The Redskins Split

from Socialist Worker 10th Jan, 1987

Miners Gigs

Some good folk supporting the miners during the strike in 1984.

Razors In The Night

The Redskins’ Chris Moore reviews Blitz, NME, 6 March, 1982.
Blitz weren’t from Manchester, Islington’s not East End, but Skunx was a toilet.

Blitz
Skunx
A night to stare at the band onstage and get stared at in the bar. A night of cramped floorspace/cramped mentality in Skunx, ther new nightspot, Oi! the Club, situated at the Blue Coat Boy, by the Angel tube, Islington. ‘Zwept, all this talk of London nightclubs, all this talk of Blitz … yeah, well this is what I saw:
A night for the boize to throw themselves about in while Blitz slammed around, attacked and fed-back on the beer-crate-of-a-stage hiding in the corner behind the lurching frames of the lumpen hordes.
A night when the meatheads were considerate enough to keep all the fuss and straight arm waving down to the bare minimum necessary to sour the atmosphere – Blitz were careful not to annoy and played safe with friendly overtures to London Town so this time Carl, one of the lads, didn’t make the mistake of singing songs from the Stretford End. Last time he was carried from the stage on a stretcher but tonight …
A night when Manchester’s latest won London’s Sta-Prest clientele with a wall of noise.
A night out with the lads, pissed and smug, throwing the right poses, and Blitz coming it with the Rejects impersonations (throwing the right poses) and looking suitably braincelled.Course, they’re better than the Rejects (not exactly hard) but then the luvable wooden tops were never more than a youth club aggro-Sham, which brings us back to aggro-Blitz – the only thing soft about these lads is their polotics. So listen, if all these bands are so working class, John, how come they’re such wally liberals? Sure, the Throbbing Gristle noise-assault may be catchy but the dance – soundtrack’s unimportant – one nightclub’s as good as another – it’s the attitudes there that matter and the ones here stink.
That’s East Endertainment.

X. Moore

Redskins Bovver

Spy Kid and Bovver Boot editor, Paul McGinn throws punches at the trendy lefties after they’d disparaged the Redskins in Socialist Worker, from the red rag itself, 6 October, 1984.

Redskins GLC

The gig that ended in a riot. The Redskins at Jubilee Gardens, 10 June, 1984.

Get A Job!

Response to X Moore’s earlier Right To Work feature in the NME, 7 November, 1981.

Get A Job!
Congratulations! X. Moore’s piece on the Right To Work march was a breath of fresh air. But fresh air makes the stink worse. I mean, how long are you going to carry on with your embarrassing diet of Orange Juice and Morley, Kim Wilde nonsense, Lost Penman in New York? Don’t drag X. Moore to London and make him fancy himself – get more hot reports from events that march. Politics is the perfect criticism of pop: rock’n’roll pleasure the perfect criticism of politics.
Out To Lunch, Leeds.

Redskins Revue

The Redskins did a month of Sundays ay the Mean Fiddler in 1986 with a great mix of turns. Great gigs they were too. This review is from the NME, 12 July, 1986. The Housemartins sneak in as Fish City Five.

