1. Never Too Late.mp3
2. Gift.mp3
3. Wrong Impression.mp3
4. Shelia.mp3
5. Holdingon.mp3
6. A Day on the Town.mp3
7. 40 Years.mp3
8. P.S. Slightly Confused.mp3
9. Changes.mp3
10. Just Above My Head.mp3
THE BURIAL "A Day On The Town" 1988 ENGLAND
1. Never Too Late.mp3
2. Gift.mp3
3. Wrong Impression.mp3
4. Shelia.mp3
5. Holdingon.mp3
6. A Day on the Town.mp3
7. 40 Years.mp3
8. P.S. Slightly Confused.mp3
9. Changes.mp3
10. Just Above My Head.mp3
ASHES OF DEATH "Moralitas Pembangkangan" ep SOLO
1.ASHES OF DEATH
2.SERANG PEMAKAN HARTA
3.BANGKAI PERPECAHAN
4.ORANG-ORANG PENDUSTA
5.POTRET KUSAM BURUH ANAK
download
Artickel "A Close Shave" from a Bath magazine
An article about Bristol Skinheads from a Bath magazine
From Levi Sta-Prest to Harrington jackets, Chris Brown's seen it all, growing up as a Bristol Rovers fan, back when the Tote End boot boys hated everyone –including each other.
There should be a new reality TV programme. A sort of Carol Smilie makeover of misunderstood and misrepresented inhabitants of these islands. And who would be at the top of the list of disenfranchised individuals badly in need of a spot of TV-friendly PR? Traffic wardens? Asylum seekers? Government press secretaries? How about skinheads? If ever there was a cult that was seriously in need of some of the smiley one's magic, it's those shaven-headed fascists from the Neanderthal age. Because, let's face it, that's exactly what they were, wasn't it? Sieg-heiling boneheads who thought nothing of forcing babies in their prams to sniff glue (well, OK, that did happen in a park in Bristol in 1983) but let's go back to the original crop-headed lads (and lasses) from the late 60s...
It's hard to imagine now just how huge the skinhead movement was more than three decades ago. As the old-school mods 'progressed' from purple hearts to acid, and de-camped to their free-loving communes in Wales, the angry young men of the nation cut their hair, donned overtly working-class clothing and, by and large, began kicking the shit out of each other with exceedingly large workboots. All this, while a backing track of 'janga, janga, janga' thumped in the background - a new music from Jamaica, which had evolved from ska and rock steady. And I don't mean Harry Belafonte. I'm talkng reggae in all its politically incorrect 'Tighten Up Volume 2' glory. The early cropheads emerged in London in early 1968 as a direct rejection of the flower-power, peace-loving hippy. And by the summer of 1969, with Desmond Dekker at number one in the charts with 'Israelites', the grip of the skinhead movement on teenage Britain was irreversible and vicelike,
So what attracted young men and women to this violent anti-social cult? Well, for a start, the very fact that it was violent and anti-social. But that's being simplistic - it also had style, bucketloads of it. It wasn't all bovver boots and braces.
Admittedly, early skinheads got most of their gear from ex-army stores (Marcruss on Hotwell Road was a favourite, especially for the suede zip-up USAF jackets) , but as the cult developed, so did the fashion. Harrington jackets -named after the Ryan O'Neal character in 'Peyton Place', a popular soap of the time - replaced the flying jackets, while the Crombie overcoat, as worn by city gents, quickly became the must-have item of clothing on the terraces of Ashton Gate or Eastville during the winter of 1970. The ever-sa-sharp Levi Sta-Prest changed colour from brilliant white to iridescent 'Tonik', while the all-important boot evolved from steel-toe-capped workboots to de rigueur Dr Martens and all-leather (and very expensive) brogues and loafers, customised with an extra inch of leather sole, courtesy of the cobblers in Fairfax Street. (And you thought Elton John invented the platform shoe.) The famous button-down Ben Sherman shirt became synonymous with the skinhead, and as the candy stripe gave way to multicoloured checks, every 15 year old around the country begged his mum to get him a shirt bearing the legendary black and gold label.
But trying to make out that the first-generation skinhead was merely a follower of fashion, and a misunderstood victim who suffered from a bit of bad press, is indeed a half-truth. The violence that engulfed the skinhead, like the gas that made the old Rovers ground smell, was frighteningly real, and to dismiss and ignore it would be foolish in the extreme. The nation's football stadiums became the skinhead's battlegrounds, as did the seafronts, the dancehalls and the high streets. They fought greasers, hippies, gays and Asians, but mostly they fought each other - which, I suppose, proved they weren't prejudiced. They hated everyone. Maybe they were guilty of selective racism, if there is such as thing. Among their ranks, in many cities, were large numbers of West Indian youths, and their love of reggae music spoke volumes - after all, it was skinheads who got 'Young, Gifted And Black' by Bob and Marcia into the top five.
Much is made today of the violence in Bristol city centre on a weekend. Well, you're having a laugh. Many a young man ventured into the centre back then, in search of pulling a mini-skirted 'sort', but the only thing that was guaranteed to come his way was a smack in the mouth, if he looked at someone 'the wrong way'. When the skinheads were at their peak in the early 70s, the city centre was no place for the faint-hearted, especially around the covered market area, where pubs like the Crown, Rummer and Elephant (pre-gay), as well as the notorious Stage Door in King Street, drew hordes of shaven-headed lads from the council estates in search of a bit of 'aggro'. The law even resorted to setting up a special taskforce, which was quickly named 'The Bovver Squad' by the Evening Post, to try to contain the violence. It hardly succeeded, and as for the football violence... well, I could write a book.
WHERE HAVE ALL THE BOOTBOYS GONE?
'Where Have All The Boot Boys Gone?' was a record by Slaughter and the Dogs in the eariy 80s, Well, where have they all gone? What are they doing now? Do they look back on those days with regrets? Are they filled with remorse? Far from it. Here's what two ex-skinheads, 50-year-old Bob 'Dobbsy' S (now a heavy goods vehicle driver, married for 29 years and living in St George) and 49-year-old Ian H (computer systems analyst, married for 21 years and living in South Gloucestershire), remember of those days...
Can you remember the first time you saw skinheads? What made you become a skinhead? What drew you to the skinhead movement? Who did you fight with?
Bob 1968, in the Croydon area of London. Crystal Palace and Millwall fans. I was 15 years old, and fell for the clothes, the reggae, the gorgeous skinhead girls and the excitement of the whole scene. I followed Bristol Rovers, so I was one of the Tote End boot boys. We hated greasers, although, funnily enough, a lot of our fans were greasers. We fought with other skins at football - they used to chant 'soap and water' at the greasers, because they were so filthy but it still caused offence to us, so we stuck together with the greasers for the cause.
Ian Almost certainly whilst attending a football match. There was a considerable amount of media coverage about the emergent youth culture and the violence that accompanied it. I do remember that some of the articles dealt with the fashion of the skinheads both male and female. This would have been around 1969-70, As I regularly attended football, I was drawn to being a skinhead, together with my mates, as that was what many working-class young males were doing. It also served that basic human need to belong to an identifiable group,
Where did you hang out? Favourite pubs, clubs? Clothes shops?
Bob At football grounds around the country mostly. The infamous, but much-loved Never on a Sunday cafe in Fairfax Street, Cora's cafe on Colston Avenue, Monte Carlo cafe in Eastville (full of greasers, but they were Tote Enders). and pubs like the Elephant. the Way Inn (next to what's now the Royal Marriott) and the market cellar bars. The Top Rank (now the Works), the Locarno (above what's now the Academy). Bank holiday trips to Weston. Torquay and Weymouth were absolute mayhem. Shops were Coke and Clobber (next to the Never on a Sunday), Carnaby One. Beau Brummel on the Centre and Austins In Broadmead
Ian Many of the dancehalls and discos within pubs were playing Motown and reggae, so it attracted us,I used to go to the Locarno on a Monday night with mates, where we'd meet other skinheads, It was an opportunity to wear a suit, together with a tie pin and handkerchief in the top pocket, which was an absolute must.
What was your favourite item of clothing, where did you buy it, and how much did it cost?
Bob Doc Martens. purchased from Jacobs in Old Market for about £2 15s in I969. Yellow Ben Sherman shirt bought from Kings Road. London for £2 10s, shrink-to-fit Levis for £3 you had to sit in the bath for hours to get them to fit.
Ian Doc Martens identified you as a skinhead. They became associated with the culture of bovver more than anything else - and they were very comfortable to walk in. I think that's why I kept them for so long after I ceased being a skinhead. I bought them at the market for £4 19s 6d. For a long time, I kept them in the garage, not telling my parents. and put them on once I'd left the house in my 'sensible' shoes, We used to have our trousers and jackets made to measure by a tailor in Broadmead called 'Jacksons'. You went in one week to be measured up and pay a deposit, then returned the following week to pick up the finished garment and pay the balance. It was important to have your trousers exactly in fashion being prescriptive about the width of the trouser legs, width of the tum-ups, patch pockets and having a ticket pocket. Similarly, Jackets had to have a certain length for the centre vent. a specific style and width of lapels and also a specified number of buttons on the sleeves
Do you still own any of that clothing, and do you still wear It?
Bob No, but I still wear similar clothing, like button-down shirts, Levis-but full-length now, not short A smart pair of Wegian Loafers (leather slip-on shoes) - classic look, still instantly recognisable to anyone from that era.
Ian I've kept a long black leather coat (more from the smoothie era), which was styled on one that Marvin Gaye wore on the cover of 'What's Going On', but that's it.
Do you think there were any specific skinhead 'values' that have influenced your life today? Do you still adhere to those values?
Bob I still retain a great passion for Rovers, still spend a lot on clothes that aren't that far removed from then - quality jeans, smart poIos, even bought a pair of brogues last winter. Still see mates from 35 years ago at football. I'm disciplined with work, never lost any time. been at the same company for over 33 years.
Ian I don't think there were any particular values that were specific to the skinhead culture of the time. Perhaps there was the liking for smart clothes and being well dressed. which I suppose I've retained since. although not to the same degree.
What made you stop being a skinhead? Do you still engage in 'skinhead activities' - football, music gigs?
Bob Skins and suedeheads naturally progressed to smoothies. The second generation of skins in the late 70s. lost the edge in clothing, music and politics - I got married. and settled down. I'm a season ticket-holder at Rovers, still buy and retain my original collection of soul and reggae records. Love to see footage of musicians from that era
Ian The fashion moved on and I wanted to be the same as my mates. We had now become 'suedeheads' and had grown our hair longer and wore different, less utiIiIarian clothes, no more boots - loafers and even moccasins, I haven't been involved. in skinhead culture or activities since the early 70s. but still retain a love of Motown and soul music.
