Crass beat the system and play for
free at London's Zig Zag Club.
WINSTON SMITH was there...
VARIOUS ARTISTS,
Zig Zag Club, London
Christmas 1982
WORD WAS out early last week. Crass (accompanied by
several experienced squatting organisations) were occupying
the Rainbow Theatre at Finsbury Park, and an all-day event
was being planned for Saturday the 18th December. Short, but
sweet . . .
Wednesday morning things had changed; Crass had been
evicted and were searching frantically for an alternative venue.
A hotline was set up and three days later, on the morning itself,
the ansa-phone message was bold, clear and full of optimism:
they were now squatting in the disused Zig-Zag club in
London's Westbourne Park, and from midday until late it was
round to Crass's new place, for the party of our lives . . .
'Squatting this venue is not a last ditch stand to get a gig, the
music business would love us all to be down at the Venue
paying their bar prices: On the contrary, we hope that today's
gathering will provide inspiration and impetus to people everywhere to
take similar opportunities and open up and take back the property that
belongs to us all ...
'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.'
By 2.00pm things were beginning to happen: a large group of people
had already arrived and the free vegetable soup was on the boil and
being distributed to hungry, happy young ragamuffins. Meanwhile down
the Portobello Road, word was spreading like wildfire.
With no admission charge, no age restrictions and no dress regulations
the partygoers arrived in their hundreds; bags of chips, biscuits and all
manner of booze piled up high in their hugging arms and rotting
rucksacks.
AS THE first of many bands came on and the party really
started to swing, police were waiting around outside, no doubt
wondering just what the hell they ought to be doing about it all.
Someone went in and gave them a leaflet, which they did seem
to be genuinely interested in.
'. . . We have not employed security today, and we believe that
no security will be necessary ... It is up to us together to make
it work. Treat others as you would expect to be treated and
leave the place as it was when you arrived. We can only claim
the right to use places if we are prepared to take responsibility
to see that they are well looked after. We are here to be
creative; we can leave destruction to the authorities.
Everywhere the emphasis was on responsibility: posters
cropped up all over the place encouraging the crowd to pick
up litter, refrain from vandalism, and generally be sensible. It
all seemed to impress the police who, putting an end to
rumours of an imminent (unlawful) eviction/break-in, wandered
off back to their station, leaving just a couple of friendly
coppers behind to keep a (very) discreet eye on things.
... As the day turned into night, more bands took to the stage,
some of them terrible and some excellent. People staggered
around sharing food with complete strangers and getting
drunk on free beer . . . When the Mob came on, the event
became The Event.
Everybody stood up for the Mob, and 'No Doves Fly Here'
was the moment to treasure the highlight of the day; They
were wonderful.
By now the 'house' was packed, though not
unomfortably so. A rain of shredded Zig-Zag
club tickets fell from the sky and the Poison
Girls were doing whatever it is they do, which
seems to be quite an acquired taste; although
through the jubilant alcoholic haze 'Persons
Unknown' just sounded so good, especially
whilst persons unconscious lay slumped in
exhausted heaps around the floor . . .
'Anarchy In The UK' exploded from the midsts
of Conflict's opening tape, and my God,
never before had it sounded so magnificently
right.
The drunken hordes floated to the front and
had a bloody great time, but this killjoy just
couldn't see the appeal apart from the brilliant
intro to 'Meat Means Murder', and even the
subtleties of that soon disappeared beneath
the bewildering Conflict wall of noise.
SO OFF they went while Flux of Pink Indians
walked on and plugged in. An unusually murky
sound tarnished their short set but, even so,
the urgency and dynamic flexibility they've
always possessed didn't go amiss.
And so with the last of a genuinely harrowing
succession of anti-nucleur films already
screened, and with those mighty rows of peace
/love/freedom banners hanging victoriously,
proudly over the stage, it was soon time for
Crass.
