From the magnificent Buster comic, 1992.
Victorian poet Matthew Arnold (1822-1888) was a friend of Wordsworth and decidedly cultured, there was plenty of social criticism in his work.
‘Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead
Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,
And the pale weaver, through his windows seen
In Spitalfields, look’d thrice dispirited.
I met a preacher there I knew, and said:
“Ill and o’erwork’d, how fare you in this scene?”–
“Bravely!” said he; “for I of late have been
Much cheer’d with thoughts of Christ, the living bread.”
O human soul! as long as thou canst so
Set up a mark of everlasting light,
Above the howling senses’ ebb and flow,
To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam–
Not with lost toil thou labourest through the night!
Thou mak’st the heaven thou hop’st indeed thy home.
Crouch’d on the pavement, close by Belgrave Square,
A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied.
A babe was in her arms, and at her side
A girl; their clothes were rags, their feet were bare.
Some labouring men, whose work lay somewhere there,
Pass’d opposite; she touch’d her girl, who hied
Across, and begg’d, and came back satisfied.
The rich she had let pass with frozen stare.
Thought I: “Above her state this spirit towers;
She will not ask of aliens, but of friends,
Of sharers in a common human fate.
“She turns from that cold succour, which attends
The unknown little from the unknowing great,
And points us to a better time than ours.”
In Book 6, letter 15 Pliny the Younger (61-113AD) writes to Voconius Romanus about a heckle at a poetry reading.
You have missed an extraordinary scene, and so did I, but the story reached me just after it had happened. Passienus Paulus, a Roman knight, of good family, and a man of peculiar learning and culture besides, composes elegies, a talent which runs in the family, for Propertius is reckoned by him amongst his ancestors, as well as being his countryman. He was lately reciting a poem which began thus:
“You bid me, Priscus – ” whereupon Javolenus Priscus, who happened to be present as a particular friend of the poet’s, cried out, “But he is mistaken, I did not command him.” Think what laughter and merriment this occasioned. It is true that Priscus is somewhat eccentric, though he takes a share in public business, is summoned to consultations, and even publicly acts as a lawyer, so that this behaviour of his was the more remarkable and absurd. Meanwhile Paulus someone else’s folly to blame for his chilly reception. You see how necessary it is for those who are anxious to recite their works in public to beware of eccentricity either in himself or in the audience he invites. Farewell.
A poem by Hull Ranter Gav T’Lad from New Youth, number 4, 1984
Young At Heart
65 with an adolescent mind,
Clutching onto childhood
That you’ll never leave behind.
Ironing out the wrinkles,
But your efforts are in vain,
Your face is bound to change
But your mind can stay the same.
When your body started growing old
You often wondered why
But your circumstances never met
Your given alibi.
You dream of being young
Because Youth is in your blood
You get the urge to hide and seek
And dress like Robin Hood.
You can’t help the frustration
At the thought of getting on
And knowing not too far ahead
That childhood will be gone.
You’re getting old and slowing down
But still you’re young at heart
You can’t control your giggle
When you hear a noisy fart.
When your book of life’s complete,
Written on the final page
Is the answer to your missing link
YOUTH IS AN ATTITUDE NOT AN AGE.
The news about Michael Smith’s killing breaks in the NME, 27 August, 1983. There’s a report about his funeral here.
Two of the better bands from the tail end of Oi get a live review in Sounds, 26 January, 1985.
Accident/Last Rough Cause
Recent months have seen Last Rough Cause develop into one of the hottest street level acts in the North East. Now reduced to a three piece, they’ve tightened up and show a marked improvement in the delivery of their rough ‘n’ very ready melodic punk anthems.
‘The Grand Old Duke Of York’ opened up their set on this cold night in a flurry of beefy bravado before they plunged into well keyed up originals like ‘Violent Few’, ‘Let Them Know’ and ‘Get Them Back’.
The Cause had certainly set the night off in the right way, and Accident were left to finish it quite superbly, with a string of wickedly stlish pneumatic pop numbers that reeked of authority and excellence.
Frontman Paul displayed a great deal of confidence throughout the demonic performance, showing he’s now developed into a charismatic and quite capable vocalist, being aided commendably by the slick and tight musicianship.
On the whole this was simply another occassion where Accident proved just how much of a worthwhile outfit they are.
They deserve to rise above their current cult status. Pure class.
From the NME, 17 December, 1983
Bradford 1 In 12 Club
Sweat gleaming on his naked skull, the salivating Surfin’ Dave prods back his massive spectacles with a single thin finger as they once again start their slow slide down his slick and shiny proboscis. He struts, sneers and sings:
“There are grey skies above/The house my Baby lives in/And if that’s not enough/She’s taken to her bed with the ‘flu”.
Artists! Armed with one guitar, two ideas and three chords he sports a shirt of the sort which hasn’t been seen since Jack Lord assumed the full artistic control Hawaii Five-O. Surfin’ Dave has his audience’s undivided hostility with his torrid tales of insubstantial physique and romantic disaster.
A genius? A plagiarist? Is he just taking the piss? One thing is for certain – if Buddy Holly had been born a Yorkshireman he would have sounded nothing like Surfin’ Dave, Neato!
Surfin’ Dave at a Stand Up and Spit gig 2015.