Do you have any about being a skinhead?
Bob No regrets. Had a great time. Still see a lot of people from that era who are like-minded. Could have done without the criminal record, though!
Ian No.
Chris Brown is the authour of 'Bovver' (Blake Publishing Ltd, £5.99). the best selling eyewitness account of growing up as a Bristol Rovers fan: the sights, the sounds, the fashions and the fights.
The haircut seems almost ubiquitous nowadays, but real skinheads are hard to find. They're still around. though. Go to any gig by a visiting Jamaican artist, and you'll find them immaculately turned out, sharply cropped hair for the men, feather cuts for the women, suited and booted, as if it were still 1968. Shirehampton skins Ricky and Lorraine admit that skinheads are a rare breed these days. but they keep the flame alive, paying immaculate detail to the look and regularly going out to ska gigs and attending scooter rallies. "You do get some funny looks now and then. People want to know what it's all about, or they make assumptions about you. We go to see The Simalators [Bristol-based ska group with an absolutely storming live reputation] a lot. In fact, I do their website, and they're brilliant. They really keep the flame alive - you see quite a lot of the old-school skins there dancing to the music and meeting up."
The pair have been immersed in skinhead culture for '...ever' says Ricky, a former butcher, now a website designer, decked in perfectly creased dressed-down, taken-up Levis. properly cut Ben Sherman shirt (not the flabby ones on the market now) and DMs (which must be polished). When he's out for the night, he dons Crombie coat and fastidiously pressed suit, topped off with a three-pointed hankie in the breast pocket
'We've got home movies of me as a lad in a Harrington, two-tone trousers. It's just carried on from that. I've always listened to the same music ska is my passion - and worn the same style. I got into it in the two-tone era then you were either a mod or a skin I look the skin path."
Ricky's partner Lorraine. manager at a dry cleaners, has been a 'skingirl' slightly longer. Her brothers were skinheads when she was growmg up in Shirehampton and she adopted the classic skingirl style feather-cut hair ("which Ricky does. You go into a hairdresser's now. and ask for one - they're like, 'You what?'). sharp two-piece suit (single-breasted, three buttons. bottom left undone, double pocket flaps), fishnets and white ankle socks. "It's attention to detail, a very sharp but simple look. It's a working-class thing, and we take a lot of pride in our appearance. A few years ago, you could be ostracised if your suit wasn't pressed or you were in the wrong shirt... it's not so snobby now, but we still take pride in it.'
Being a skinhead nowadays is a quieter business,but the prejudices still exist. "We still don't get accepted. Older people just use the old stereotypes about bovver boys, and the younger generation know nothing about it. It's like you're from another planet. Skins nowadays are mainly people our own age, or a bit older. Some people do look at you, and you can tell that they assume you're in the far right, or something. There are skinheads who are fascists, but there are also a lot of people who are Nazis, and who don't have a skinhead or wear boots -sadly, that's the way it is. We, personally, don't have time for those sorts of politics. Our culture is based around the original skinheads, and reggae and ska music, black West Indian music. That's at the core of everything. People lump all skins logether, and usually say they're racist or whatever, That's just a stupid stereotype, and it's certainly not true of us and the people we know"
So what keeps them being a skinhead? They both reply at the same time, laughing: 'We've got a wardrobe full of clothes, We can't do anything else" Lorraine takes over: "It's just a way oflife - Trojan, ska, it's passionate music... the clothes...it's a way oflife,' adds Ricky. "Society just tells you what to do, what to wear, what to listen to, It shouldn't be like that, and we like being slightly different, doing our own thing."
"The two biggest' records, if you were a skinhead in the late 60s, were Dave and Ansell Collins 'Double Barrel' and The'Pioneers' 'Longshot'Kick De Bucket'. It's as simple as that - they sort of defined the time." Reggae DJ Steve Rice
was a 15 year-old Brixton teenager when Trojan records unleashed the 45s that soundtracked the growing skinhead movement. Rice was already something of a ska and rocksteady buff, regularly buying Studio One cuts imported from Jamaica, but, he says, "Double Barrel and Longshot were something else. Dave Barker's shouts over 'Double Barrel' - nobody had heard anything like it in this country. It was,like, what the fuck was that? They were massive tunes, way ahead of their time. The bands must have been pretty overwhelmed when the tracks were hits over here. They probably only got about $20 for recording them, and all of a sudden they were massive on the other side of the world. I remember them being on 'Top of the Pops', looking a little bemused."
Although The Pioneers scored. another huge hit with a version of Jimmy Cliff's 'Let Your Yeah Be Yeah', chart action for both acts practically disappeared. D&AC's singer Dave Barker (the band's producer thought they'd do better if audiences imagined the pair were brothers), pursued a not-so-successful soul career, while Ansell Collins went on to be a much-in-demand keyboard session player, featuring on many of King Tubby's records.
A gig by the now re-fonned Pioneers and Dave and Ansell Collins at Fiddlers in Bristol on September 12 promises to be something of a red-letter day for fans of ska and rocksteady. "I imagine there'll be quite a few ofthe old-school skins and a bunch of old farts like me, but there'll be a a good mix of other people. too.' says Steve. reflecting on the enduring legacy of Jamaican ska, Steve will be DJing the night, with selections from his formidable reggae and funk collection. So he'll be playing the aforementioned anthems, then? "Er, no. I'll be honest with you - I like the songs still.. but you don't half get sick of hearing them being played all the time. In fact, I don't think I've even got a copy of them. I'll leave that to the bands.'
source
download pdf
Skinheads were youth culture's original whipping boys (and girls), demonised in the press, their look hijacked by the far right. But with skinhead gods Dave and Ansell Collins and the Pioneers appearing together in Bristol this week, it's a chance for the old originals to show us what they were really all about. Chris Brown and Cris Warren talk to local skinheads past and present, and discover it's not just a haircut, it's a way of life.
DON'T BOVVER ME
From Levi Sta-Prest to Harrington jackets, Chris Brown's seen it all, growing up as a Bristol Rovers fan, back when the Tote End boot boys hated everyone –including each other. There should be a new reality TV programme. A sort of Carol Smilie makeover of misunderstood and misrepresented inhabitants of these islands. And who would be at the top of the list of disenfranchised individuals badly in need of a spot of TV-friendly PR? Traffic wardens? Asylum seekers? Government press secretaries? How about skinheads? If ever there was a cult that was seriously in need of some of the smiley one's magic, it's those shaven-headed fascists from the Neanderthal age. Because, let's face it, that's exactly what they were, wasn't it? Sieg-heiling boneheads who thought nothing of forcing babies in their prams to sniff glue (well, OK, that did happen in a park in Bristol in 1983) but let's go back to the original crop-headed lads (and lasses) from the late 60s...
It's hard to imagine now just how huge the skinhead movement was more than three decades ago. As the old-school mods 'progressed' from purple hearts to acid, and de-camped to their free-loving communes in Wales, the angry young men of the nation cut their hair, donned overtly working-class clothing and, by and large, began kicking the shit out of each other with exceedingly large workboots. All this, while a backing track of 'janga, janga, janga' thumped in the background - a new music from Jamaica, which had evolved from ska and rock steady. And I don't mean Harry Belafonte. I'm talkng reggae in all its politically incorrect 'Tighten Up Volume 2' glory. The early cropheads emerged in London in early 1968 as a direct rejection of the flower-power, peace-loving hippy. And by the summer of 1969, with Desmond Dekker at number one in the charts with 'Israelites', the grip of the skinhead movement on teenage Britain was irreversible and vicelike,
So what attracted young men and women to this violent anti-social cult? Well, for a start, the very fact that it was violent and anti-social. But that's being simplistic - it also had style, bucketloads of it. It wasn't all bovver boots and braces.
Admittedly, early skinheads got most of their gear from ex-army stores (Marcruss on Hotwell Road was a favourite, especially for the suede zip-up USAF jackets) , but as the cult developed, so did the fashion. Harrington jackets -named after the Ryan O'Neal character in 'Peyton Place', a popular soap of the time - replaced the flying jackets, while the Crombie overcoat, as worn by city gents, quickly became the must-have item of clothing on the terraces of Ashton Gate or Eastville during the winter of 1970. The ever-sa-sharp Levi Sta-Prest changed colour from brilliant white to iridescent 'Tonik', while the all-important boot evolved from steel-toe-capped workboots to de rigueur Dr Martens and all-leather (and very expensive) brogues and loafers, customised with an extra inch of leather sole, courtesy of the cobblers in Fairfax Street. (And you thought Elton John invented the platform shoe.) The famous button-down Ben Sherman shirt became synonymous with the skinhead, and as the candy stripe gave way to multicoloured checks, every 15 year old around the country begged his mum to get him a shirt bearing the legendary black and gold label.
But trying to make out that the first-generation skinhead was merely a follower of fashion, and a misunderstood victim who suffered from a bit of bad press, is indeed a half-truth. The violence that engulfed the skinhead, like the gas that made the old Rovers ground smell, was frighteningly real, and to dismiss and ignore it would be foolish in the extreme. The nation's football stadiums became the skinhead's battlegrounds, as did the seafronts, the dancehalls and the high streets. They fought greasers, hippies, gays and Asians, but mostly they fought each other - which, I suppose, proved they weren't prejudiced. They hated everyone. Maybe they were guilty of selective racism, if there is such as thing. Among their ranks, in many cities, were large numbers of West Indian youths, and their love of reggae music spoke volumes - after all, it was skinheads who got 'Young, Gifted And Black' by Bob and Marcia into the top five. Much is made today of the violence in Bristol city centre on a weekend. Well, you're having a laugh. Many a young man ventured into the centre back then, in search of pulling a mini-skirted 'sort', but the only thing that was guaranteed to come his way was a smack in the mouth, if he looked at someone 'the wrong way'. When the skinheads were at their peak in the early 70s, the city centre was no place for the faint-hearted, especially around the covered market area, where pubs like the Crown, Rummer and Elephant (pre-gay), as well as the notorious Stage Door in King Street, drew hordes of shaven-headed lads from the council estates in search of a bit of 'aggro'. The law even resorted to setting up a special taskforce, which was quickly named 'The Bovver Squad' by the Evening Post, to try to contain the violence. It hardly succeeded, and as for the football violence... well, I could write a book.
WHERE HAVE ALL THE BOOTBOYS GONE?
'Where Have All The Boot Boys Gone?' was a record by Slaughter and the Dogs in the eariy 80s, Well, where have they all gone? What are they doing now? Do they look back on those days with regrets? Are they filled with remorse? Far from it. Here's what two ex-skinheads, 50-year-old Bob 'Dobbsy' S (now a heavy goods vehicle driver, married for 29 years and living in St George) and 49-year-old Ian H (computer systems analyst, married for 21 years and living in South Gloucestershire), remember of those days...
