Think of infamous, communal-dwelling, Thatcher-baiting anarchist punk collective CRASS and the term "love song" hardly springs to mind, because during the period 1977 -1984, this notorious outfit recorded some of the angriest rants ever committed to vinyl. Their records suffered blanket bans (everyone from HMV to the good old BBC though they did record a solitary Peel Session early on), yet they still managed to sell over a million albums off their own back despite consistent hassles from the powers that be, not least the Tory Government and MI5.
Not that they exactly made it easy for themselves, attacking religion, the police, sexism, meat eaters and (naturally) the impending and very real threat of nuclear war en route, not to mention large portions of the music press - including my old rag "Sounds" - with writers such as Tony Parsons, Steve Sutherland and (most famously) Garry Bushell laying into the band for their ideals and for largely being "too serious". Whimper.
So, bearing in mind it's virtually impossible to equate the band's furious polemic, rudimentary (but actually very listenable) racket and scattershot rage with anything you could term "Love Songs", this beautifully-presented anthology of the band's complete lyrics - all 82 of their songs/ essays - rejoices in the title and features an erudite introduction from drummer/ main lyricist and prime mover Penny Rimbaud where he explains why the band's motive was always love rather than the supposed hate, and why "everything we do is an expression of that."
In itself, it's considered, well-observed prose, and while your reviewer is in a bit of a weird situation here as both a huge Pistols/ Clash/ Jam fan (who Penny justifiably feels sold out) and someone was also fascinated by Crass's also broadly 'punk rock' records, there's no doubting Penny's sincerity as he tries to contextualise the band's legacy as something that went way beyond music.
And "Love Songs" itself is an intriguing read that actually works well as (to stretch a point) poetry on the page. It's not arranged chronologically, so for example the still-controversial "Reality Asylum" (are you reading this, Mel Gibson?) is followed by Eve Libertine's "Where Next Columbus?" and the nursery-rhyme stealing "Big A Little A", though crucially Penny Rimbaud's lengthy, but supremely gentle metaphysical verses of "Acts Of Love" - actually written several years before Crass kicked in - is placed at the beginning. It will be a real surprise for anyone who still feels Crass were only capable of "shock slogans and mindless token tantrums." Thanks to 'The Sun's usual far-sightedness for that quote, by the way.
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These days, of course, some of the band's vicious polemic seems hopelessly dated ("Media Bag" for instance slags off old newsreaders like Robert Dougal and Richard Baker and anyone under 35 will surely be wondering who these old lags are/ were, while "Angels"' anti-TV rant seems about as relevant as attacking crystal sets in these Sky Digital times) and there are times when your reviewer was always left cold by their invective, not least where some of the religious content and the overt vegetarianism was concerned. As Penny himself concedes during his introduction, the rhyme schemes were also sometimes cliched, as the favoured "shit" and "pit" and also "life"/ "surgeon's knife" will attest.
However, there's no denying the strength of the anti-sexist attacks in tracks like "Bata Motel" in these Gangsta Rap times, or the continuing relevance of "Nagasaki Nightmare" in a world where a different set of goons have replaced the ones jostling to press the button in Crass's day. Also, it's hard to deny the sheer, burning ire that stoked the band's anti-Thatcher tirades on "How Does It Feel (To Be The Mother Of A Thousand Dead)" and the unrelentingly dark "Yes Sir, I Will." The sexual innuendos throughout "Sheep Farming In The Falklands" and the witty, schoolboy humour of "Who Dunnit?" also proved that Crass weren't necessarily the po-faced refuseniks they were generally branded as.
So, twenty years after their seven-year communal experiment ended, Crass's legacy deserves an overhaul and surely some overdue respect. For all their shortcomings, they did make a fascinating and filthy racket and were never less than provocative. For a band who were supposedly non-musical, several of their albums (not least "Stations Of The Crass") still land regularly on my deck in (whisper it)CD form and "Love Songs" is both a lovingly-annotated printed appendage and welcome addition to any open-minded bookshelf.
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