Penis Envy x2; or why David Bowie made me give up Crass

God knows why, but I got rid of all my Crass records in one fell swoop in 1984. Gave 'em away, didn't I? Left 'em with an ex-girlfriend as we broke up ("You keep the Crass records ..."). And now what do I come across while mucking about with my records all these years later? This partly-Tippex'd out writing on a cardboard 12" sleeve - PENIS ENVY (2 COPIES) - CRASS. (You probably can't make it out, but that, dear reader, is what it says. Two copies!).

Tippexing out the past: Crass fade to grey

Yeah, in my juvenile over-neat block caps - the evidence! During 1980-83 I reckon I bought every Crass record that came out, noting the release dates in Sounds/NME and getting down the record shop the week they went on sale. It must be the only time I've had this ardent enthusiasm for new-release records by one particular band. Crass's fusion of political bile, the snarls and yelps and militaristic drumming, and (importantly) the amazing packaging and political screeds, were all pretty irresistible to me in those days. And then, weirdly, I just dropped it all. Something to do with feeling embarrassed at having such a "narrow" range of musical taste. Compared to more "musical" acquaintances with their Psychedelic Furs, Bauhaus or Magazine LPs, this obsession for Rimbaud, Ignorant and Libertine seemed too ... monochrome. All about the polemic, not the groovy sounds. Oh dear! Not one of my better musical decisions. The other mass clear-out of this kind came in the late 90s when I got rid of about 15 goth records - jettisoning a bunch of Cult and Alien Sex Fiend vinyl, a move that still seems totally reasonable. But Crass! - what was I thinking of ...?

I blame over-exposure to David Bowie. During the winter of 1983-84 I was being subjected to LP after LP of by the aforementioned Bowie-besotted ex-girlfriend. We were cloistered away in our hill-top Sheffield house and it was non-stop Pin Ups, Hunky Dory and The Man Who Sold The World. I was being ground down by Mr Stardust and his bloody scary monsters. Fittingly enough for a teenage Crass fan, I was  penniless in this economically-depressed city at the time that local Yorkshire miners were beginning their doomed fight against Thatcherism. I was living my own personal 1984. And ... yep, somehow or other those Crass records had to go down the memory hole. So now, like Winston Smith discovering the newspaper clipping showing how the Party had falsified the past, I've found this Crass labelling proving my ownership of their records. (In fact, I've also discovered I've got a sleeve for their amazing Bloody Revolutions single, but it's ... empty.) Why I had two copies of Penis Envy I've no idea (no-one has two penises, right?), but it's all too appropriate that this anarcho-punk evidence should appear on a piece of yellowing cardboard now housing a Bowie record. Mystery solved: David Bowie made me give up Crass ...

Person unknown have stolen the inner contents of this record