Can you remember the first time you saw skinheads? What made you become a skinhead? What drew you to the skinhead movement? Who did you fight with?
Bob 1968, in the Croydon area of London. Crystal Palace and Millwall fans. I was 15 years old, and fell for the clothes, the reggae, the gorgeous skinhead girls and the excitement of the whole scene. I followed Bristol Rovers, so I was one of the Tote End boot boys. We hated greasers, although, funnily enough, a lot of our fans were greasers. We fought with other skins at football - they used to chant 'soap and water' at the greasers, because they were so filthy but it still caused offence to us, so we stuck together with the greasers for the cause.
Ian Almost certainly whilst attending a football match. There was a considerable amount of media coverage about the emergent youth culture and the violence that accompanied it. I do remember that some of the articles dealt with the fashion of the skinheads both male and female. This would have been around 1969-70, As I regularly attended football, I was drawn to being a skinhead, together with my mates, as that was what many working-class young males were doing. It also served that basic human need to belong to an identifiable group,
Where did you hang out? Favourite pubs, clubs? Clothes shops?
Bob At football grounds around the country mostly. The infamous, but much-loved Never on a Sunday cafe in Fairfax Street, Cora's cafe on Colston Avenue, Monte Carlo cafe in Eastville (full of greasers, but they were Tote Enders). and pubs like the Elephant. the Way Inn (next to what's now the Royal Marriott) and the market cellar bars. The Top Rank (now the Works), the Locarno (above what's now the Academy). Bank holiday trips to Weston. Torquay and Weymouth were absolute mayhem. Shops were Coke and Clobber (next to the Never on a Sunday), Carnaby One. Beau Brummel on the Centre and Austins In Broadmead
Ian Many of the dancehalls and discos within pubs were playing Motown and reggae, so it attracted us,I used to go to the Locarno on a Monday night with mates, where we'd meet other skinheads, It was an opportunity to wear a suit, together with a tie pin and handkerchief in the top pocket, which was an absolute must.
What was your favourite item of clothing, where did you buy it, and how much did it cost?
Bob Doc Martens. purchased from Jacobs in Old Market for about £2 15s in I969. Yellow Ben Sherman shirt bought from Kings Road. London for £2 10s, shrink-to-fit Levis for £3 you had to sit in the bath for hours to get them to fit.
Ian Doc Martens identified you as a skinhead. They became associated with the culture of bovver more than anything else - and they were very comfortable to walk in. I think that's why I kept them for so long after I ceased being a skinhead. I bought them at the market for £4 19s 6d. For a long time, I kept them in the garage, not telling my parents. and put them on once I'd left the house in my 'sensible' shoes, We used to have our trousers and jackets made to measure by a tailor in Broadmead called 'Jacksons'. You went in one week to be measured up and pay a deposit, then returned the following week to pick up the finished garment and pay the balance. It was important to have your trousers exactly in fashion being prescriptive about the width of the trouser legs, width of the tum-ups, patch pockets and having a ticket pocket. Similarly, Jackets had to have a certain length for the centre vent. a specific style and width of lapels and also a specified number of buttons on the sleeves
Do you still own any of that clothing, and do you still wear It?
Bob No, but I still wear similar clothing, like button-down shirts, Levis-but full-length now, not short A smart pair of Wegian Loafers (leather slip-on shoes) - classic look, still instantly recognisable to anyone from that era.
Ian I've kept a long black leather coat (more from the smoothie era), which was styled on one that Marvin Gaye wore on the cover of 'What's Going On', but that's it.
Do you think there were any specific skinhead 'values' that have influenced your life today? Do you still adhere to those values?
Bob I still retain a great passion for Rovers, still spend a lot on clothes that aren't that far removed from then - quality jeans, smart poIos, even bought a pair of brogues last winter. Still see mates from 35 years ago at football. I'm disciplined with work, never lost any time. been at the same company for over 33 years.
Ian I don't think there were any particular values that were specific to the skinhead culture of the time. Perhaps there was the liking for smart clothes and being well dressed. which I suppose I've retained since. although not to the same degree.
What made you stop being a skinhead? Do you still engage in 'skinhead activities' - football, music gigs?
Bob Skins and suedeheads naturally progressed to smoothies. The second generation of skins in the late 70s. lost the edge in clothing, music and politics - I got married. and settled down. I'm a season ticket-holder at Rovers, still buy and retain my original collection of soul and reggae records. Love to see footage of musicians from that era
Ian The fashion moved on and I wanted to be the same as my mates. We had now become 'suedeheads' and had grown our hair longer and wore different, less utiIiIarian clothes, no more boots - loafers and even moccasins, I haven't been involved. in skinhead culture or activities since the early 70s. but still retain a love of Motown and soul music.
Do you have any about being a skinhead?
Bob No regrets. Had a great time. Still see a lot of people from that era who are like-minded. Could have done without the criminal record, though!
Ian No.
Chris Brown is the authour of 'Bovver' (Blake Publishing Ltd, £5.99). the best selling eyewitness account of growing up as a Bristol Rovers fan: the sights, the sounds, the fashions and the fights.
SKIN UP
Skins are what they used to be, says Cris Warren.The haircut seems almost ubiquitous nowadays, but real skinheads are hard to find. They're still around. though. Go to any gig by a visiting Jamaican artist, and you'll find them immaculately turned out, sharply cropped hair for the men, feather cuts for the women, suited and booted, as if it were still 1968. Shirehampton skins Ricky and Lorraine admit that skinheads are a rare breed these days. but they keep the flame alive, paying immaculate detail to the look and regularly going out to ska gigs and attending scooter rallies. "You do get some funny looks now and then. People want to know what it's all about, or they make assumptions about you. We go to see The Simalators [Bristol-based ska group with an absolutely storming live reputation] a lot. In fact, I do their website, and they're brilliant. They really keep the flame alive - you see quite a lot of the old-school skins there dancing to the music and meeting up."The pair have been immersed in skinhead culture for '...ever' says Ricky, a former butcher, now a website designer, decked in perfectly creased dressed-down, taken-up Levis. properly cut Ben Sherman shirt (not the flabby ones on the market now) and DMs (which must be polished). When he's out for the night, he dons Crombie coat and fastidiously pressed suit, topped off with a three-pointed hankie in the breast pocket
'We've got home movies of me as a lad in a Harrington, two-tone trousers. It's just carried on from that. I've always listened to the same music ska is my passion - and worn the same style. I got into it in the two-tone era then you were either a mod or a skin I look the skin path."
Ricky's partner Lorraine. manager at a dry cleaners, has been a 'skingirl' slightly longer. Her brothers were skinheads when she was growmg up in Shirehampton and she adopted the classic skingirl style feather-cut hair ("which Ricky does. You go into a hairdresser's now. and ask for one - they're like, 'You what?'). sharp two-piece suit (single-breasted, three buttons. bottom left undone, double pocket flaps), fishnets and white ankle socks. "It's attention to detail, a very sharp but simple look. It's a working-class thing, and we take a lot of pride in our appearance. A few years ago, you could be ostracised if your suit wasn't pressed or you were in the wrong shirt... it's not so snobby now, but we still take pride in it.'
Being a skinhead nowadays is a quieter business,but the prejudices still exist. "We still don't get accepted. Older people just use the old stereotypes about bovver boys, and the younger generation know nothing about it. It's like you're from another planet. Skins nowadays are mainly people our own age, or a bit older. Some people do look at you, and you can tell that they assume you're in the far right, or something. There are skinheads who are fascists, but there are also a lot of people who are Nazis, and who don't have a skinhead or wear boots -sadly, that's the way it is. We, personally, don't have time for those sorts of politics. Our culture is based around the original skinheads, and reggae and ska music, black West Indian music. That's at the core of everything. People lump all skins logether, and usually say they're racist or whatever, That's just a stupid stereotype, and it's certainly not true of us and the people we know"
So what keeps them being a skinhead? They both reply at the same time, laughing: 'We've got a wardrobe full of clothes, We can't do anything else" Lorraine takes over: "It's just a way oflife - Trojan, ska, it's passionate music... the clothes...it's a way oflife,' adds Ricky. "Society just tells you what to do, what to wear, what to listen to, It shouldn't be like that, and we like being slightly different, doing our own thing."
SKA-BOOM
Cris Warren traces the legacy of two of Ska's biggest tunes."The two biggest' records, if you were a skinhead in the late 60s, were Dave and Ansell Collins 'Double Barrel' and The'Pioneers' 'Longshot'Kick De Bucket'. It's as simple as that - they sort of defined the time." Reggae DJ Steve Rice
was a 15 year-old Brixton teenager when Trojan records unleashed the 45s that soundtracked the growing skinhead movement. Rice was already something of a ska and rocksteady buff, regularly buying Studio One cuts imported from Jamaica, but, he says, "Double Barrel and Longshot were something else. Dave Barker's shouts over 'Double Barrel' - nobody had heard anything like it in this country. It was,like, what the fuck was that? They were massive tunes, way ahead of their time. The bands must have been pretty overwhelmed when the tracks were hits over here. They probably only got about $20 for recording them, and all of a sudden they were massive on the other side of the world. I remember them being on 'Top of the Pops', looking a little bemused."
Although The Pioneers scored. another huge hit with a version of Jimmy Cliff's 'Let Your Yeah Be Yeah', chart action for both acts practically disappeared. D&AC's singer Dave Barker (the band's producer thought they'd do better if audiences imagined the pair were brothers), pursued a not-so-successful soul career, while Ansell Collins went on to be a much-in-demand keyboard session player, featuring on many of King Tubby's records.
A gig by the now re-fonned Pioneers and Dave and Ansell Collins at Fiddlers in Bristol on September 12 promises to be something of a red-letter day for fans of ska and rocksteady. "I imagine there'll be quite a few ofthe old-school skins and a bunch of old farts like me, but there'll be a a good mix of other people. too.' says Steve. reflecting on the enduring legacy of Jamaican ska, Steve will be DJing the night, with selections from his formidable reggae and funk collection. So he'll be playing the aforementioned anthems, then? "Er, no. I'll be honest with you - I like the songs still.. but you don't half get sick of hearing them being played all the time. In fact, I don't think I've even got a copy of them. I'll leave that to the bands.'
source
download pdf
(THIS IS AN INTERVIEW WITH PAUL BARRETT OF 'HARD AS NAILS' ZINE)
(I ASKED PAUL A FEW QUESTIONS ABOUT 'HARD AS NAILS' ZINE......THANKS PAUL)
The first edition of 'Hard As Nails' hit the streets in the summer of 1983. We
(Ian & me) were Skinheads living in Essex and had been part of the Essex/East London
scene since the late '70's. We were increasingly dismayed by despoilment of Skinhead
culture in the early '80's. Oi! had added vitality to the movement, but the degeneration
into rag tag glue bags and knob head nazis defiled our core values. Our own politics were
probably best described as proud,patriotic and socialist. As such we were a put down
to 'white noise boneheads'.