A woman's voice boomed from the speakers
denouncing the sacrifice of young soldiers to
war and then, like the legends they most
definitely are. Crass were bathed in a flash of
dazzling white light while they exploded straight
into a dizzy 'How Does It Feel...'
For the crowd this was it, this was pure heaven.
Sure, with some notable exceptions, 'Big A Little A'
being one of them, it was mainly a monotonous
racket but. Christ, Crass were impressive, and so
utterly spellbinding, even when making the most
horrendous of dins. Style, charisma and sheer
impact: believe me. Crass had it all, in bundles.
'Do They Owe Us A Living' sent the hordes into a
final frenzied boil, and then it was all over. The
phenomenon had become even more phenomenal,
and the dream, the dream only Crass and their
companions had held any faith in, had come
completely, magnificently true...
NOBODY WAS hurt, no-one suffered, nobody ruled and no-one was governed. For 24 hours Crass had
achieved their much-ridiculed vision of a peaceful, creative Anarchy in the most fantastically triumphant,
clean, efficient way anyone could have ever imagined possible.
This was truly a Christmas on Earth.
It won't be forgotten.
(SOUNDS JANUARY 1ST 1983 - Don't Care Archives)
After this review appeared in Sounds a disgruntled punk zinewriter wrote in to Sounds the following week with
a just observation...
"AFTER READING Winston Smith's article on Crass playing the Zig Zag club I felt I had to write cos if Winston
is anything to go by only four bands played: The Mob, Poison Girls, Conflict and Crass, when in fact loads
of other bands put in good performances - Omega Tribe, Youthinasia, Apostle's, Null And Void, Polemic
and Arnebix.
What was wrong with these? I presume he didn't like them cos he didn't mention them once in his article or
isn't it hip to write about smaller bands?
Also while I've still got my pen out I might as well tell you that the punk debate was shit. What the fucking hell
were people like Beki Bondage and Mensi doing there? They've got nothing in common with punk, except
their stereotyped image, unless you call playing the Lyceum etc for £3 'punk'?" -
Nuzz, (Verbal Abuse Fanzine)
free at London's Zig Zag Club.
WINSTON SMITH was there...
VARIOUS ARTISTS,
Zig Zag Club, London
Christmas 1982
WORD WAS out early last week. Crass (accompanied by
several experienced squatting organisations) were occupying
the Rainbow Theatre at Finsbury Park, and an all-day event
was being planned for Saturday the 18th December. Short, but
sweet . . .
Wednesday morning things had changed; Crass had been
evicted and were searching frantically for an alternative venue.
A hotline was set up and three days later, on the morning itself,
the ansa-phone message was bold, clear and full of optimism:
they were now squatting in the disused Zig-Zag club in
London's Westbourne Park, and from midday until late it was
round to Crass's new place, for the party of our lives . . .
'Squatting this venue is not a last ditch stand to get a gig, the
music business would love us all to be down at the Venue
paying their bar prices: On the contrary, we hope that today's
gathering will provide inspiration and impetus to people everywhere to
take similar opportunities and open up and take back the property that
belongs to us all ...
'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.'
By 2.00pm things were beginning to happen: a large group of people
had already arrived and the free vegetable soup was on the boil and
being distributed to hungry, happy young ragamuffins. Meanwhile down
the Portobello Road, word was spreading like wildfire.
With no admission charge, no age restrictions and no dress regulations
the partygoers arrived in their hundreds; bags of chips, biscuits and all
manner of booze piled up high in their hugging arms and rotting
rucksacks.
AS THE first of many bands came on and the party really
started to swing, police were waiting around outside, no doubt
wondering just what the hell they ought to be doing about it all.
Someone went in and gave them a leaflet, which they did seem
to be genuinely interested in.
'. . . We have not employed security today, and we believe that
no security will be necessary ... It is up to us together to make
it work. Treat others as you would expect to be treated and
leave the place as it was when you arrived. We can only claim
the right to use places if we are prepared to take responsibility
to see that they are well looked after. We are here to be
creative; we can leave destruction to the authorities.
