The whole concept of Oi began to look exhausted as 1982 drew to a close (there are those who may even argue the whole idea gasped its last interesting idea within three weeks of Gary Bushell dreaming it up). Tight, restrictive genres with unshakeable and conservative ideologies can occasionally focus minds and result in fantastic rock music, but the more cooks there are raiding ingredients from the same small pantry, the faster the good ideas dry up.
Blitz, however, were proving themselves to be a bit of an exception to the rule in late 1982. Their album “Voice Of A Generation” bucked trends by reaching number 27 in the national album charts in November; a better result than many of the better known bands and influencers in their field were managing at that point. Sham 69 were no more. The Angelic Upstarts were by now a busted flush, and had only managed the same peak position while on a major label (and not a cash-strapped indie) the year before.
Blitz’s achievements were actually extraordinary given how resolutely uncommercial a lot of their output was, but despite this, it seems the group sensed changes brewing. “New Age” is, unlike a lot of their previous singles, a proper anthem; spindly, almost proto-Big Country guitar riffs introduce the track as the bass drum thuds in a manner barely heard since glam rock ceased to dominate rock music. Meanwhile the lyrics occupy territory previously obsessively held by Jimmy Pursey and Pete Townshend, mentioning “the kids” a lot and their doings “on the street”.
Of all the singles which could be fairly badged as “Oi”, this is actually one of the finest. If the British public had been prepared to yield and let any of those street urchins into the national Top 40 in Winter 1983, this would have been the one to do it. “New Age” isn’t trying to break radical new ground as a sop to Paul Morley or offer any concessions to the average Woolworths buyer, but there’s an exhilarating, powerful rush to it which feels as influenced by Slade as it is Sham 69; a defiant little record which is desperate to communicate something far beyond its core audience.
Back in the mid-nineties I was complaining to a person “inside” the music business about a local band I loved who hadn’t been signed yet. To me their future seemed a no-brainer – they had the image, the songs and were astonishing live. Where was the roadblock? Did they just have rotten management?
The knowing insider gave me a withering look and broke it down very simply, barely pausing for thought; it seemed little reflection was required.
“Dave, you have to understand, there’s absolutely no stability in that band. You’re right, two of the members are turning out good songs, but they go through drummers and bass players like I lose socks. They stop, they start, they freeze again, sometimes for months. No major label is going to look at that situation and not see a huge problem; they want a solid, fixed group of individuals they can develop, work with and promote. They want to know that if they put the money in tomorrow, they’re going to still have a band to work with in two year’s time”.
He was right, of course (probably, although I’m sure there have been random exceptions). I know even less about the workings of the early 21st Century music biz, but part of me wonders if this rule would still apply today; presumably any label wishing to invest in such a group would whittle them down to a core duo and hire a few waged musicians to work and tour with them on the side. The idea of a “group identity” seems to have become less essential now. Back in the nineties, though, and certainly in the eighties, it mattered.
In a similar fashion, as we’ve journeyed through the NME Indie Charts of the last two years, we’ve come across a number of fragile units swelling with promise who quickly imploded, and we may have found ourselves baffled as to how they landed on labels like Rough Trade or Mute. The answer may very well lie in their own internal struggles – did Theatre Of Hate, for example, really want to press up their own records, or were there just some extremely serious problems within their own ranks which made them an undesirable business prospect?
Of all the bands we’ve brushed past or will meet in future, Southern Death Cult are the most extreme example of this phenomenon. “Moya” twinned with “Fatman” (although the NME Chart only lists “Fatman”) was the only single they put out before splitting. It was a monstrous fringe hit, popping up on numerous indie compilations from that day to this, and it soundtracked many nights out for a particular youth cult, and acted as the kind of foundation enormous careers are usually built on.
