as an empire of evil that only through God and a position of military strength would be defeated. God and guns, in other words. Was it any wonder that people viewed America with suspicion, fear and loathing when such sentiments were aired? This was with whom Britain apparently had a 'special relationship' with. The same backwards-looking, bible bashing, gung-ho Administration that was being allowed to site first-strike Cruise nuclear missiles throughout Europe.

Thatcher wasn't oblivious to the anti-American mood even though she was unsettlingly close to Reagan but just three days after the Hyde Park CND rally an event took place on the other side of the world that tested even her own blind trust in him.

The island of Grenada in the Caribbean was a member of the British Commonwealth, meaning that the Queen of England was its Head of State. Since 1979 it had been under the rule of a socialist government who was close allies of Cuba. Even though Cuba along with Nicaragua and of course Russia was considered by America to be an 'enemy of freedom', Grenada itself had never caused any great concern. That all changed, however, on October 19 when Grenada's Prime Minister, Maurice Bishop, was ousted and the governance of the island taken over by a more hardline Marxist group.

Following a flurry of diplomatic activity in London, it was concluded that the coup was an internal affair and that no action should be taken by Britain apart from keeping an eye on the safety of the British nationals who lived there. Thatcher herself could distinguish that there was no comparison with the Falklands and that there was no cause to intervene. America conveyed the same line and let it be known that all it would do is to have a ship on standby in case its own nationals at any point needed to be evacuated.

And that, apparently, was the end of it until Thatcher woke up on the morning of October 25 to the news that without any consultation with Britain, America had launched an invasion of the island. Thatcher was reportedly livid, viewing such an action as not only a flagrant violation of international law but as a betrayal of trust between herself and Reagan.

Only a day earlier, the British Foreign Secretary, Geoffrey Howe, had informed the House of Commons that America had reassured his government that there was no intention to intervene in any way. America, it seemed, had lied and had now invaded a British Commonwealth country resulting in almost 100 deaths, over 500 wounded, and untold political damage.

How could Thatcher now tell the British public that America could be trusted, particularly over the issue of Cruise? How could she now argue this with CND? It was undeniable: There had been no cause for Grenada to be invaded. Thatcher knew it as did everyone else but in a television address that would have been high comedy if it hadn't been so scary, Reagan justified the invasion thus:

“Grenada, we were told, was a friendly isolated paradise for tourism. Well, it wasn't. It was a Soviet/Cuban colony being readied as a major bastion to export terror and undermine democracy. We got there just in time.”

At the same time of the invasion, in a leaked government report to the Guardian newspaper it was revealed that the first of the Cruise missiles were due to arrive at Greenham Common in just over three weeks time...

CND - Hyde Park '83

CND - HYDE PARK '83

October 1983 saw CND's much vaunted national demonstration take place in London coinciding with other similar-sized demonstrations in West Germany, Italy, Spain, Belgium and France. 'Oct 22 Where will you be?' asked all the many CND posters distributed and published in newspapers and magazines throughout the land. Come the day, over 250,000 people answered by turning up for the start of the march at Victoria Embankment from where they would wend their way to the mass rally in Hyde Park.

There was no denying, it was an impressive turnout that sent a clear message to the Thatcher government. Not that they were ever going to listen, of course, but if nothing else it must have taken them by surprise to actually see the sheer amount of support that CND had garnered. If only those same numbers had turned up for Stop The City?

For the more clear-sighted, however, it wasn't so much about communicating any message to those in power but more about communicating with each other. Those out marching that day were communicating to the people next to them, letting them as well as themselves know that they weren't alone.

Peace and a world free from nuclear weapons wasn't some strange, naïve notion but something that thousands upon thousands of people from all walks of life both believed in and sought. The problem being that the communicating and the dialogue needed to be extended and moved up a gear because however loud the plea for peace was, it was falling on deaf ears and for all the marching, it was getting nowhere.

As the protesters poured into Hyde Park, the focal point was the stage from where various members of the CND leadership spoke, all giving each other a mutual pat on the back for the huge and successful turnout. The overriding message was that the nuclear madness had to end but there was no evidence the leaders of the Western world or their counterparts in the East would ever be swayed no matter how many people CND might gather under their banner. Whether it be 250,000 or 500,000 people marching on the streets, there was no tipping point in sight.

