If you were not around in 1977, don't believe one safe, plastic, pathetic word of it. 1977 was a disgrace, a sham, a lie. A
year when the nation's youth walked into a false rebellion, 1977 punk, nothing but a whirling mass of nightclubbing,
prancing and posing with camera-flashing photographers and music journalists waltzing around and adding fuel to an
explosion of elitism and egotism. Everyone on the make.
Those feeble Mickey Mouse politics vanished so quickly, wiped clean by every band lucky enough to place signatures on record
company paper. The Roxy Club, the meeting place for the new star children, was a clique and an unpleasant experience for any
unrecognisable face. Likewise, the Electric Circus or Eric's. Oh, and the heroes. . . The Clash, nice lads, sweet lads, told us what
to say, how to say it, when to say it and how to wear it. Naive and brainless, they are not to blame. They believed their own image
and their own press handouts. The Sex Pistols, believe me, were just a mediocre heavy metal
band fumbling around, and amazingly lucky to find themselves behind the finest rock'n'roll singer
since Gene Vincent. Bungler McLaren slipped and fell onto the correct button and stood back in
amazement as his band exploded.
year when the nation's youth walked into a false rebellion, 1977 punk, nothing but a whirling mass of nightclubbing,
prancing and posing with camera-flashing photographers and music journalists waltzing around and adding fuel to an
explosion of elitism and egotism. Everyone on the make.
Those feeble Mickey Mouse politics vanished so quickly, wiped clean by every band lucky enough to place signatures on record
company paper. The Roxy Club, the meeting place for the new star children, was a clique and an unpleasant experience for any
unrecognisable face. Likewise, the Electric Circus or Eric's. Oh, and the heroes. . . The Clash, nice lads, sweet lads, told us what
to say, how to say it, when to say it and how to wear it. Naive and brainless, they are not to blame. They believed their own image
and their own press handouts. The Sex Pistols, believe me, were just a mediocre heavy metal
band fumbling around, and amazingly lucky to find themselves behind the finest rock'n'roll singer
since Gene Vincent. Bungler McLaren slipped and fell onto the correct button and stood back in
amazement as his band exploded.
Visually, the new punk is scruffier, uglier and angrier than in '77. The stares are mean, but not
intense and cause no concern. There was no danger. The atmosphere was electric but nicely so,
and alive. An obvious comparison with the Bingley Futurama passed in focus. At Bingley, a general tiredness
overpowered and destroyed a possible creative atmosphere and most attempts at band/audience communication were
crushed beneath this damp blanket. Now, Leeds was sharp and vibrant. A general excitement defeated the strain of
physically enduring the 12 hours.
intense and cause no concern. There was no danger. The atmosphere was electric but nicely so,
and alive. An obvious comparison with the Bingley Futurama passed in focus. At Bingley, a general tiredness
overpowered and destroyed a possible creative atmosphere and most attempts at band/audience communication were
crushed beneath this damp blanket. Now, Leeds was sharp and vibrant. A general excitement defeated the strain of
physically enduring the 12 hours.
1977 punk was a fashion fad which developed (taking me along for the ride) through Joy Division
and Teardrops and more nightclubs and then through a cleansing process leaving only Spandau
Ballet and new funk and haircuts and forties suits. A much simplified line obviously, but the point is,
the new punk has little in common with 1977. The new punk cannot be a simple fashion because it
has no direction. The new punk is locked within reality, whereas 1977 punk created an escapist
vision of anarchic reality. The new punk is not a lie, the new punk is unhip, beautifully unhip and
solid and unrelenting and unpretentious. There aren't many buyers so the new punk cannot sell
out. So, I ploughed through the white snow and the red tape, meaning, I spent two infuriating hours
battling for a press card which just wasn't forthcoming, completely destroying my Yuletide jollity and
suspending the proposed GBH interview until further notice. And, finally, I strolled nervously into
the expected squalor. I wandered around through masses of black leather with studs and dayglo
hair and white hair and mohican hair.
and Teardrops and more nightclubs and then through a cleansing process leaving only Spandau
Ballet and new funk and haircuts and forties suits. A much simplified line obviously, but the point is,
the new punk has little in common with 1977. The new punk cannot be a simple fashion because it
has no direction. The new punk is locked within reality, whereas 1977 punk created an escapist
vision of anarchic reality. The new punk is not a lie, the new punk is unhip, beautifully unhip and
solid and unrelenting and unpretentious. There aren't many buyers so the new punk cannot sell
out. So, I ploughed through the white snow and the red tape, meaning, I spent two infuriating hours
battling for a press card which just wasn't forthcoming, completely destroying my Yuletide jollity and
suspending the proposed GBH interview until further notice. And, finally, I strolled nervously into
the expected squalor. I wandered around through masses of black leather with studs and dayglo
hair and white hair and mohican hair.
Leeds was alive and nobody needed to create mystique. It was fun and fire
and protest. A wonderful, goodhearted if slightly dangerous charge
stagewards greeted every band and every band responded with equal
vigour. Enthusiasm and passion - I'd forgotten things like these. Charlie
Harper wandered through unhindered, getting admiring glances and "Hi,
Charlie". He seemed happy, free and easy and later performed an amazing
set which recharged faded passions everywhere and the hall, with all its
grotesque, peasant imagery, reinstated my membership into rock 'n' roll
fun and frolics. I glanced around the tee-shirt stalls, bought a hamburger
and generally did everything that is traditional and, for the first time in
years, actually enjoyed it.