Hold that thought, though, because while Southern Death Cult disintegrated before they could release any other new material (besides some odds, sods and session tracks album their label were quick to put out), their lead singer Ian Astbury formed the similarly named Death Cult with the similarly volatile Theatre of Hate’s Billy Duffy, who eventually became The Cult of whom little more needs to be said. Astbury clearly knew which side his onions were cooked on and wasn’t going to throw the b(r)and name into rock’s great compost bin.
Despite his involvement, Southern Death Cult were a hugely different group in terms of both line-up and style, as “Fatman” clearly demonstrates. Astbury’s vocal stylings are already fully developed here, and his deliberately strained, strangulated war cries dominate “Fatman” as much as they do “She Sells Sanctuary”, cutting through the clutter beneath them to act as a guiding laser point.
What’s going on beneath is enormous and feels like every single idea the group had that month. Drums clatter, guitars borrow their stylings from both Dick Dale and Billy Duffy – he may not be working with Astbury yet, but you can feel the ground being prepared – and the tune rolls and stumbles in an organised heap towards its conclusion. There is no obvious chorus here, just a cascade of possible hooks thundering by while the drummer rattles straight and orderly patterns behind the conflicting ideas.
I’ve owned “Fatman” on a compilation for years now and never quite taken to it, but listening to it afresh again, it’s immediately striking how influential it was. You can certainly hear the template for the first iteration of The Stone Roses here from their “Garage Flower” days, but Astbury and co have a sense of measure and control the Baby Roses never quite managed. Perhaps more importantly than that, this is also unapologetic Goth Rock; Astbury has often insisted that his joking reference to Visigoths in relation to friend and associate Andi Sex Gang created the name of an entire subcult and genre.
While we've been exploring 1982 over the last few months, there have been moments where it feels as if much of the chart activity has just been a stylistic extension of 1981; the same array of lo-fi punk records, strange, rubbery post-punk sounds, and leftfield electronica. In particular, if it weren't for the Falklands-heavy subject matter, a lot of the punk records issued at the arse end of 82 would probably be difficult to date.
Progression was probably more evident in commercial terms. 1982 saw the deeply unusual phenomenon of indie labels managing to grab not just the year's Christmas number one with Renee and Renato (a record without a picture sleeve, damnit! How much more indie did you want that Italian waiter and his session sidekick to be?) but other positions in the top three as well. Yazoo managed two top three hits with "Only You" and "Don't Go", and Pigbag got to number three with "Papa's Got A Brand New Pigbag". Two or three years earlier, the idea that Pinnacle, Spartan or Rough Trade could have pushed these records towards even moderate success would have been greeted with some scepticism. These distributors were seen as serving a certain niche purpose and little more - places to rest your first roughly recorded single or two while waiting to see if the big boys came running to your yard with generous financial offers. The idea that artists could actually succeed without inking a major contract with a big business at all was unthinkable.
It wasn't that the indies hadn't succeeded before, but (for example) the modest number 8 chart placing of Depeche Mode's "Just Can't Get Enough" in 1981 - by now an inescapable pop oldie and one of the group's biggest sellers - is evidence that their limited means sometimes stymied records which might otherwise have been colossal. The number of odd UK pressing variants of "Just Can't Get Enough" indicates how desperate Mute were to keep up demand, offering different pressing plants at home and abroad cash to keep more copies coming.
Looking forward, 1983 is a stranger year in terms of genres in the indie chart, when the gradual decline of punk begins to allow all kinds of other ideas to barge their way through, some of them a lot more straightforward than we've heard before. You can get a taste of some of that on the right hand side of the page. Down below, however, is your one last chance to kiss goodbye to 1982 and all it offered, for better and worse.
See you again very soon and Merry Christmas.
On a more general note - as it's Christmas, please do consider linking to this blog if you like what I'm doing. Google are currently refusing to consider it for their search index register for reasons known only to themselves, and the only way I'm going to have any hope of them changing their minds is if it starts to get a bit more support externally.
