This is something I have on an old tape I made from the Peel Show in 1982 or 3, a song like other things I've mentioned here over the years that has burrowed its way into my consciousness when so much else of arguably greater significance has fallen away. It's proven a pig to track down since, online or offline; I didn't even know what it was called for years, then found out it was the B side of the group's first not-quite hit single and fully expected to turn it up in a charity shop, but no dice. The interweb finally came through today.
The band were set for wacky pop image and promo vids (via The Young Ones) from this point on, but I can see why JP fell for this sub-Slits slice of No Nukes punky reggae. So did I.
Amazulu - 'Greenham Time' (1983)
Went to Greenham once, was a bit outnumbered in the gender stakes but they were nice women, scary but nice.
ReplyDeleteI did a tour of protests at airforce bases when a teenager, probably saw Dickie through the barbed wire.
It's like Public Image meets Shoestring theme dubbed up and punked by riot girrls
ReplyDeleteDon't take that the wrong way I'm all for it..
I joined Torbay (!) CND at about this time. One idea for a protest was for us to all lay down inert in Brixham Fish Market on a Saturday, as if victims of a nuclear holocaust. Unfortunately, only three people turned up.
ReplyDeleteLess a holocaust than a fisheries-related health & safety incident, then.
ah tp be young and disgruntled. these days pitifully i think i'd be more terrified of the badge pin ruining a lapel
ReplyDeletethankfully wearing badges is not enough in days like these
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Quite. I still have the badge. The world still has nuclear weapons.
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Although Greenham Common is now a common again.
ReplyDeleteHa! Looking back, didn't we have a er, blast.
ReplyDeleteJust to throw a bit into the non-protester side of the fence ....
As a pretty green 19/21 year old, at one point I shared accom at nearby RAF Boscombe Down in Wiltshire with some of the MOD Police (aka MOD Plods) drafted in from all corners of the UK.
They were having loads of the overtime, but far less of the abuse and used tampons hurled at them each night.
There was no razor wire capers for me.
I just played 5 a-side, went to discos, followed The Jam tours and chuckled into my pint of Wadsworth or Directors, as the MoD Plods regaled me with their tales of bags of poo dripping down their goretex uniforms.
I love the Brixham fish market idea. Although, tbh, as the months turned into years, Greenham began to smell a bit like that.
Course, only Trots drank Guinness Red back then.
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