We wanted Hard As Nails to reconnect Skinhead back with it's roots - working class,
anti-racist and smart. The 'zine was seminal but reflected a small undercurrent of
'Sussed Skinheads'. In '83 this was little more than a ruffle. Tiny firms such as the
Camden Stylists,Britannia Skins,Southend Clockwork Patrol and the Suedehead Syndicate
were populating gigs and dances. Often more closely aligned to the residue of 'Mod
Revival'. These guys and girls were Sharp and had nothing in common with 'Arry 'Arris
the gormless cartoon skinhead scruff who featured in most issues. However Hard As
Nails was not just about history. Although staying through to our roots, we also wanted
to acknowledge the Dynamic nature of Skinhead rather than staying stuck in 1970.
Hard As Nails sought to synthesise the best of the present with the past. There were
decent new bands such as 'Potato 5', 'The Burial' and 'Red London', all of whom -
received well deserved coverage. Then there were the features on clothes,working
class culture,our rivals (Greasers!) and even the odd bit of sport (boxing & football).
From the second issue in late 1983 we really took off. This issue with it's East London
gangster and uncompromising message attracted the interest of 'Garry Bushell'.
Subsequently Hard As Nails featured in the music press, some national newspapers and
even a spot appearance on the radio with Pete Murray. This publicity and word of mouth
recommendations ensured a growing circulation movement. The numbers of 'Tonic
Suits' and 'brogues' spotted when we were out and about slowly increased. Those
years saw a well established scene, 'Gaz's Rockin Blues', The Sols Arms,Militant Skank
Sound System were some of our regular hangouts. Numbers were never huge -
hundreds rather than thousands but that gave it a more exclusive feel. Many readers
became friends - the likes of Paul Armstrong,Chris Butler,Gail McGee,Teresa Reynolds,
Dudley Somers,French Cyrille,Mike Hudspith,Dempsey,Terry Wham & Brentford Linz.
Over the years we made visits to other firms - Cardiff,Glasgow,York,Dublin,Belgium
and France. These confirmed that Sharp and Sussed Skins n Suedes were perfusing
the streets and terraces once again.
Hard As Nails continued into late 1985 when we decided to call it a day. We had
achieved what we set out to do and the movement was well established, It
was time to hand over to other 'zines that followed in the wake of Hard As Nails -
'Backs Against The Wall', 'Croptop', 'Bovver Boot' and 'Zoot'. Some were -
derivative but others were taking the movement in exciting new directions. Looking
back now,our efforts seem amazingly amateurish, Hard As Nails preceded the age of
desktop publishing and social networking. Hard As Nails was banged out on an
old typewriter and taken to a local photocopy shop before being distributed. For
us cut n paste meant scissors and a pritt stick. Each edition took days to compile as
Ian and I shuttled back and forth to each other.
Some quarter century later I am surprised that there is still interest in what we did.
It is also good to know that there are still smart skins both young and old who
are 'keeping the faith'. I have kept an interest in the Skinhead movement since
then and still knock about with a few of the old crew,even though we are pretty
disparate now. I've even been known to don what the kids call a ''Shiny Suit'',
brogues and crombie when im in a soulful mood.
(A MASSIVE THANKS TO PAUL BARRETT OF HARD AS NAILS 'ZINE FOR THE
INTERVIEW AND PICTURES..........CHEERS AGAIN PAUL!)
(INTERVIEW BY JOHN BRADLEY aka RUDEBHOY 2010
source
Artickel "Trouble in the Town": Skinhead Reggae
“Skinhead reggae” has come to mean a subgenre of reggae with influences taken from ska and rocksteady as well as soul/R‘n’B, often with fast Hammond organ leads and danceable beats, loved by adolescents of the British working class. But reggae itself became popular among white British youth after ska and rocksteady had receded, more or less as skinhead became an identifiable subculture in the United Kingdom, in 1968, peaking in 1969, and then disappearing into seudehead, glam/glitter, etc., by the early 70s. Therefore, it is something of a misnomer to speak of “skinhead reggae” as separate from the early reggae that was popular amongst white kids, because those white kids were nearly all skinheads. It was not until at least a year or more into the close association between the musical form and the fashion that the tunes now inextricably linked to the subculture by their lyrics began to emerge. Many of the skinhead reggae songs were covers or else more well-known early reggae/ska/rocksteady tunes that had been reworked, sometimes with new lyrics specifically about skinheads. Symarip’s “Skinhead Moonstomp,” possibly the most classic (and one of the most primitive) skinhead reggae song uses the music from a Derrick Morgan tune called “Moon Hop.” Symarip, it’s worth noting, was the well-known band the Pyramids under a pseudonym due to contractual obligations. From the shit-fi perspective, some of the finest examples of skinhead reggae—the primitive iteration of a genre conceived through stripping away ska’s and rocksteady’s flourishes—are those 45s obviously made solely for the purpose of cashing in on the trend. As with most shit-fi music, reckless abandon and crapulence figure highly into the shitasticity. So a few drunken/stoned Jamaicans fooling around in a studio, riffing on the concept of “skinheads,” and trying to get the tape to the pressing plant quickly, before the trend was dead, actually led to some of the best sides in the genre. At the time, poor distribution meant that these 45s were often impossible to find outside of the big cities, even as kids were lapping the tunes up over the airwaves and in the dancehalls. Over time, these shitty sides rose to the top because skinheads, being skinheads, could not quench their thirst for songs explicitly about their wily ways. Thus, what might, under alternate circumstances, be considered exploitative is actually the quintessence of skinhead reggae. It’s dumb, simple, crude, often improvised, fun.
The slightly dulled edge endemic to much of the reggae recorded from 1968 to 1971 or so in Jamaica—resulting from in-the-red live recordings and poor-quality tapes and gear—making the sound more brittle and sinewy, sometimes void of a middle range, does not automatically qualify it for the attention of Shit-Fi, but it sure helps. Unfortunately, I must note that what much of the UK-recorded reggae of the moment lacks in lo-fi-delity, it makes up in celebratory idiocy; thus, the majority of the songs below originated in London.
Here's a primer on some of my favorite skinhead reggae tunes.
Desmond Riley "Skinhead A Message to You"
Desmond Riley’s “Skinhead A Message to You” must have been a crowd pleaser in the dancehalls when it came out. (Recorded in London in 1969, it was one of the first songs to call on skinheads by name.) An infectious and dumb tagline “bop bop ba doo” gets stuck in your head, and maybe if Riley and the local constabulary had their druthers, so too did the message of wearing your boots with pride but not hurting nobody. The song seems to hope, and explicitly say, that this reggae music should’ve kept the kids dancing rather than fighting. Yet one can extrapolate that this tune was recorded far enough into the nascence of the skinhead subculture that the bootboys’ self-destructive menace was at the fore for all involved parties. Gotta make that cash, Riley must’ve thought, but I hope I don’t get my arse whooped when one of these dancehalls explodes into a bovver wonderland. One other thing: “Don’t call me skinhead, my name is John, John the Baptist”—not sure exactly what that’s about except that he’s maybe telling us that none of the original skinhead reggae artists was a skinhead.
Hot Rod All Stars "Skinhead Speaks His Mind"
Might as well cut to the chase here. “Skinhead Speaks His Mind” is to skinhead reggae as “Bummer Bitch” is to punk rock. (This gang also wrote “Skinheads Don’t Fear,” another classic.) Electric jug, James Brownisms, uber-simple and spare reggae guitar, and lyrics even a crop-top eighteen sheets to the wind could remember: “skinhead / skinhead / skinhead / skinhead / skinhead / skin / yow / sock it to me, skinhead,” etc. One almost has to wonder whether the Hot Rods were taking the piss, because surely the mind of a skin has room for other pertinent topics (the four Bs, perhaps? Birds, boots, bovver, booze…not necessarily in that order). Anyway, this one is killer. “Skinheads Don’t Fear” has a more stomp-on-the-downbeat reggae feel, no lyrics, and no electric jug. Leaving out that instrument circa 69 was probably to make sure no one would confuse skins with hair-farming middle-class peaceniks.
Tommy McCook and Stranger Cole "Last Flight to Reggae City"
Lest I give the false impression that all skinhead reggae sides had the word “skinhead” in their titles, let’s take a listen to Tommy McCook and Stranger Cole’s “Last Flight to Reggae City.” The flutes in this one call to mind a line from Ronald Reagan’s favorite poet, John Gillespie Magee, Jr.: “Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth.” I picture a bootboy magically flying on gossamer wings from the humdrum council flat toward a Caribbean idyll that would, of course, be known as “reggae city.” Gotta get on that last flight, #007. (Incidentally, several skinhead reggae tunes date themselves to a zeitgeist moment of James Bond worship by mentions of 007.) The idea of a “last flight” wasn’t as menacing in 1969 as it had become by 1975, after the fall of Saigon. Skinheads definitely imagined themselves putting their booted feet up and maxin-and-relaxin, not dangling from landing gear, on this flight. The MC reveals the one-off, live nature of these tunes when he says, “This is your captain, Captain Streggae from Reggae City.” I guess nothing rhymed with reggae that day. “Your estimated flight will be two minutes and forty-five seconds and you’ll be flying at forty-five RPM.” Bliss.
The Charmers "Skinhead Train"
Just beneath the aforementioned "Skinhead Moonstomp" in the list of brilliantly incompetent improvisational rhymes about skinheads sits yet another track about conveyances: "Skinhead Train." Maybe it was something about the transnational character of skinhead reggae that inspired songs like these. The insistent commands offered by the Charmers' MC, however, don't make the Skinhead Train sound as welcoming as the Last Flight to Reggae City. If we imagine the former as headed to Babylon and the latter to Zion, the difference in sentiment between the songs becomes scrutable. But skinheads really only ever wished to ride the train to the terraces—and perhaps Brighton on a bank holiday weekend. Zion wasn't so far away after all.
Joe the Boss "Skinhead Revolt"
“Skinhead Revolt” by Joe "the Boss" Mansano has a great trombone line as well as an exceedingly skank-friendly interplay between the guitar and organ. The only lyrics to this mostly instrumental side are the titular ones. Great concept, themselves stolen for the title of a compilation LP released by Earmark, which is essential for fans and abecedarians alike. I like how the organ solo gets louder and quieter and louder in the middle. It’s tough to say if that’s artistic expression or studio hi-jinks at work. Either way, I approve. Tunes this great must’ve soothed the savagest of shaven-head beasts, but I can understand why licensing hours would have led to violence in the streets. You just don’t want a song like this to end.