That said, Google have been carrying an error on their Maps service with a local road for two years now, barrelling drivers down a street with a clear No Entry sign and also claiming it's where my house is... so let's not get our hopes up too high.
An additional two weeks at number from w/e 18th December 1982
Here we go again, viewers. The Anti-Nowhere League's "For You" only found sufficient stamina to stay atop the indie charts for one week, leaving Yazoo to take back the throne over the Christmas period.
Here's what was happening lower down the charts in those festive weeks which, lest we forget, also saw us gaining a national independently distributed number one.
Week One
29. Threats - Politicians And Ministers (Rondolet)
Peak position: 29
Rough-as-fuck Scottish punk which sounds as if it has more in common with American hardcore than a lot of their compatriots. "Politicians and Ministers" is relentless, punchy, and points towards a possible direction British punk could have opted for if everyone hadn't been too busy going on about how it wasn't dead. As things stood, however, this was to be their last recorded offering until 2001, at which point they returned to a level of fringe acclaim they didn't really receive in 1982.
30. Laurel & Hardy - You're Nicked (Fashion)
Peak position: 30
The volume of reggae singles referring to police arrests or troubling encounters with The Fuzz in the early eighties tells a story six hundred newspaper headlines never could. The racist element of the police force, particularly in certain branches and areas, was acknowledged enough to make its way into mainstream comedy sketches, and most of the reggae artists belonged to communities where undignified and poorly evidenced arrests were part and parcel of daily life.
"You're Nicked" caused such a stir in 1982 that major labels became interested in the pair, and the follow-up single "Clunk Click" emerged on CBS as a result. That effort was a rather more establishment pleasing pean to the dangers of drink driving and failing to fasten seat belts, which still wasn't quite popular enough to turn them into major stars. Their dippy stage presentation and cheeky charisma remains fondly remembered by many, though.
Week Two
18. Dead Kennedys - Halloween (Cherry Red)
Peak position: 3
Surprisingly conventional rant from the Kennedys here about the foolishness of Halloween - "Why oh why do we take Halloween so seriously as a piece of organised fun when we're wearing masks all year round?" they philosophise, while Roger Waters presumably nods enthusiastically and takes notes for a possible concept album.
Still, even if you're left with the impression that Jello Biafra probably went to parties with piles of anti-capitalism leaflets under his arm and was a bit of a buzzkill, "Halloween" has such a mean, snarling intent behind it that you're almost tempted to join in.
Anyway, in 1982 in Britain barely anyone gave a fig about Halloween, so most of us probably had no idea why he was so het up about this topic. Those were the days. That's probably also why this track peaked in the indie charts at the less than seasonally appropriate period of Winter 1983.
23. Toy Dolls - Nelly The Elephant (Volume)
Peak position: 10
Oh mother. If you think this single is making a somewhat early appearance in 1982, you're only half-mistaken. "Nelly" was originally issued during this year and rapidly gathered steam as a cult novelty punk favourite, played on nighttime radio and beloved by those people who thought that children's novelty songs being thrashed around were a unique and funny concept.
Given that we'll eventually get another chance to consider this one in depth, let's hold fire for now and instead marvel at the sights and sounds of those Toy Dolls.
24. Clint Eastwood & General Saint - Shame & Scandal In The Family (Greensleeves)
Peak position: 24
Family strife set to a bouyant reggae swing here, which in common with many of the breakout reggae tracks of the early eighties favours nods, winks, and a swing and lightness of touch over anger or deep dubbiness.
Eastwood was a prominent performer during the early part of the decade, but his visibility weakened significantly in the following few years.
25. Charlie Harper's Urban Dogs - New Barbarians EP (Fallout)
Peak position: 22
Why yes, it is that Charlie Harper (of UK Subs) on an extra-curricular mission. The Urban Dogs were apparently formed when the Subs began to regard certain minor club gigs as being beneath them, conflicting with Harper's desire to perform to small and sweaty audiences in legendary venues. They slowly evolved into a unit with a purpose of their own.
