



Whereas I was not exactly a Crass punk myself, I was definitely sort of Crass punk adjacent. The image conjured up of a Crass punk tends to be one of a smelly squatter, a stinky dole-scrounging vegan anarchist smoking roll-ups and sniffing glue. In 1983 and 84 I was a teenage squatter in the Brixton area of London (and before that in the infamous Wyers squat in Amsterdam), but I was a well-groomed American kid who saw no reason to stop bathing, or to change out of my normal clothes when I went to see a punk band just so I would fit in. I found it funny to show up for a Flux of Pink Indians gig at the Ambulance Station wearing a pink tennis shirt or penny loafers and white Levis to a Poison Girls show. At least it was amusing TO ME. Plus I’d have looked like a dummy in punk clothes. I never had any interest in “being different” like everybody else. Wearing the uniform of non-conformity, one which was apparently collectively agreed upon, had little appeal for me. In 1984? I saw it a bit like I saw tie-dye to be honest. Perhaps I was just prematurely cynical. I’ve never been much of a joiner.

But many of the people I knew and interacted with daily living in squats were full-on, very idealistic Crass punks and through their influence I was introduced to the decidedly non-cynical ideas of communal living that the band espoused and inspired. Take for instance the daily ritual of “stolen stew” whereupon items shoplifted from Tesco, or discarded vegetables gathered from the dumpsters of Brixton market were thrown into a large cooking pot at the end of the day by two German girls, both Crass punks to the hilt. (On days where I was stealing sugar packets to keep my stomach quiet, these improvised communal meals tasted better than anything I’ve ever subsequently eaten in a three star restaurant.) Veganism, obviously was a huge part of that subculture and Crass were THE SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT REASON that the vegan lifestyle first began to gain popularity, initially in the squats of South London and then spreading out worldwide from there. (This is a fact, don’t argue with me, I was there. Where do you think Morrissey got it from?). Animal rights and the anti-vivisection movement. And oh yeah, all the politics, that was pretty big, too, what with the anarchy and all. Class War was read and discussed and Ian Bone (a truly great English character) was around at times. I took part in the infamous Stop the City demonstration, the first anti-globalist rioting that shut down London’s financial district—or at the very least annoyed and intimidated many bankers and stock brokers for the better part of a day. Stop the City was more of a CND thing, but was mostly populated by sulfate-amped anarchopunks and the Crass logo was seen on half of the backs there. (What’s amazing to consider in 2019 is how several thousand people, most of them with no telephones at home, managed to show up that day. I recall being there early, thinking it was going to be a bust and then suddenly BOOM, Threadneedle Street was packed with young spiky-haired weirdos looking for trouble.)

These things don’t ever leave you.







Although an inspiring flesh and blood political ideal—the notion of what Crass stood for was obviously very, very important to me when I was younger—musically they weren’t my cup of poison. PiL, Throbbing Gristle, Gun Club, Virgin Prunes, Nick Cave, Soft Cell and the Slits were what I was into then. I would rather read their lyric sheets than actually listen to Crass’ music. The thing was, none of the Crass punks who I knew really listened to Crass either. I realize that this will sound just plain wrong, but it was none other than early UB40 that seemed to be the preferred soundtrack to anarcho-punk life, and not the abrasive racket made by Crass themselves. The early Cult were another group that a lot Crass punks listened to. Crass gigs yes, Crass records not so much. That was my directly observed observation.

Fast forward to today and I hadn’t listened to an entire Crass album for… well… quite a long time. To be honest, I tended to think of their music as being a shambling low-fi mess with a yob from Essex screaming over the top. The only Crass CD I own is the Best Before 1984 compilation, but I will admit to having a look at Discogs a few months back to see how much copies of original Crass records go for, just to own them as objects of cultural importance, not thinking I would listen to them much. I’m glad that I didn’t do that because One Little Indian have repressed the classic Crass albums on vinyl for the first time since they originally came out and from what I have seen and heard so far, these releases are exceptionally well realized. Not only is Gee Vaucher’s artwork faithfully reproduced, they’ve been remastered by Alex Gordon and Penny Rimbaud at Abbey Road studios and they sound, dare I say it, GREAT. Picture an archival copy of Stations of the Crass that’s been given the Blue Note treatment! These pressings are ridiculously quiet 180 gram platters that allow the listener to hear deep into every particle of amp buzz on the master tapes. My memories of listening to Crass albums is of hearing scratchy records played on crappy record players in filthy places. Little did I suspect how well-recorded their albums were. They sound shockingly good, these new One Little Indian releases. I don’t want to overstate the case but these are legit near-audiophile pressings that seriously took my head off. It felt like I was spinning a buzzsaw capable of great violence on my turntable. It sucks to realize how little things have changed in the world since these albums were recorded, but it means their angry vitality, so unique at the time, is curiously undiminished, either as art or agitprop.

Penis Envy stands out the most among Crass’s albums, not the least for its lack of Steve Ignorant’s trademark ranting and the female voices taking over for the entire record. It’s their most experimental and avant garde work. The guitars are savage, lacerating, Rimbaud’s signature drumming is crisp and martial and Pete Wright’s bass is taunt. I’ll say it again: These albums were NOT recorded poorly, they were recorded very professionally indeed. If you believed otherwise, as I did, you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

Minimally Penis Envy and the Best Before 1984 comp (on 2 LPs for just $20 and offering the best of Steve Ignorant’s songs) are what you’d want to have of Crass in your record collection. I also have Stations of the Crass, and will probably pick all of them up save for the first album. That one sort of blurs into angry screamy white noise to my ears and live Crass is the bridge too far for my tastes. But the rest of it? Yes please.

Highly recommended.



Penny Rimbaud discusses remastering the Crass catalog in a recent interview.



News footage of the Stop the City demonstration.