A bit late (1971) and more on the rocksteady side of the spectrum, Phyllis Dillon’s version of Marlena Shaw’s “Woman of the Ghetto” nevertheless is, as they say, a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. Any true Jack the Lad knows that this song narrates the daily life of his long-suffering mum. Rarely has the intersection of class consciousness and gender consciousness been expressed with such verve.
Laurel Aitken "Skinheads Are Wrecking the Town"
A recent discovery for me, thanks to skins with computers (waiting on their Giro, blogging down the job centre), is “Skinheads Are Wrecking the Town.” This primitive mash-up, avant la lettre, of Desmond Dekker’s classics “Licking Stick” and “Shanty Town” is actually by Laurel Aitken, even though the terrible-quality mp3 circulating online lists the auteur as unknown. It’s a novelty. And it doesn’t match either of its forebears, but it’s dumb and it’s about skinheads wrecking the town, so it rates as shit-fi skinhead reggae.
King Horror "Loch Ness Monster"
A sub-sub-sub-genre of skinhead reggae, at least judging by the available retrospective compilations, is zoologically themed joints. I’m not quite sure what, other than general fearsomeness, was behind these tunes, but “Zapatoo the Tiger” by Roland Alphonso, complete with growls, “Brixton Cat” by Rico & The Rudies, and “Loch Ness Monster” by King Horror are some examples. The latter is particularly silly, as it begins with a not-very-blood-curdling shriek, followed by King Horror warning about the dangers of said beast from the depths. I suspect the instrumentals for these tunes were written before the themes were, and they used the first idea that popped in their heads. One gets the feeling the tunes were not built to last—intended to be played in dancehalls for only a few weeks and then forgotten. That they live on is one of those quirks of subculture history. Still, the music in these tunes is not intrinsically shit-fi, it’s just that it’s accompanied by such odd toasting. Two other tunes that might fall into this category are “Funky Duck” and the James Brown–influenced “Funky Chicken,” meant to be accompanied by specific dances à la Macarena, Electric Slide, and Twist. Sadly for those with number-1 crops across the land, the reggae version of the Funky Chicken dance never seems to have quite taken off. I wonder why.
Sir Collins & the Black Diamonds "Black Panther"
In 1969, a song called “Black Panther” could not have just been a tune about a large feline. With its roars, similar to those of “Zapatoo the Tiger,” the black cat in question, who is also met with the refrain “Power” throughout the song, was clearly meant as an homage to the fierceness of the Black Panther Party. Beyond its notable, touchy, subject matter, which nevertheless receives the typical skinhead reggae treatment—it’s rendered silly and incoherent—this song’s fidelity stands out. It is likely an example of a riddim recorded in Jamaica and then overdubbed in London, and the musty sound evokes what we associate with Jamaican reggae of the moment. The track’s flipside, “I Want to Be Loved,” which sounds more like it was recorded in London, calls for worldwide unity between blacks in Jamaica, Africa, etc. Pretty powerful stuff beneath a veneer of jubilant party music.
“Skinhead braces and big boots is the talk of this town.” The paradox I loved about punks and skins hanging out on the street 25 years after the peak of skinhead reggae the was how our outlandish appearance was certain to attract the attention of norms, rival subcultures, and tourists yet nothing was more execrable to us than tourists taking our picture. But, percentage-wise, a tourist was far more likely to get chased down by a gang of bootboys and have his or her camera smashed (and if that was the extent of it, said tourist was lucky). The days of skinheads ruling the streets of the Lower East Side, as much as the “ruling” part was a fantasy in the heads of the skins and those—like me—who feared them, are incontrovertibly over. It’s been nearly 15 years since I’ve heard of a gang of skins forcing a punk rocker to pay a toll to pass their throng on the sidewalk—my 16-year-old buddy once convinced such a gang he was a veteran, what with his army surplus jacket and combat boots, which commanded such respect from the skins that he was allowed to pass for free. So, no, I do not lament the ebb of right-wing thugs who counted among their achievements having smashed up an anarchist bookstore, along with numerous gaybashing attacks, and other nefarious activities. But I must say that the changes in New York City I have witnessed in the days since my teenage years, of which the disappearance of the skins is a small but visceral microcosm, have profoundly shaped the way I think about the city. In the most basic way, it’s this change that animates everything I plan to do with the rest of my life: studying the shifts in the urban social landscape under neoliberalism. The Bowery becoming a safe playground for tourists, rather than the seamy boulevard upon which skins chased and beat them, was not a natural or inevitable process. What’s more, the failure of those booted-up 'n' suited-up kids with self-proclaimed “working-class pride” to mount anything like a coherent riposte to capitalists or cops was not wholly their fault, as much as it breaks my heart that the skins violently opposed anarchists and leftists, rather than finding common cause with them. Today, their mutual absence, the streets’ silence—where what’s missing is all their inchoate ideas spoken brashly—demonstrates how much they had in common, how interdependent they really were. (A shift onto the web is no substitute.) It sometimes seems the numbers of new high-rise condominiums are inversely proportional to the city's numbers of street-urchin subculture kids. Our own self-destructiveness—skins’ and punks’ alike—played a huge part in our collective disappearance from the public’s eye. But it merely abetted the destiny the city’s leaders already had in mind for us, and for so many other street kids.
Anyway, the orotund, baritone singing about newspaper headlines in which "skinheads are always at their very best” in “Reggae Fever” is of course ironic. Skins’ febrile best will always be the worst in the estimation of polite society, but, removed from the fear that used to characterize my youthful encounters with skinheads, it is—compared to the city’s welter of conspicuous wealth, the sheen on risk management and its exclusion and incarceration—as pretty a scene as I can envision.
Silver Stars "Last Call"
There are roughly two types of people in the world: those who hear the words “last call” shouted on a regular basis and those who don’t. Skinheads on the whole fall into the former category. The homosocial nature of skinhead gangs means that even if you lads don’t go home with the top bird, you’ll still have your male companions. And if one of your male companions wants to end the night with a Guinness-breath make-out session, well, the point of waiting until last call is that most potential witnesses have left by then anyway. I’ll end here. I hope, if you weren’t already familiar, I’ve opened your eyes to some of the dirty joys that lurk in the subterranean realms of “skinhead reggae.”
The slightly dulled edge endemic to much of the reggae recorded from 1968 to 1971 or so in Jamaica—resulting from in-the-red live recordings and poor-quality tapes and gear—making the sound more brittle and sinewy, sometimes void of a middle range, does not automatically qualify it for the attention of Shit-Fi, but it sure helps. Unfortunately, I must note that what much of the UK-recorded reggae of the moment lacks in lo-fi-delity, it makes up in celebratory idiocy; thus, the majority of the songs below originated in London.
Here's a primer on some of my favorite skinhead reggae tunes.
Desmond Riley "Skinhead A Message to You"Desmond Riley’s “Skinhead A Message to You” must have been a crowd pleaser in the dancehalls when it came out. (Recorded in London in 1969, it was one of the first songs to call on skinheads by name.) An infectious and dumb tagline “bop bop ba doo” gets stuck in your head, and maybe if Riley and the local constabulary had their druthers, so too did the message of wearing your boots with pride but not hurting nobody. The song seems to hope, and explicitly say, that this reggae music should’ve kept the kids dancing rather than fighting. Yet one can extrapolate that this tune was recorded far enough into the nascence of the skinhead subculture that the bootboys’ self-destructive menace was at the fore for all involved parties. Gotta make that cash, Riley must’ve thought, but I hope I don’t get my arse whooped when one of these dancehalls explodes into a bovver wonderland. One other thing: “Don’t call me skinhead, my name is John, John the Baptist”—not sure exactly what that’s about except that he’s maybe telling us that none of the original skinhead reggae artists was a skinhead.
Hot Rod All Stars "Skinhead Speaks His Mind"
Might as well cut to the chase here. “Skinhead Speaks His Mind” is to skinhead reggae as “Bummer Bitch” is to punk rock. (This gang also wrote “Skinheads Don’t Fear,” another classic.) Electric jug, James Brownisms, uber-simple and spare reggae guitar, and lyrics even a crop-top eighteen sheets to the wind could remember: “skinhead / skinhead / skinhead / skinhead / skinhead / skin / yow / sock it to me, skinhead,” etc. One almost has to wonder whether the Hot Rods were taking the piss, because surely the mind of a skin has room for other pertinent topics (the four Bs, perhaps? Birds, boots, bovver, booze…not necessarily in that order). Anyway, this one is killer. “Skinheads Don’t Fear” has a more stomp-on-the-downbeat reggae feel, no lyrics, and no electric jug. Leaving out that instrument circa 69 was probably to make sure no one would confuse skins with hair-farming middle-class peaceniks.
Tommy McCook and Stranger Cole "Last Flight to Reggae City"
Lest I give the false impression that all skinhead reggae sides had the word “skinhead” in their titles, let’s take a listen to Tommy McCook and Stranger Cole’s “Last Flight to Reggae City.” The flutes in this one call to mind a line from Ronald Reagan’s favorite poet, John Gillespie Magee, Jr.: “Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth.” I picture a bootboy magically flying on gossamer wings from the humdrum council flat toward a Caribbean idyll that would, of course, be known as “reggae city.” Gotta get on that last flight, #007. (Incidentally, several skinhead reggae tunes date themselves to a zeitgeist moment of James Bond worship by mentions of 007.) The idea of a “last flight” wasn’t as menacing in 1969 as it had become by 1975, after the fall of Saigon. Skinheads definitely imagined themselves putting their booted feet up and maxin-and-relaxin, not dangling from landing gear, on this flight. The MC reveals the one-off, live nature of these tunes when he says, “This is your captain, Captain Streggae from Reggae City.” I guess nothing rhymed with reggae that day. “Your estimated flight will be two minutes and forty-five seconds and you’ll be flying at forty-five RPM.” Bliss.
The Charmers "Skinhead Train"
Just beneath the aforementioned "Skinhead Moonstomp" in the list of brilliantly incompetent improvisational rhymes about skinheads sits yet another track about conveyances: "Skinhead Train." Maybe it was something about the transnational character of skinhead reggae that inspired songs like these. The insistent commands offered by the Charmers' MC, however, don't make the Skinhead Train sound as welcoming as the Last Flight to Reggae City. If we imagine the former as headed to Babylon and the latter to Zion, the difference in sentiment between the songs becomes scrutable. But skinheads really only ever wished to ride the train to the terraces—and perhaps Brighton on a bank holiday weekend. Zion wasn't so far away after all.
