It’s definitely a blurry, backwards glance, but the seventies seem like a time when the DIY thing was still vital and unique at the same time. Today, everyone has their own record label, some venue in an abandoned whatever, a community garden and a bicycle co-op. That’s overstated, but forty years ago all of that was kinda revolutionary. The downside, though, was that it was kind a revolutionary and looked at as some weird subversive animal. It wasn’t, obviously. And without all those folks who took it upon themselves to better their neighborhoods, culture that defines itself as diametrically opposed to mainstream nonsense would be drastically different, if it existed at all.
In the mid seventies, a crop of fanzines sprung up all over the States and in Great Britain. It’s debatable which outlets actually pushed the culture forward and maintain its cache even today – and there are a few. But Mark Perry was one of the guys who started Sniffin’ Glue England. Out of that, Perry found himself hooked up with a burgeoning scene that would define the visual appearance of punk.
With everyone starting a band at the time, Perry eventually figured that if he was able to get a print publication off the ground, playing music couldn’t be too much harder. He was right. And while his first group, Alternative TV, only released two proper albums, its first easily ranks as one of the most creative releases of the scene. Everything from punk, rock, dub and spoken word finds itself stirred together with a healthful dose of social and scene commentary functioning as lyrical accompaniment.
The Image Has Cracked, as opposed to its follow up Vibing Up the Senile Man, is pretty much wall to wall hits. “Action Time Vision” hasn’t aged at all since it was released. The simplistic composition, which sported one of the few truly great harmonies in Brit punk’s first wave, should have been difficult to surpass, but Perry was able to throw together an album of work all its equal.
“Love Lies Limp,” another album single, sports a faux reggae thing. It’s not the most adept appropriation of the music, the Clash were a stronger band. But the sparseness of the song’s guitar makes Perry lamenting meaningless fucking all the more poignant.
The whole album can’t be properly distilled in words. It’s a dense collage of music and philosophy. And that’s why it’s so surprising that the disc isn’t better thought of today.