Monthly Archives: May 2017

Table Anarchists

A rant about trendy politicos from Wake Up, number 6, 1985.
The Saboteur was a Ranting poet from Taunton in Somerset.

Table Anarchists

Sit around and get pissed
That’s your table anarchist
He’s the middle class fighting the system
Christ I must’ve blinked and missed ‘im
Larry the Lamb and his flock of sheep
So bloody boring they send me to sleep
The health food shop is the place to be
‘Cos it’s easier to buy herbal tea
A handful of nuts, a handful of rice
Devise a plan and think about it twice
He’ll tell you he’s a vegan, swear it’s true
Then he’ll try to force his ideas on you
His ideals and lifestyle just don’t match
And he can’t grow fuck all on his vegetable patch
It’s about as much as he is able
Anarchy on the kitchen table


Sarah Fletcher with Wake Up, number 6.


A great ska compilation reviewed in the NME, 25 August, 1979. 2 Tone was the beat of the street and kids were looking back to see where the music came from. ‘Cause fashion is my only culture…

What’s A Review Worth?

One of the entertaining things about trawling through old music newspapers is clocking the reviews and seeing how off they so often are. Yep, that’s what reviews are worth – nothing. All too often the record they’ve sneered at goes on to become a classic of the time. These reviews from the NME, 11 March, 1978 include Werewolves Of London, Piss Factory and GLC getting snarked, each of ’em now much loved and thought of as amongst the best records of the time.
The reviewer is Monty Smith.

Patti Smith
Hey Joe (Version) (Sire)

Warpo Patti’s ‘version’ of “Hey Joe” seems to be about Patty Hearst spreading for a well-hung black revolutionary. Not too many laughs here, despite Tom Verlaine being on lead guitar. Seventy-three minutes of “Piss Factory” on the flip which we all love, or not. A grand, sweeping social commentary in the finest Zola tradition, in which all the characters wind up pregnant and get run over by a bus in the end.

Warren Zevon
Werewolves Of London Asylum (Asylum)

A jolly nonsense piece which appears to concern Chinese takeaways and those mutilation murders so popular amongst young californians. Nicely played, of course, but the sum total adds up to sweet FA. Nick Kent reckons the flip (“Tenderness On The Block”) but it all sounds the same to me – dead naff.

Johnny Paycheck
Take This Job And Shove It (Epic)

Hard ass country, well produced by Billy Sherrill, and a great shame that it doesn’t quite live up to that great title.

G.L.C. (Small Wonder)

“You hate it and the kids in the shop love it,” says Pete in his scribbled note from Small Wonder. I don’t hate it, I just think it’s funny: good ol’ headbanging-on-low-ceilings punk, the chorus (“GLC, GLC, GLC – you’re full of shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit” delivered so fast that the object of their ire comes across as Chelsea. Wotch it dahn the Shed, lads. If they’re serious, then this is a joke – but if it’s a parody, it’s brilliant, down to the rhyming of magistrate with masturbate and the ‘Fuk Orf The World’ etched next to the matrix number. Now look, let’s not get high-handed about this but so long as the Labour Party are in power then I don’t worry overmuch about petty bureaucrats in regional government. And if, as seems likely the Blue Rinsed Iron Maiden does emerge as a serious contender for Downing St, then I’ll leave it to the deeply felt chauvinism and influence of the working/unemployed man (remember the three day week?) to sort things out. Are we not men?

Hard Left’s Tim and Donna back from a trip to Small Wonder.


From Norwich poetry ‘zine Speak Easy, number 2, May, 1982.


When he worked in the factory he was never slack
Now he lies in his bed while his toast turns black
And his wife yells up from the kitchen, ‘Fred!’
‘Are you going to spend the rest of your life in bed?’

So he gets up, dresses, washes then he lights a fag
And he creaks downstairs but the day just drags
While he slumps in his armchair and listens to the trains
Feels flys crawling through the compartments of his brain

Conversation aggrovation degradation bore
Brickworking men with their backs against the wall
He boards the wrong bus by mistake – who cares? They’re all the same
Outside, the street is laughing while the clouds cry rain

At three o’clock he’s silent, watching T.V. with the wife
The newspaper he thumbed through
Now as crumpled as his life

Simon Pitt