The Anti-Nowhere League became instant heroes of mine, degenerates
in motion. A filthy snarl, a sneer, a leer and all with a sense of humour. Their
'Streets Of London's a revelation, the singer epitomising a sixties rock/punk
crossover. Another comparison - in '77, we were mostly punk mods but today the
Motorhead myth replaces the Who myth and grease replaces vaseline.
I sank back alone. I had to travel alone and I wondered why. Had this been a jazz
festival I would have been surrounded by eager, scrounging, hip friends. Funny
thing, hipness, as it controls your taste, your ideals and even your politics. It can
turn you about face to such an extent that you violently detest your last year's
persona.
and protest. A wonderful, goodhearted if slightly dangerous charge
stagewards greeted every band and every band responded with equal
vigour. Enthusiasm and passion - I'd forgotten things like these. Charlie
Harper wandered through unhindered, getting admiring glances and "Hi,
Charlie". He seemed happy, free and easy and later performed an amazing
set which recharged faded passions everywhere and the hall, with all its
grotesque, peasant imagery, reinstated my membership into rock 'n' roll
fun and frolics. I glanced around the tee-shirt stalls, bought a hamburger
and generally did everything that is traditional and, for the first time in
years, actually enjoyed it.
The Anti-Nowhere League became instant heroes of mine, degenerates
in motion. A filthy snarl, a sneer, a leer and all with a sense of humour. Their
'Streets Of London's a revelation, the singer epitomising a sixties rock/punk
crossover. Another comparison - in '77, we were mostly punk mods but today the
Motorhead myth replaces the Who myth and grease replaces vaseline.
I sank back alone. I had to travel alone and I wondered why. Had this been a jazz
festival I would have been surrounded by eager, scrounging, hip friends. Funny
thing, hipness, as it controls your taste, your ideals and even your politics. It can
turn you about face to such an extent that you violently detest your last year's
persona.
Unleash The Hell Hounds
Christmas On Earth Festival
Leeds, Queeens Hall December 20th 1981
A SUCCESS story. Surprised?
Time to shatter the glossy illusion. Those pages of sickly, nostalgic scribblings, repeatedly
moaning on and on behind the face of The Face hold 1977 as a vintage year. The year when
punk grabbed the nation's youth by the (dog) collar and shook every last drop of apathy away
until the massed ranks of the new 'sussed' bands and punters destroyed the safe, dull,
pathetic, plastic boundaries of the rock industry.
Christmas On Earth Festival
Leeds, Queeens Hall December 20th 1981
A SUCCESS story. Surprised?
Time to shatter the glossy illusion. Those pages of sickly, nostalgic scribblings, repeatedly
moaning on and on behind the face of The Face hold 1977 as a vintage year. The year when
punk grabbed the nation's youth by the (dog) collar and shook every last drop of apathy away
until the massed ranks of the new 'sussed' bands and punters destroyed the safe, dull,
pathetic, plastic boundaries of the rock industry.
So, the new punk continues throughout, with old values? Or perhaps it continues as
a viable megaphone to youth problems and anxieties. These bands, Anti-Pasti,
GBH, Vice Squad, Exploited, are all so free and diamond hard, all relying on the
flow of inner passions and direct working class language and statements. A certain
purity is evident, the music remaining unmuddled by the lack of desire to stay in
vogue, the lack of desire to bend belief to achieve certain levels of commerciality.
a viable megaphone to youth problems and anxieties. These bands, Anti-Pasti,
GBH, Vice Squad, Exploited, are all so free and diamond hard, all relying on the
flow of inner passions and direct working class language and statements. A certain
purity is evident, the music remaining unmuddled by the lack of desire to stay in
vogue, the lack of desire to bend belief to achieve certain levels of commerciality.
Only the older bands fall headfirst into the trappings of cliches and self-parody, like
Chelsea, and especially the Damned whose off-stage antics have long since
switched from impulsive fun to forced keeping up their reputation.
As this is the case, the Damned's music switched from glorious, anarchic, almost
absurd humour to an obsolete, undignified mess some three years ago. The
Damned are just light relief. The new punk cannot change anything and it knows
this. It can, however, inject a sense of belonging, a sense of family to a youth which
is not truly outlawed. As the unemployment situation worsens, all the youth can
possibly do is scream, and the scream is stronger now than it ever was five years
ago.
MICK MIDDLES (SOUNDS January 2 1982)
All pictures were taken By Steve Rapport
(Reprinted from the Don't Care Archives)
Chelsea, and especially the Damned whose off-stage antics have long since
switched from impulsive fun to forced keeping up their reputation.
As this is the case, the Damned's music switched from glorious, anarchic, almost
absurd humour to an obsolete, undignified mess some three years ago. The
Damned are just light relief. The new punk cannot change anything and it knows
this. It can, however, inject a sense of belonging, a sense of family to a youth which
is not truly outlawed. As the unemployment situation worsens, all the youth can
possibly do is scream, and the scream is stronger now than it ever was five years
ago.
MICK MIDDLES (SOUNDS January 2 1982)
All pictures were taken By Steve Rapport
(Reprinted from the Don't Care Archives)
