live review



CRASS ARE probably the most popular group in the country but in relation to the general music business they're an enigma. Their records, up to the relative sophistication of 'Penis Envy', had been a rush of shock tactic anger driven by a sound so basic and crude as to be, to these ears at least, totally unlistenable.

I wondered how many wearers of Crass-emblazoned leather jackets really wanted nothing more than an anti-fashion radical group to adopt. Did Crass' communal way of life and rantings really get through to young minds?

St Phillips' Community Centre has a small-sized hall with a high but tiny stage looking like a hole that has been chiselled out of the wall. On a damp afternoon, a grouping of youthful Crass fans, some can only be seven or eight, begin to line the outside of the building. Rain spatters down.

As the Crass equipment and various group members arrive, the young faithful ring the van and mild mania ensures. At least, intense stares which display immense amounts of respect.

A banter with the organiser reveals the bash to be in aid of the Welsh Republican Movement although, despite his excited chatter and hand-drawn notices of the 'Burn A Cottage' kind, the scene could be anywhere in the UK. The line of bodies lengthens until opening time when around 500 file inside.

To continue reading this article and to discover many more (over 140,000 words-worth!), purchase Mick Sinclair’s Adjusting the Stars: Music journalism from post-punk London. 


mick sinclair

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