Although largely dismissed from the rock'n'roll history books as a ghastly aberration, Epping-based anarcho-punk pioneers (hell, THE anarcho-punk trailblazers) CRASS were and remain one of the most fascinating groups ever.
Arguably angrier, and more radical than any other collective ever, their stance was a bizarre, but potent mix of hippy ideals melded to the angriest, expletive-stuffed punk rock ever recorded. They lived in a self-sufficient commune (Dial House) on the edge of Epping Forest, played gigs for a pittance in any venue that would have them from scout huts to squats, dressed entirely in black, had people of both sexes and all ages in the band, made tea and chatted with their audience after every gig and scared the living bejaysus out of everyone from the Tory party through to MI5. Oh, and from a totally self-sufficient, self-produced, own-label set-up they sold something in the region of a million albums along the way. Not something often mentioned in industry handbooks.
So if many of you out there are labouring under the impression that Peter Doherty and The Others pioneered the notions of guerrilla gigs and bringing the fans back to your place then think again, for the seeds of the idea can be traced back to Crass's ideology. Actually, one can only ponder how Crass could have utilised the power of the internet with their word-of-mouth activism and extremely keen sense of media savvy, but all that is to digress away from the point of this diatribe: that New York acid-folker JEFFREY LEWIS has made over 12 of Crass's most resonant and outspoken tunes in his own inimitible style on this remarkable album.
Coming complete with a typically entertaining comic strip describing the author's own initiation into Crass's music, '12 Crass Songs' is an extremely ambitious project. While this writer would dispute the widely-held belief that Crass were unmusical (all of their first four albums especially have lots of great ideas and memorable moments), the message was certainly always of paramount importance and their back catalogue has limited opportunties for anyone looking for an easy stash of catchy choruses to plunder for their own ends.
This, however, has clearly not been an insurmountable hurdle for Jeffrey Lewis and his band. Although initially planned as a one-take acoustic affair, the fact he decided to expand and include more complete re-arrangements of these incendiary songs is to be applauded, because these re-workings (and mostly these are pretty radical renovation jobs) are fully rounded and bring out all sorts of nuances you'd previously think hidden where Crass's music was/ is concerned.
Most of the songs Lewis has chosen come from Crass's classic opening trio of albums, 'Feeding Of The 5000', 'Stations Of The Crass' and 'Penis Envy' and they're virtually all excellent. Admittedly, Lewis's dry New York accent is a lot easier to decipher than Steve Ignorant's guttural bark, so there's less necessity to consult a lyric sheet like you did with the original recordings, but this new-found clarity also accentuates the innate poetry contained in many of Crass's songs.
For example, the record opens with a couple of Crass's most iconoclastic tunes, 'End Result' and 'I Ain't Thick, It's Just A Trick', but in Lewis and co's capable hands, the former is re-invented as chiming, rolling acoustic folk and the lyrics (e.g: "I am the dirt that everyone walks on/ I am the orphan nobody wants") sound all the more poignant for it. 'I Ain't Thick...', meanwhile, sounds celestial and hymnal with organs and delicate, strings and spidery guitars. The massed, choir-like take of the chorus ("well they can fuck off, 'cos they ain't got me/ they can't buy my dignity") is possibly the most moving moment of the whole record to these ears.
|
Of course, one of the criticisms often levelled at Crass was their seeming lack of humour, but in the playful Lewis's hands, several of these tracks really take off. If you don't believe me, make straight for the conga-led country two-step now instilled in 'Systematic Death' or the brilliant, Bo Diddley-style reshaping of 'Banned From The Roxy': proof positive that the concept of 'Crass' and 'catchy tune' can co-exist after all.
Actually, the fact that Lewis mostly shuns anything akin to the scattergun hardcore buzz of Crass's original sound is one of the reasons '12 Crass Songs' is so successful, though on the seismic 'Big A Little A', the nursery rhyme a capella of the intro gives way to a suitably deathly psyche-rock hardcore workout and the frantic, low-riding rockabilly he introduces to 'Do They Owe Us A Living?' has punky aggression aplenty. Perhaps the most ambitious coup Lewis pulls off, though, is 'Demoncratz': on 'Stations Of The Crass', a dense Eve Libertine spoken track, but here transformed into a harmonium-soaked hymnal more akin to something the Fence Collective might undertake.
The invention continues right to the tape, with 'Punk Is Dead' benefitting from a stately, piano-fuelled makeover and 'Walls' - already an intrguing, disco-based tune from 'Stations Of The Crass' - retaining its' danceable edge. Hell, there's even the sort of typical radio snippet Crass's albums would always include leading into 'Demoncratz'.
I've no idea whether the former Crass members have heard this album or were even previously aware of Jeffrey Lewis. Somehow, though, I get the feeling they'd approve and possibly even feel a little swell of pride were they to get hold of '12 Crass Songs'. Not only is it a worthy tribute to an amazing band who played it their own way to the end, but it's one of the best - and most unlikely - 'covers' record this writer has ever heard. Quite an achievement on all fronts.
|