Joe the Boss "Skinhead Revolt"
“Skinhead Revolt” by Joe "the Boss" Mansano has a great trombone line as well as an exceedingly skank-friendly interplay between the guitar and organ. The only lyrics to this mostly instrumental side are the titular ones. Great concept, themselves stolen for the title of a compilation LP released by Earmark, which is essential for fans and abecedarians alike. I like how the organ solo gets louder and quieter and louder in the middle. It’s tough to say if that’s artistic expression or studio hi-jinks at work. Either way, I approve. Tunes this great must’ve soothed the savagest of shaven-head beasts, but I can understand why licensing hours would have led to violence in the streets. You just don’t want a song like this to end.
Claudette and the Corporation "Skinheads A Bash Them"
Though the subculture centered around a macho look, and its pulp literature, typified by Richard Allen’s books, was shockingly misogynistic, some of the finest reggae tunes were sung by women. I suppose it all makes sense psychoanalytically. “Skinheads A Bash Them” by Claudette and the Corporation is yet another ode to the finer points of skinhead life, built around a simple, upbeat reggae guitar line interspersed with saxophones. Claudette’s excellent singing brings this laconic tune up a flight or two from the basement of shit-fi exploito-skin-reggae, and this one seems to bridge two of the primary categories of early reggae, Hammond organ–led dance tunes and the “toasting” drunk/stoned style. (A third common style is soul/R‘n’B covers played reggae style.) One also appreciates the sentiment herein, as Claudette asks why the shaven-head cohort "a bash them,” with the “Paki-” implicit. Another of Claudette’s dance tunes is called “Queen of the World,” and it’s infectious.
Phyllis Dillon "Woman of the Ghetto"Though the subculture centered around a macho look, and its pulp literature, typified by Richard Allen’s books, was shockingly misogynistic, some of the finest reggae tunes were sung by women. I suppose it all makes sense psychoanalytically. “Skinheads A Bash Them” by Claudette and the Corporation is yet another ode to the finer points of skinhead life, built around a simple, upbeat reggae guitar line interspersed with saxophones. Claudette’s excellent singing brings this laconic tune up a flight or two from the basement of shit-fi exploito-skin-reggae, and this one seems to bridge two of the primary categories of early reggae, Hammond organ–led dance tunes and the “toasting” drunk/stoned style. (A third common style is soul/R‘n’B covers played reggae style.) One also appreciates the sentiment herein, as Claudette asks why the shaven-head cohort "a bash them,” with the “Paki-” implicit. Another of Claudette’s dance tunes is called “Queen of the World,” and it’s infectious.
A bit late (1971) and more on the rocksteady side of the spectrum, Phyllis Dillon’s version of Marlena Shaw’s “Woman of the Ghetto” nevertheless is, as they say, a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. Any true Jack the Lad knows that this song narrates the daily life of his long-suffering mum. Rarely has the intersection of class consciousness and gender consciousness been expressed with such verve.Laurel Aitken "Skinheads Are Wrecking the Town"
A recent discovery for me, thanks to skins with computers (waiting on their Giro, blogging down the job centre), is “Skinheads Are Wrecking the Town.” This primitive mash-up, avant la lettre, of Desmond Dekker’s classics “Licking Stick” and “Shanty Town” is actually by Laurel Aitken, even though the terrible-quality mp3 circulating online lists the auteur as unknown. It’s a novelty. And it doesn’t match either of its forebears, but it’s dumb and it’s about skinheads wrecking the town, so it rates as shit-fi skinhead reggae.
King Horror "Loch Ness Monster"
A sub-sub-sub-genre of skinhead reggae, at least judging by the available retrospective compilations, is zoologically themed joints. I’m not quite sure what, other than general fearsomeness, was behind these tunes, but “Zapatoo the Tiger” by Roland Alphonso, complete with growls, “Brixton Cat” by Rico & The Rudies, and “Loch Ness Monster” by King Horror are some examples. The latter is particularly silly, as it begins with a not-very-blood-curdling shriek, followed by King Horror warning about the dangers of said beast from the depths. I suspect the instrumentals for these tunes were written before the themes were, and they used the first idea that popped in their heads. One gets the feeling the tunes were not built to last—intended to be played in dancehalls for only a few weeks and then forgotten. That they live on is one of those quirks of subculture history. Still, the music in these tunes is not intrinsically shit-fi, it’s just that it’s accompanied by such odd toasting. Two other tunes that might fall into this category are “Funky Duck” and the James Brown–influenced “Funky Chicken,” meant to be accompanied by specific dances à la Macarena, Electric Slide, and Twist. Sadly for those with number-1 crops across the land, the reggae version of the Funky Chicken dance never seems to have quite taken off. I wonder why.
Sir Collins & the Black Diamonds "Black Panther"
In 1969, a song called “Black Panther” could not have just been a tune about a large feline. With its roars, similar to those of “Zapatoo the Tiger,” the black cat in question, who is also met with the refrain “Power” throughout the song, was clearly meant as an homage to the fierceness of the Black Panther Party. Beyond its notable, touchy, subject matter, which nevertheless receives the typical skinhead reggae treatment—it’s rendered silly and incoherent—this song’s fidelity stands out. It is likely an example of a riddim recorded in Jamaica and then overdubbed in London, and the musty sound evokes what we associate with Jamaican reggae of the moment. The track’s flipside, “I Want to Be Loved,” which sounds more like it was recorded in London, calls for worldwide unity between blacks in Jamaica, Africa, etc. Pretty powerful stuff beneath a veneer of jubilant party music.GG All Stars "2,000 Tons of TNT"
If you and your firm were going to blow up the nearest cop shop, you might need a couple pounds of TNT. If you were going to blow up every bleedin’ Bobby from Brixton to Bournemouth, Edinburgh to Cardiff, 2,000 tons of TNT might cut it. “The boss of every explosive.” (As a result of this song, TNT should have a place on the Periodic Table of 69 Antisocial Elements.) "2,000 Tons of TNT" could be the quintessence of baldheaded reggae, with tentative flute playing; bog-standard, out-of-tune guitar work; and seemingly improvised lyrics. Boss, indeed. I like how the song is a bit too long, too.
If you and your firm were going to blow up the nearest cop shop, you might need a couple pounds of TNT. If you were going to blow up every bleedin’ Bobby from Brixton to Bournemouth, Edinburgh to Cardiff, 2,000 tons of TNT might cut it. “The boss of every explosive.” (As a result of this song, TNT should have a place on the Periodic Table of 69 Antisocial Elements.) "2,000 Tons of TNT" could be the quintessence of baldheaded reggae, with tentative flute playing; bog-standard, out-of-tune guitar work; and seemingly improvised lyrics. Boss, indeed. I like how the song is a bit too long, too.
GG All Stars "Barbarus"
So: “Barabus” (Barabbas?) might be the best skinhead dancehall tune of all, from any standpoint. I defy you smartly dressed boys and birds not to stomp your boots as this one, also courtesy of GG All Stars, plays. Pardon me while I go off, play a round of darts, shave my head, and then cry into my pint glass at the sheer perfection of this song. Turn it up!
The Pioneers "Reggae Fever"So: “Barabus” (Barabbas?) might be the best skinhead dancehall tune of all, from any standpoint. I defy you smartly dressed boys and birds not to stomp your boots as this one, also courtesy of GG All Stars, plays. Pardon me while I go off, play a round of darts, shave my head, and then cry into my pint glass at the sheer perfection of this song. Turn it up!
“Skinhead braces and big boots is the talk of this town.” The paradox I loved about punks and skins hanging out on the street 25 years after the peak of skinhead reggae the was how our outlandish appearance was certain to attract the attention of norms, rival subcultures, and tourists yet nothing was more execrable to us than tourists taking our picture. But, percentage-wise, a tourist was far more likely to get chased down by a gang of bootboys and have his or her camera smashed (and if that was the extent of it, said tourist was lucky). The days of skinheads ruling the streets of the Lower East Side, as much as the “ruling” part was a fantasy in the heads of the skins and those—like me—who feared them, are incontrovertibly over. It’s been nearly 15 years since I’ve heard of a gang of skins forcing a punk rocker to pay a toll to pass their throng on the sidewalk—my 16-year-old buddy once convinced such a gang he was a veteran, what with his army surplus jacket and combat boots, which commanded such respect from the skins that he was allowed to pass for free. So, no, I do not lament the ebb of right-wing thugs who counted among their achievements having smashed up an anarchist bookstore, along with numerous gaybashing attacks, and other nefarious activities. But I must say that the changes in New York City I have witnessed in the days since my teenage years, of which the disappearance of the skins is a small but visceral microcosm, have profoundly shaped the way I think about the city. In the most basic way, it’s this change that animates everything I plan to do with the rest of my life: studying the shifts in the urban social landscape under neoliberalism. The Bowery becoming a safe playground for tourists, rather than the seamy boulevard upon which skins chased and beat them, was not a natural or inevitable process. What’s more, the failure of those booted-up 'n' suited-up kids with self-proclaimed “working-class pride” to mount anything like a coherent riposte to capitalists or cops was not wholly their fault, as much as it breaks my heart that the skins violently opposed anarchists and leftists, rather than finding common cause with them. Today, their mutual absence, the streets’ silence—where what’s missing is all their inchoate ideas spoken brashly—demonstrates how much they had in common, how interdependent they really were. (A shift onto the web is no substitute.) It sometimes seems the numbers of new high-rise condominiums are inversely proportional to the city's numbers of street-urchin subculture kids. Our own self-destructiveness—skins’ and punks’ alike—played a huge part in our collective disappearance from the public’s eye. But it merely abetted the destiny the city’s leaders already had in mind for us, and for so many other street kids.
Anyway, the orotund, baritone singing about newspaper headlines in which "skinheads are always at their very best” in “Reggae Fever” is of course ironic. Skins’ febrile best will always be the worst in the estimation of polite society, but, removed from the fear that used to characterize my youthful encounters with skinheads, it is—compared to the city’s welter of conspicuous wealth, the sheen on risk management and its exclusion and incarceration—as pretty a scene as I can envision.
Silver Stars "Last Call"
There are roughly two types of people in the world: those who hear the words “last call” shouted on a regular basis and those who don’t. Skinheads on the whole fall into the former category. The homosocial nature of skinhead gangs means that even if you lads don’t go home with the top bird, you’ll still have your male companions. And if one of your male companions wants to end the night with a Guinness-breath make-out session, well, the point of waiting until last call is that most potential witnesses have left by then anyway. I’ll end here. I hope, if you weren’t already familiar, I’ve opened your eyes to some of the dirty joys that lurk in the subterranean realms of “skinhead reggae.”