Redskins Revue
Harlesden Mean Fiddler

Young, girted and bald was the aim. On the revue’s second night the result was a combination of two, but never all three. Buster Bloodvessel came close. That rotund rascal of drollery, with a little help from his friends, rip-roared his immense proportions through ‘Monster Mash’. ‘My Boy Lollipop’ and more. The Troubleshooters, perverse in the presence of dogma, saw Debbie (Dolly Mixture) don a monstrous wig for their camped-up journeys through the Abba and Madonna songbooks. Seething Wells spouted furiously in a scathing attack on the life and times of Laura Ashley. Why her you may ask. Why indeed? A true contender if only he’d had a haircut.
Wendy May’s sizzling Locomotion sounds kept all alive and kicking, in striking contrast to Lol Coxhill, whose 15 minute homage to Jnr Walker rated as a wonder-cure for insomnia!
Not forgetting the mighty mouth on the loudhailer who led the Redskins through their stomping favourites, ‘Kick Over The Statues’ et al. And a well splendid night was rounded off with some accapella combo by the name of Fish City Five. In fact there was only four of them. , but their harmonies weren’t half bad, especially on some ditty called ‘Happy Hour’ which sounded sort of familiar. One of them launched himself into a ranting preach about Jesus, Karl Marx and himself in the same bed (with clean sheets, of course)! What a strange bunch. Perhaps they’ll be famous one day.
Maybe it was the rumour that Paul Weller was to appear, or perhaps Tom Watt (chump Lofty from East Enders), that drove the hordes on mass to Harlesden for this Artists Against Apartheid benefit on the fourth night. With its Brechtian overtones, the climax of the Redskins revue proved a resounding success.
Angus and Toby from Test Dept. swapped their metal objects for bagpipes and calmed a packed frustrated crowd, unable to move to Stuart Cosgrove’s and Steve Caesar’s fast and furious vinyl funk. The Redskins began their set of covers with ‘Levi Stubbs’ Tears’, and were closely followed by the man Bragg himself. He soon had the audience whipped up a storm with ‘Chile Your Waters’, and ‘A13’, for which he was accompanied by stalwart Wiggy.
And the grand finale, ‘Winds Of Change’, as performed by the Redskins, Dammers, Bragg and others, baldly established the common bond.

Jane Wilkes

Long March Of The Mods

X Moore reviews Dig The New Breed in the NME, 4 December, 1982.

Long March Of The Mods

The Jam
Dig The New Breed (Supreme Beat)
TAKE NO HEROES! Some moments are to be treasured forever. This morning I bought the new Jam single, a precious copy, the last in the rack…walk home, pump-breathing icy air, new packet of 10 Woodbines in a back pocket, jumpy feeling in the stomach, fingers tight around the paper bag – for the moment, the dearest possession in the world – aw, you can tell how crucial a new record is by how long it takes to open the front door…And this the last single by the most VITAL of bands.
Looking back…it is the rise and rise of The Jam that is, more than anything else, a towering beacon of hope ‘gainst the present gloomy musical backdrop.
The Jam first emerged in livelier times. ‘Midst all the phlegm-ridden rebellion, The Jam stood quietly by in mohair suits and Paul Weller claimed the Queen was “the best diplomat we’ve got” (“she works harder than what you or I do or the rest of the country”) and signed off by mentioning come the Election, they’d be voting Conservative. The Jam were less than zero.
What is INSPIRING is that The Jam have progressed so much and changed attitudes so visibly. Weller has shifted massively, away from the early casual youth anthems that pinpointed the division as young v. old, t’wards songs that deal with far greater ogres, far greater issues – an issue as great as ‘class’.
The point is this – a change in attitudes is HOPE. And if you sneer at hope, you sneer at progress. And that’s CONSERVATISM.
Meantimes, The Jam have split and left us with the hippest of anthems, ‘Dig The New Breed’ – an album that frames all those nights of fire and accelerated passions. 14 tracks that chart The Jam’s heady progress and stress their solid loyalties. The difference between The Jam and all the hopeless pop ephemenalities is the difference between a (red) harrington and an anorak. The Jam have STYLE and SIGNIFICANCE.
‘Dig The New Breed’ is a sharp package. ‘Course, there’s a dozen other soul anthems that should be on here and sometimes Pete Wilson’s production damps the fire and smoothes The Jam’s abrasive live edge too much. But it marks a powerful legacy. And The Jam’s last legacy is some testament, some challenge – mebbe the last authentic mod record.
If you come searching for clues to Weller’s next musical station, better that you search elsewhere – ‘Beat Surrenders” B sides or Tyrone Davis’ finest moment, ‘Can I Change My Mind’…or a hundred other soaring soul singles. ‘Dig The New Breed’ is a missive from The Jam, as they were, as they will be remembered, and a call for other bands to follow. I only hope that the Neurotics, Redskins, New Model Army and others can meet the challenge.
Everybody treasures crucial moments, I remember The Jam playing on the Right To Work March at the beginning of this year, the week that ‘A Town Called Malice’ went to No. 1 – that magnificent, frightening split-second when Weller, guitar hand rushing, twisted into the mike to spit out the first verse of ‘Malice’. Crystal.
‘Dig The New Breed’ frames many such sublime moments. hard and fast. There will be greater moments, sure, but for the while, this one is great enough. Sublime sound, sublime vision – The Jam were the best.
TAKE INSPIRATION!