Imagine early UK Subs only with a bit more of a whiff of sticky Heineken on a pub floor, and you're there. If anything, "New Barbarians" harks back to the prime punk era unapologetically.
30. The Vibrators - Baby Baby (Anagram)
Peak position: 13
The Vibrators were always punk's slightly less credible also-rans, initially signing to Mickie Most's glitzy RAK label (more commonly the hangout for the likes of Hot Chocolate, Smokie and Mud). "Baby Baby" sees them wearing their old school rock and roll influences freely and unapologetically, like the pub rockers they were always close to being.
Despite the fact that they were one of the first punk bands to be whisked off to a recording studio, their records seldom entered the national charts, and by the eighties they were firmly ensconced in the indie sector. "Baby Baby" sounds as if it could have been a possible minor hit in 1976, but 1982 shrugged its shoulders and didn't even allow them entry into the Indie Top Ten.
This also peaked at number 5 in the indie chart during the same period. Its lower position in the indie charts can doubtless be explained away by the fact its fondest purchasers were more likely to be buying copies in Woolworths rather than Rough Trade and Volume, so we've had a very lucky escape here.
If you’d taken me to one side years ago and told me I would spend 2024 writing thousands of words about The Anti-Nowhere League, talking about their relevance to the early eighties and the dying embers of British punk, I wouldn’t have believed… well no, actually I would have believed you. I probably would have replied “Oh, OK. And this would be for some niche blog I started, I suppose?”
Entries about the group are among the least-read on here so far, but ironically, that’s the inevitable price of writing about the movements of sales charts rather than the enduring influence or critical acclaim artists have. The Indie Chart may be seen as a safe ghetto for innovation, but in reality it was as susceptible to fleeting novelty, hype or shock tactics as any specialist chart – and just as Motley Crue and Limp Bizkit were cartoonish fratboys who burnt rock and roll down to its basic chemical property of loud, brash oafishness in the Rock Charts, ANL did the same for punk rock in 1982. Their schtick wasn’t “for everyone” back then, and it certainly isn’t now.
Despite this, for anyone who didn’t want to be troubled by politics, anarchy or evidence of the lead singer’s impeccable collection of reggae and krautrock records, to those who just enjoyed records that were loud and offensive, and also to impressionable teenage boys who were sorry they were in Junior School when punk broke, they filled a void. The word “edgelords” comes up time and time again on social media when I mention them, except ANL were being offensive contrarians before that insult even existed.
It's slightly surprising to discover that their fourth indie number one of 1982, and indeed the final new indie number one of the year, is probably the only genuinely surprising step outside their usual zone so far, and fittingly it seems to be a basic justification for their stance. “For You” isn’t even particularly punk rock; it’s an anthemic pub rock chugger which might have been heard in a Camden boozer circa 1975, only lyrically speaking the song speaks to the multitudes of fans most of those bands never had:
“We laugh… but no-one's laughing/ We kiss… and no-one cares/ So we shout… but no-one's listening/ So we live… like no-one dares” sings Animal, before launching into a chorus about the remains of punk rock before him, his own army of droogs: “For you/ Well I'll be your soldier/ For you/ I'll bury friends”.
As we’ve established, trying to get under the skin of The League is a fool’s errand, like trying to understand why the old biker in your local Railway Tavern is such a rude bastard. Nonetheless, “For You” is as close as we’re ever going to get to a ‘tell’. Unlike Crass, the group were never going to go on a political crusade for society’s marginalised, but they speak volumes about the mindset of the second wave punk audience here; it afforded a safe space in economically troubled, conservatively minded times, a club to make friends when the rest of society had written you off as an oddball or a failure. In that sense, it served the same purpose punk always did, it’s just that this group, for a whole host of reasons already explored, are an outlier and really don’t fit the modern critical overview of what punk was and should be. History is written by the winners and ANL were only the victors in one largely forgotten year at the arse end of everything.