On that day it became apparent that the solution lay not in talking to politicians and leaders but in talking to each other; to family, to neighbours, to the people marching next to you. Power lay sideways not upwards. Change would come horizontally not vertically.

The keynote speaker at the rally should really have been the Hiroshima survivor who was there in attendance but was instead newly elected Labour leader, Neil Kinnock, whose proffered solution to the siting of Cruise missiles and the end of the arms race was the voting in of a Labour government. Put your faith in him as elected leader, he advised, and nuclear armageddon would be thwarted.

The very idea was not only preposterous but insulting and the gathered Punks and anarchists at the front of the stage – many of whom had been at Stop The City – let Kinnock know it by pelting him with clumps of mud, sticks, bottles and cans. Teams of police and CND stewards rushed forward to protect Kinnock from the missile throwers, resulting in a near-pitched battle between the two sides.

The missile throwers were predictably condemned by many of the peaceniks for attacking Kinnock though it wouldn't be too long before Kinnock not only stopped being a signed-up CND member but also changing his stance on nuclear weapons from outright ban to 'negotiated reductions', therefore proving the missile throwers perfectly correct in their appraisal of him and their hostility perfectly justified.

As first indicated by The Apostles on their Blow It Up, Burn It Down' EP earlier in the year and then evidenced at Stop The City, something was stirring in the Punk ranks, underlined on that day at Hyde Park not only by the bottling of Neil Kinnock but also by a fanzine-styled newspaper being sold there entitled Class War; its front cover depicting a field of crosses, emblazoned with the headline: 'We have found new homes for the rich.'....

Cecil, Cecil, Cecil...

CECIL, CECIL, CECIL...

Wondering if something altogether very different had been worth it was Conservative government minister Cecil Parkinson, who after details were released to the press of his extramarital affair with his secretary and a subsequent unwanted pregnancy, was forced to reluctantly resign from office.

Parkinson had somewhat inexplicably been a member of Thatcher's select War Cabinet during the Falklands crisis and had been the architect of the Conservatives' election campaign earlier in the year. Viewed by some as having 'matinee idol looks' and for some reason a firm favourite of Thatcher, at heart he was little more than a bounder and a cad. And a right fucking bastard.

Parkinson chose to scorn his secretary lover and their unborn child and stick instead with his wife, supported in his decision by Thatcher who had suddenly forgotten all about her Victorian values. His lover, however, was not going to be so casually denied and launched a scathing attack upon Parkinson, telling of his promises to marry her which in the end caused his ministerial position to be untenable. From that day on he chose not to take the slightest interest in the child, not once even casting his eyes upon her.

Cecil Parkinson was a prime example of Tory hypocrisy whose Lotharion antics would always hang over him, leading even to a whole new chant made on marches and demonstrations: “Maggie, Maggie, Maggie! Out, out out! Cecil, Cecil, Cecil! In, in, in! Cecil – out! Cecil – in! Cecil, Cecil, Cecil! In out, in out, in out, in out, in out...”

Well, on a wet Saturday afternoon trudging through the streets of London on another protest march it seemed amusing, at least.

Subhumans - Time Flies... But Aeroplanes Crash

SUBHUMANS -

TIME FLIES... BUT AEROPLANES CRASH

Over in Wiltshire, the Subhumans were showing no sign of a let up in their productivity with the release of yet another record from them on their Bluurg label. Time Flies... But Aeroplanes Crash was a 12” EP containing a mixture of live and studio-recorded songs that if truth be told was a bit of a hotchpotch.

Playing live was where the Subhumans were still on their peak form so it was understandable that they'd wish to capture that on vinyl. The original aim of Time Flies was that it be a totally live recording but when it came to it, the intended recording of the concert wasn’t very good so they instead entered the studio and bashed out newer versions of some songs from their guitarist's first band – Stupid Humans – to use alongside a few of the live songs they managed to salvage. The end result, however, wasn't quite as good as they might have hoped and out of the eight songs just three stood out.

The obvious first stand-out track was Susan, in which Dick recited a tale of domestic depression over the sound of a piano, an instrument not ever associated before with the Subhumans.