'Artickel' No Whites; No Rudies; No Blacks; No Skins.
The contradictory nature of the history of the skinhead culture - its black roots and its synonymous link with racism, both from the very early days to the present, is a matter of much debate and confusion. Just what was the nature of these conflicting ideals. Much has been made of them by sociologists and the truth seems to be tainted by the politics and vested interests of those involved in writing about it. This is my own personal view of events based upon what I have read and heard about.
Right: Dobby Dobson with skinheads and rude boys/girls This Is Reggae PSP1003In the early to mid sixties, the mods had begun to appreciate soul music that was coming out of the Tamla Motown stable, as well as jazz, r'n'b and ska which was becoming more readily available by 1962 through the Island label and the Blue Beat label. Clubs such as The Ram Jam played soul and ska but there were few clubs frequented by mods that were specifically ska or sound system based. 1967 saw the arrival of the rock steady and the popularity of the rude boys. The mods that mingled with the black rude boys in the dance halls to listen to the soul music also had a taste for the ska and rock steady. They weren't fully aware of the growth of the sound systems which were mainly confined to the black areas.
'By the latter half of 1968 when 'Neville the Musical Enchanter' could claim to be the boss (Top) system, he was playing almost anywhere around London regardless of travelling distance. and his supporters grew in numbers and were most keen and awesome. Most areas he played were predominantly white and not surprisingly many whites came along to hear the sounds. The Ska Bar was a very dimly-lit stone-walled basement bar without much ventilation. or much space for the keen fans it attracted. When it opened in the beginning of 1968 It seemed that Neville's most ardent supporters numbered not more than 20, but as his popularity grew so quickly more and more blacks were attracted to the Ska Bar. Neville's followers soon grew in confidence even on this foreign 'white soil'. The black lifestyle soon became apparent. It Included smoking spliff or weed, drinking barley wine, dancing In a totally ethnic manner- a sensuous sexual movement which became more obvious when dancing with a chick. It included wearing trousers too short, sometimes with boots- either for fighting or for making the effect of boots against trousers which was more striking and it Included hair cut very short, so short that the skull was evident and a comb was not needed. This haircut was known as a 'skiffle'.This style that emerged was what the 'Hard mods' began to copy. The style became known by many names so for the sake of clarity they shall be referred to as 'Peanuts'. The peanuts were the predecessors of the skinheads. As the mod scene began to fragment the 'Hard mods' as they are often called, standardised their image and began to copy many elements of the style of the blacks. The style that evolved was often termed 'The peanut' because of the sound of their motor scooters which was like 'Peanuts rattling in a tin'. Other names were coined such as The Spy Kids, The Lemons, The No-heads, Spikeys and Brushcuts. This is one peanut's side of the story:
Reggae Soul of Jamaica, Carl Gayle, Story of Pop,1973)
'We'd just been through the mod era, which we'd all appreciated. I mean we sat around with our scooters In the early days. We an went down to Brighton and Southend, Bank Holiday and we all had a fight with the greasers like the mods did. But then we went to the extreme, I mean we took our hair right down to the limit, you know half-inch or whatever. I had it done at a barbers called Grey's down the East India Dock Road. It wasn't much of an haircut, he just gets those old trimmers out and goes zing, zing, zing and that's it your hair's gone'The style began to diversify and move out of the dance hall and on to the streets. It soon become a trademark of the terraces as football hooliganism became a widespread problem. Arsenal's 'North Bank' was one of the first mobs to become overtly skinhead/peanut but it wasn't long before it was the norm at nearly every London ground. In 1968 the peanuts gate crashed a hippy gathering in Grosvenor square. The hippies were chanting 'Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh' and the peanuts were shouting 'Students, Students, ha ha ha'. Nobody knew them as skinheads but they hadn't gone unnoticed. The month before they had invaded Margate for a weekend of mayhem. Originally, the peanuts didn't seem to be for anything but they were very clear what they were against- 'Long hair, pop, hippy sit-ins, live-ins and the long haired cult of non-violence' was how one sixteen year old peanut put it to the Daily Mail. The skinheads despised the hippies as they were seen to be drop-outs while the skinheads were very much working class and could not afford the privilege of 'taking time out'. They'd gone straight from school to work and this seemed to be a big sticking point. The rude boys not averse to a spot of 'bovver' and they too were opposed to a lot of the hippy ideals.
(You'll Never Be 16 Again, BBC books)
In late 1968 the term skinhead was becoming used more often to describe what was previously the peanut. The style was basically the same but was becoming more elaborate. The music was becoming a more prominent feature, reggae was the order of the day. Access to the music was a lot easier than it had been five years before. In 1963 there were only three sound systems working the London area but by 1967 there were at least three reputable sound systems in every area where blacks resided. The following passage tells of the early days of the skinheads.
'White kids had been associating with blacks in clubs like the Ram Jam since black music first became popular In England, but It wasn't until 1967 that the whites had begun to appreciate the reggae music and to mimic the black lifestyle. They fell in love with the first wave of of reggae music that Pama records issued like the instrumentals - 'Spoogy', 'Reggae on Broadway' and '1000 tons of Megaton' by Lester Sterling. They stomped to the frantic dance records like 'Work it' by the Viceroys and 'Children Get Ready' by the Versatiles. They sang along to Pat Kelly's 'How Long will it Take' and Slim Smith's 'Everybody Needs Loves' and laughed at rude items like Max Romeo's 'Wet Dream' or Lloyd Tyrell's 'Bang Bang Lulu'.The early skinheads prided themselves on their knowledge of the latest sounds that were being released. A skinhead who had the white label pre-release records was the skinhead that knew his music. The slang used in the songs also appealed to the skins. By using Jamaican slang words a mod peanut or skinhead could exclude any outsider from their conversation. According to Dick Hebdige the phrase 'Ya Raas' was picked up by every self-respecting skinhead. The skinheads dress manner became more meticulous by the minute. During the day they might be seen in boots and jeans but by night they wore suits to the dance halls. Places such as the Top Rank network played regular reggae and soul nights and the dress restrictions meant that you either had to look smart or miss out. The early skinhead was much more boots and braces orientated, the shoes and trousers look superseded this with the need to look smarter.
Pretty soon you couldn't go to a black house party without finding a gang of skinheads but amazingly there was very little black/white violence and hardly any resentment. Black and white youth have never been as close as they were in the skinhead era despite the 'mixing' in the trendier soul scenes nowadays The skinheads copied the way we dressed, spoke, walked, the way we danced. They danced with our chicks, smoked our spliff and ate our food and bought our records '
Reggae Underground, Carl Gayle, Black Music magazine 1974)
The emergence of the skinhead phenomena did not have a great effect on the evolution of the Rude Boy and not to the extent of losing their identity amongst the skinhead culture. It was a good time for reggae music because the skinhead purchasing power at its peak increased sales of reggae enough to get it into the charts and the music became much more widely available. The Rude Boy culture greeted the skinhead culture with more friendliness than would be granted had the roles had been reversed. The last main migration from Jamaica to Britain was in 1962 and many resident Jamaicans brought their wives and children here during that period. This would probably have made the kids of '67 the first large group of West Indian youths in British cities - large enough to make an impression on youth culture. As a relatively new group they still had to fit in somehow and the skinhead culture gave them every opportunity to spread their wings across the city. They were present in numbers in skinhead gangs but wether they were necessarily skinhead, rude boys or afro boys is difficult to say but given the nature of youth culture then - even people who considered themselves skinheads used the term very loosely. It was not down to the crop but was used as a catch-all term for anyone who associated themselves with the skinheads.
The skinheads were very territorial and the existence of blacks in skinhead gangs would have varied from area to area. The total percentage of Afro-Caribbeans in the UK is around the 10% mark so the numbers could on average have been 1 in 10 but the geography of the working class areas would have meant some areas with a very high percentage of West Indians and there were some totally black skinhead gangs in London. The country as a whole however, with its uneven distribution of immigrants was not as familiar with this phenomena as London.
Different groups with different grievances led to the press sensationalising reports of grease-bashing, squaddie-bashing, queer-bashing, hippy-bashing and student bashing. Paki-bashing was also a very common pastime. The main influx of Asian immigrants came to Britain around the late 60s and some areas felt particularly threatened by their new neighbours. The blacks and whites in the skinhead gangs pointed their sights at this new type of immigrant. This victimisation coincided with the Enoch Powell's 'Rivers of blood' speech and the white hysteria he stirred up. Powell was against the mass influx of Asians to Britain and called for repatriation of all immigrants. By sympathising with him the skinheads were alienating themselves from their West Indian brothers. It was only a matter of time before the time bomb exploded.
The phenomena of paki-bashing by both white skinheads and blacks alike is explained as 'A displacement manoeuvre whereby the fear and anxiety produced by limited identification with one black group is transformed into aggression against another'There seems to be a more simple reasoning for these actions. I would say that racial victimisation by a group is inexcusable whether they are black or white but those involved have to live with that. Like the monologue in the last scene of Trainspotting when he says that he could make excuses but the real reason was that he was a bad person.
( P 58. Subculture-The Meaning of Style, Dick Hebdige. Methuen 1979)
On racism towards Asians in the Joe Hawkins books and on the streets of London when he was a boy Dotun Adebayo has the following to say:
"I hate to say this today but I think, in fact, because a lot of racismwas focussed on people of Asian origin, as a twelve year old Afro-Caribbean in London, I didn't feel as uncomfortable with it - as unpolitically correct as that sounds today - as if it was perhaps an NF book and straight out against blacks from Africa & Caribbean. I don't think all skinheads were like Joe Hawkins in the book".The Jamaican music scene was becoming more involved with the Rastafarian beliefs. The few records that mentioned skinheads were by the more traditional musicians who were more sympathetic to the dance element than to the rootsy rasta element. Derrick Morgan and Laurel Aitken were reactionaries to the new rasta ethos and they latched onto the theme of the skinheads, releasing such skinhead classics as 'Skinhead Train', 'Return of Jack Slade' and 'Night at the Hop'. The younger artists like Bob Marley and Peter Tosh were devoting themselves to creating a music that was more African and in keeping with their rasta ideology. Many artists flirted with the rasta themes but were not devout rastas. Desmond Dekker's 'Israelites' reached number one spot in the charts in 1969. The 'Israelites' has a strong Rastafarian theme yet he rarely followed up this theme in later records. The rasta themes were an emphasis of their African identity but there were many records that merely raised black consciousness such as 'Young, Gifted and Black' by Bob and Marcia. These songs became more and more popular from 1970 onwards and the rude boy trend became more of a rasta trend or natty dread. 'Young, Gifted and Black' signified a rise in black consciousness but the whites didn't like this as it excluded them from what until then had been one great long party. Skinheads began pulling the wires from amps during the track and sang "Young, Gifted and White'. It wasn't long before the skinheads stopped attending the dances, thus ending the link that was beginning to form between black and white youth cultures.