Everywhere the emphasis was on responsibility: posters
cropped up all over the place encouraging the crowd to pick
up litter, refrain from vandalism, and generally be sensible. It
all seemed to impress the police who, putting an end to
rumours of an imminent (unlawful) eviction/break-in, wandered
off back to their station, leaving just a couple of friendly
coppers behind to keep a (very) discreet eye on things.
... As the day turned into night, more bands took to the stage,
some of them terrible and some excellent. People staggered
around sharing food with complete strangers and getting
drunk on free beer . . . When the Mob came on, the event
became The Event.
Everybody stood up for the Mob, and 'No Doves Fly Here'
was the moment to treasure the highlight of the day; They
were wonderful.
By now the 'house' was packed, though not
unomfortably so. A rain of shredded Zig-Zag
club tickets fell from the sky and the Poison
Girls were doing whatever it is they do, which
seems to be quite an acquired taste; although
through the jubilant alcoholic haze 'Persons
Unknown' just sounded so good, especially
whilst persons unconscious lay slumped in
exhausted heaps around the floor . . .
'Anarchy In The UK' exploded from the midsts
of Conflict's opening tape, and my God,
never before had it sounded so magnificently
right.
The drunken hordes floated to the front and
had a bloody great time, but this killjoy just
couldn't see the appeal apart from the brilliant
intro to 'Meat Means Murder', and even the
subtleties of that soon disappeared beneath
the bewildering Conflict wall of noise.
SO OFF they went while Flux of Pink Indians
walked on and plugged in. An unusually murky
sound tarnished their short set but, even so,
the urgency and dynamic flexibility they've
always possessed didn't go amiss.
And so with the last of a genuinely harrowing
succession of anti-nucleur films already
screened, and with those mighty rows of peace
/love/freedom banners hanging victoriously,
proudly over the stage, it was soon time for
Crass.
A woman's voice boomed from the speakers
denouncing the sacrifice of young soldiers to
war and then, like the legends they most
definitely are. Crass were bathed in a flash of
dazzling white light while they exploded straight
into a dizzy 'How Does It Feel...'
For the crowd this was it, this was pure heaven.
Sure, with some notable exceptions, 'Big A Little A'
being one of them, it was mainly a monotonous
racket but. Christ, Crass were impressive, and so
utterly spellbinding, even when making the most
horrendous of dins. Style, charisma and sheer
impact: believe me. Crass had it all, in bundles.
'Do They Owe Us A Living' sent the hordes into a
final frenzied boil, and then it was all over. The
phenomenon had become even more phenomenal,
and the dream, the dream only Crass and their
companions had held any faith in, had come
completely, magnificently true...
NOBODY WAS hurt, no-one suffered, nobody ruled and no-one was governed. For 24 hours Crass had
achieved their much-ridiculed vision of a peaceful, creative Anarchy in the most fantastically triumphant,
clean, efficient way anyone could have ever imagined possible.
This was truly a Christmas on Earth.
It won't be forgotten.
(SOUNDS JANUARY 1ST 1983 - Don't Care Archives)
After this review appeared in Sounds a disgruntled punk zinewriter wrote in to Sounds the following week with
a just observation...
"AFTER READING Winston Smith's article on Crass playing the Zig Zag club I felt I had to write cos if Winston
is anything to go by only four bands played: The Mob, Poison Girls, Conflict and Crass, when in fact loads
of other bands put in good performances - Omega Tribe, Youthinasia, Apostle's, Null And Void, Polemic
and Arnebix.
What was wrong with these? I presume he didn't like them cos he didn't mention them once in his article or
isn't it hip to write about smaller bands?
Also while I've still got my pen out I might as well tell you that the punk debate was shit. What the fucking hell
were people like Beki Bondage and Mensi doing there? They've got nothing in common with punk, except
their stereotyped image, unless you call playing the Lyceum etc for £3 'punk'?" -
Nuzz, (Verbal Abuse Fanzine)
THIS IS SQUAT WE WANT!