The second track was Work, Rest, Play, Die; a catchy sing-along that chewed over the subject of conformity, sung almost as though it was an advertising jingle.

The stand-out track, however, was People Are Scared, which contained what was possibly Dick Lucas' most keenly observed and insightful lyrics to that date:

“Nobody says anything on buses, it's not the noise the engine makes. You can watch them all staring nervous, sit at the back, it's the safest place. People are scared to say 'hello', the flick of the fag, the shifting eyes. Stare in amusement then look away, the conscious battle of who to despise. Self-restriction and paranoia, self-belief and the silent laugh. The inner conflict between one and other, when you're all the same it seems so daft.”

Half-spoken, half-screamed, the words are delivered over an almost Jefferson Airplane-style rock piece, Punkified yet shorn of any typical Subhumans thrash.

What was it about situations such as being on a bus or on a tube train that caused people to put up defensive walls of silence? Was it due to being in a confined space with strangers, or that it was simply dead time to get over with as quickly and as hassle-free as possible whilst journeying from one place to another?

Was it but a question of appropriateness and etiquette? Why was it okay to talk to strangers in some situations and places but not in others? In confined spaces, were people afraid for their personal safety and for this reason were suspicious of others' motives? In some cases, yes, but clearly not in all.

Were people wary of talking to strangers on a bus through fear of being judged or misjudged by them? Or was it a case of it actually always being like this and in a confined space it being simply magnified and laid bare? If so, then it was arguably to everyone's detriment but might it also be to anyone's or anything's advantage?

“People are scared underneath their silence. People are getting more afraid. They turn to their leaders for help and guidance and then the system wins again and will carry on winning til god knows when. Til people start to talk to each other, everyone just like a brother. Til the morals and fear that divides us all are no longer the excuse for the system's rule.”

The Subhumans and Dick Lucas with his lyrics in particular were touching upon something of huge significance but did they even realise it? If so, then why the decision to release what was one of their best songs only as a live version tucked away amongst seven other songs on what appeared to be a hastily-produced, almost throwaway mini-album?

People Are Scared was an anomaly but then Time Flies was a record full of anomalies, ending up as it was more through accident rather than design. It wasn't the best thing that Subhumans had released by any means but for the inclusion of nothing other than People Are Scared, it was worth it.

D&V - The Nearest Door

D&V – THE NEAREST DOOR

Equally interesting but in an altogether different way were D&V, who after gracing the stage at the Zig Zag squat gig the previous year had their début 7” EP released on Crass Records. Entitled The Nearest Door, as with most other Crass label releases it was produced by Penny Rimbaud, engineered by Jon Loder, and came wrapped in a black-and-white fold-out sleeve adorned with photomontage artwork by Gee Vaucher.

D&V were just two people, Andrew Leach on drums and Jeff Antcliffe on vocals; hence the name, D&V – drums and vocals. Hailing originally from Sheffield, they had upped sticks and moved to London, bedding down in the large squatter community in Hackney whereupon they had become actively involved in the Anarcho Punk scene.

In a similar fashion to Annie Anxiety and Andy T, they would often appear at gigs as a support act; one moment suddenly being there on stage doing their thing and the next moment gone like an urban guerilla hit-and-run outfit. Though a lot less avant garde than Annie or Andy T, they were still an unusual proposition due to not being a band in the traditional sense.

As shown on Bullshit Detector 1, Penny Rimbaud and Steve Ignorant had at first started out as being just drums and vocals themselves, before adding guitars, additional vocals, art, film and everything else. Penny and Steve's drums and vocals incarnation, however, was but a preamble to fully-fledged Crass whilst D&V were the whole deal. To a point, at least.

Though being developed enough to have their music committed to vinyl, it was obvious that there was a lot more potential for growth in what D&V were creating. In many ways, The Nearest Door was the bare bones of what could be done with just the combination of drums and vocals, particularly when considering what was being done with Rap music in America at that time. 

It was embryonic.

Whilst being totally immersed in the Anarcho Punk scene, D&V weren't actually singing about the Bomb, the government, animal rights or anything of the like either but instead were looking inwards at themselves: “Life's what you make of it, lay back or get up and go. What you want and where you go, only you will ever know.”

It was the stuff of thoughts and feelings. Or as Shakespeare put it, such stuff that dreams are made on...