Dotun Adebayo - Publisher X-Press Books on the Joe Hawkins books
The relationship between blacks and whites was never clear cut. As one skinhead remembers:
"Yes, we did have trouble with the blacks. I mean, there was a club that started up at Mile End that was called 'The A-Train' and yeah, sure, every Friday night, every Saturday night, whenever we chose to go up there, we'd have a battle with the blacks. But we had black guys on our side as well, a few coloured guys who'd stand behind you and fight for you as a brother, no problem".As the seventies wore on, the skinheads were beginning to find themselves more and more in opposition to the blacks and judging by the following account from a black Liverpudlian, it was more due to the skinheads' change in attitudes and to territory rather than racial hatred.
(anonymous quote - You'll Never Be 16 Again - BBC books)
"Oh yeah, we used to fight against the skinheads, and it'd be like territorial. you'd have to stay within your territory. like you wouldn't get one man coming out of his territory, going into say Lodge Lane, because you'd just get attacked. So we used to meet them at certain times, and we'd throw bricks and people would have catapults y'know? And of a Saturday, people would go into town, the city centre, and they'd go in the precinct there, in a café called the Brass Rail. The black guys would meet in there and the skinheads would come in shouting all kinds of things, 'Niggers' and 'Wogs', and then you'd get the kind of situation where you'd have ten black guys and say fifty skinheads, and if the ten black guys made a dash for the skinheads, the fifty of them would run, you know, because they'd see plenty of black faces and they'd see ten as like fifty of them.As Dotun Adebayo - Publisher X-Press Books - remarked in the Joe Hawkins bookmark program, Richard Allen (Jim Moffat) would not have got away with some of the language used in the Joe Hawkins book but it was the backdrop of its day. People were much more uninhibited about using terms such as 'nigger' and 'wog' and tended to use them in everyday speech whereas there was a time between then and now when the use of these terms became unacceptable and that time would have been the mid Seventies when the previous account was set.
And then people started getting into karate and ju-jitsu. There were the Bruce Lee films and they appealed to the black guys and they started learning kung fu. Then after a while, the Bruce Lee thing died out and people started to leave it, and there wasn't the need to fight the skinheads. As people grew up and got more mature and got more sense, and that type of thing stopped".
The skinheads identified with the themes of the reggae music as the themes of another working class culture. Dick Hebdige agrees with Phil Cohen that the skinhead was a meta statement about the whole process of social mobility. This social mobility aspect is probably the reason for the paki-bashing. The blacks were downwardly mobile as were the skinheads but the Asians were more upwardly mobile. The Asian emphasis on education and profit-making abilities were opposed to the nonchalant attitudes of the skinheads and rude boys. The co-existence of hippy-bashing and student-bashing with the Paki-bashing signifies the fact that the gang violence was of a class nature: a protest against the changes that were occurring in the lower classes. The West Indians were more in line with the downwardly mobile outlook of the skinheads and weren't going to rock the boat too much. The Asians were seen as different, obviously due to their entirely different culture. They were seen as a threat to the fabric of the old vanishing communities by more reactionary skinheads. Change on such a large scale was unacceptable in their eyes.
The seventies saw the skinheads on the wane and there was a time preceding punk when long hair was so much the norm that skinheads would be unheard of. Early footage of the National Front shows that they basically consisted of long haired seventies football thugs and not the skinhead contingent that would later be the case.
I believe that it wasn't just the material style that was borrowed from the rude boys but some of the rude boy ethic. The three main factors I mean are:
1) Social mobilityIn white skins black masks, Hebdige tells us that the skinheads were trying to revive the fading working class chauvinisms and that the resurrection occurred not in the dance halls with the rude boys but on the all white football terraces.
2) Territoriality
3) Aggressiveness
"Aggressively proletarian, puritanical and chauvinist. the skinheads dressed down in sharp contrast to their mod antecedents in a uniform which Phil Cohen describes as a kind of caricature of the model worker"
(P. 55 Subculture-The meaning of style, Dick Hebdige, Methuen 1979)
This is true. The skinheads lived on through the terraces long after their split with the Rude Boys, emphasising another aspect of their style. The style by this time however had changed and what Hebdige refers to as skinhead consists of the groups that followed the skinheads - the suedeheads and boot boys. Football hooliganism was still prevalent well after the skinhead phase and the offical uniform was still the boots and jeans. Some blacks were, and still are, big players in the hooligan league. In the book 'Guvnors' by Mickey Francis which is the biography of a Manchester City hooligan of mixed parentage, the author recalls his first outing at Leeds. Dressed in skinners, Man City scarf and DMs he was told by an older lad that he'd get his arse kicked and his naive youthful outlook dismissed this idea. On the train home, a bust nose and a booting later, he bumped into the same lad that had given him the advice who gave him a knowing smile. He'd learnt a valuable lesson about the way of things and spent his later years with a little more respect and a little more hatred than he had before. He describes in the book the mid-70s and the style of the football hooligan - crombies or doctor's coats, cropped hair and DMs.
When the skinhead revival of 78 occurred, the punks' fetish for fascist imagery and the NF's recruitment of young whites led to the skinheads becoming seen as a neo-nazi group. Only the following Two Tone movement adopted the original style of the early skinheads but this was modified with a totally anti-racist nature that was different to the early skinheads who had been known for victimisation of Asians. The Asians now had a sizeable youth population that was at a similar stage of the West Indians in 1967 and assimilation of Asians into the Two Tone culture was common as was their assimilation into punk culture. Although the Two Tone bands had no Asian contingent UB40 had a cross section of Birmingham society with members of the white, West Indian and Asian communities in their ranks. The Two Tone flagship actively opposed the NF and gave young British youth another option. You couldn't be interested in Two Tone music and not be affected by the message they were giving out. They associated themselves with as many anti-racist events and groups as they could playing large outdoor free concerts in direct opposition to what the National Front were trying to do.
The Asian contribution to the second wave of skinhead was possibly more significant than the black contribution and certainly a new phenomena in skinhead terms. Riki Hussein has described himself as a mod, a skinhead and a Glasgow Spy Kid. One thing is certain, he is definitely a scooterist and owns/owned Glasgow's only scooter shop.
"An evening's worth of restraint is given vent as a transit van of skinhead vengeance speeds through Edinburgh looking for anybody with a bald head, boots and an Harrington jacket that doesn't belong to them. Stopping at a set of traffic lights, someone spots them over the road and Riki jumps out with a wooden baton followed by the rest of the van. A car load of casuals in the next lane panic and reverses at high speed, an instinctive manouevre when confronted by a pack of baton-wielding skinheads, and the Edinburgh boneheads freeze. "We bought it from a bloke at the gig" they claim, keeping half an eye on an approaching police car and trying to work out whether it's a baseball bat or a cosh that is being thrust in their faces. In the end, they surrender the jacket and no blows are exchanged. "We're not into mindless violence," grins Riki later, "and the place was crawling with coppers anyway".
Before the Oi movement were Sham and Skrewdriver. Both bands had very vocal followings of neo-nazis but dealt with it in different ways. Jimmy Pursey was far too left-wing to bless the association and tried in vain to stop the violence and extremism at Sham gigs. In the end he decided it would be better to wind up the Sham rather than continue. Skrewdriver started life as just another punk/new wave band, heavily influenced by heavier 60s bands such as The Who and The Stones. The NF/BM had stirred up so much of a following but had neglected the most important point - they had no bands as Two Tone had. The right wing craze carried on regardless and there were some very odd mixes of political statements - white NF rude boys, BM Two Tone skinheads and such like. Skrewdriver were eventually to go underground and become the voice of British Nationalism.
After the death of SHAM 69, disillusioned punks/skins were conscious that the rest of the scene was becoming commercialised at a rate of knots and were drawn to the new Oi movement. This consisted of streetpunk bands (very few to begin with) championed by Sounds columnist Gary Bushell. While not necessarily racist, the followers of the Oi bands were more likely to be NF/BM as Skrewdriver weren't as big as they were to become at this stage. Completely innocent bands were labelled with the tag of fascists because of their following. Oi had many bands that were actively anti-fascist and others that were non-political. When the Southall riot occurred, the whole Oi movement was blamed and it would be foolish to say that it was totally innocent. Staging a major gig in the middle of an Asian community was either totally naive or was intended as a red rag to a bull.
It was at this moment in time (early eighties) when the style began to be exported overseas through the punk element. Laz gives a rundown on the black and latino role in the US skinhead movement.
"In the USA, the the punk movement was getting old - it was becoming too mainstream. Britain was pushing the yank punk scene off the market - then came Hardcore - the US speeded up and more aggro version of punk. It was street music - what the British called Oi. As "Strength Thru Oi" was released "Let them Eat Jelly Beans" came storming in and out sold it. It also introduced Skinheads to the US in a wider market. It brought Blacks and Latinos back into the underground rock scene, again (The Bad Brains, DK's, Black Flag). This was actually helped by the New York Funk scene but in this case the Blacks started to play in HC bands and reintroduce Reggae (Bad Brains). This time the music wasn't coming from NYC. The Westcoast takes over with this new music (HC). The battle began between the US and the UK scene. The UK scene started going NF and new wave - all that eyeliner rock stuff. The US punk bands and HC bands find the UK bands rude and disappointing. The US can't get into the neo-nazi stuff either. The scene was escaping from all the suburban trappings and, like what happened to the Oi scene, jocks (yobs) started getting the wrong idea and started getting off on the aggro only. The bands disband rather than encourage this behavior. Enter the Aryan Resistance to collect the trash.Today, the scene has spread across the entire globe and as well as the spread of the extreme right-wing element, there are also skins of every colour and creed imaginable. Skinhead isn't specifically about white boys and it never was - it's more than that and anyone who thinks this isn't the case doesn't know enough about the history and the soul of skinhead. As one West Indian told me -
Speedcore, Thrash, Speedmetal then Thrashmetal came out and ripped the scene to shreds - faster, louder, harder. Maximum Rock 'n' Roll, Flipside, Hard as Nails still hold up the Skinhead culture as not part of mainstream politics but as a youth movement fuelled by music. The DK's manage to put out Nazi punks Fuck Off" before disbanding."
The skins when we were at school (late 70s/early eighties) weren't just white kids, there were black skins as well but it wasn't about race - they kicked anybody who wasn't a skinhead
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