X. Moore

The Voibals

Fallout from a (pretty good!) feature on poets the previous week in Sounds, 5 February, 1983. 80s pub action aside, they all had a lot in common.

Oi – The Backlash

Big Gal Johnson not too impressed with Swellsy’s comments on him in last week’s poetry spectacular. In a strongly worded response Johnson claimed that Swells was “the main contributor to the SWP spermbank for militant lesbians” and a poxy bastard – somebody ought to put him in a hole next to Karl Marx at Highgate cemetery.” Gal went on to accuse Swells and his pal X. Moore of being “closet rebels” and Moore’s band the Redskins of sounding “like Crass on tuinol.”

Suspect Device

X Moore reviews Stiff Little Fingers in the NME, 10 April, 1982.

Mouldy Ol’ Fungus
Stiff Little Fingers
Barking

The Revolution Betrayed

Last time I saw Stiff Little Fingers was down the front at the Electric ballroom at the end of their first British tour. Four or five years ago they were supported by Essential Logic and Robert Rental and The Normal – a storming gig of harsh extremes where SLF were a desperate clash of guitars, where Essential Logic were a smart break from X Ray Spex and Rental and Miller were canned or ignored.

Now Daniel Miller plays confident host to Depeche Mode, Lora Logic’s charming the jazzateers and SLF are still here: a Solidarnosc Benefit in Barking, out in the wilds of Essex, and if Swells is supporting this must be the sharp end.
SLF start with a PA pumping a military signature (I think it’s the theme from ‘Dambusters’ but I lost me Geoff Love ‘Movie Themes’ album four or five years ago) and drift onstage with the spotlights playing flashing sweeps above the audience’s heads. Enter the heroes, ‘Clash ’81 Tour’ stylee: “We’re Stuff Liddle Fungus!” I hang around at the back and stomp and drink to ‘Tin Soldiers’ while the Fungus gang throw V-signs.
Those were the highlights. No, I lie: seeing one of the backline roadies herald the return of the silly encore with a gold lame performance of ‘I Love You Love Me’, hairy jacket, glitter chest and all that jazz, taking over the stage to throw Gaz Glitter stares and bunches of daffodils at the audience on his last night with the band.
This wasn’t a gig at the sharp end, this was a great band softening up, four winners playing losers, a night when the setful of castrated rock songs, with just the briefest interruptions to mention that this was a benefit, only made the appearance of a half-hearted ‘Alternative Ulster’ (if it wasn’t in your top twenty, you won’t be on mine, mate), slotted in at the end after the roadie’s final fling, seem all the sadder.
‘Fly The Flag’ and ‘Gotta Getaway’ got me headbutting pogoers down the front but SLF used to make me crash and slam all night. ‘Tin Soldiers’ and ‘Listen To Your Heart’ shook me a bit, for a while, the short buzz of weak blues, but only cos they sounded like old days. Fingers on the TRB tour. Me and them should junk nostalgia and remember the reasons not the legend. The reasons SLF are worth remembering line up this way: noise that shook, vocals that hurt your throat, lyrics that (not content with warbling “It’s gonna happen”) were specific and cut.
SLF can pull back: ‘Silver Lining’ pinched some sense into daytime radio, Dolphin’s put some hammer back into the rhythm and they’ve still got Jake’s voice, still a power, still the business, a protest in itself.
But as they are, SLF have played it wrong, to end up here, tonight, the beaten heroes playing a benefit for Solidarity, the beaten heroes. Jeez, only jerks want to end up magnificent in defeat – that’s two revolutions lost: Punk, which was always hopeless, and Poland, which seemed to have everything and got sod all. Winning means taking risks and SLF don’t take enough, they get beat and seem happy with complacent music, no spark, no punk, no dissent. And like Warren Beatty said for Jack Reed: “Cut our dissent and you cut out the revolution. The revolution is dissent.”

Fingers didn’t lose cos they got stamped on, stamped out, betrayed – but because they ballsed up, toned down, forgot dissent … because they no longer have the strength. This gig was soft – it sure wasn’t ‘Suspect Device’ at Carnival 2, when SLF let rip and won and after that who gave a toss if Sham had bottled out. This gig was a long way from the sharp end. Don’t kid yerself.

The Revolution Failed.

X. Moore