Crass was an influential English anarchist punkband. Crass formed in 1977, based around Dial House, an 'open house community' near Epping, Essex, in England. Whereas the Sex Pistols' anarchism seemed to be a self-consciously nihilistic prank, Crass's stance was more directly linked to the libertarian socialist or communalistic varieties of 20th century political thought. Taking literally the punk manifesto of "Do It Yourself", Crass combined the use of song, film, sound collage, graphics and subversion to launch a sustained and innovative critical broadside against all that they saw as a culture built on foundations of war, violence, sexism, religious hypocrisy and unthinking consumerism. They were also amongst the progenitors of the anarcho-pacifism that became pervasive in the punkmusic scene (see also anarcho-punk).
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Nineteen Eighty Bore Lyrics
Crass
Who needs lobotomy when we've got the ITV
Who needs ECT when there's good old BBC?
Switch on the set, light up the screen
Fantasise and dream about what you might have been
Who needs controlling when they've got the cathode ray
They've got your fucking soul, now they'll fuse your brains away
Mindless fucking morons sit before the set
Being fed the mindless rubbish they deserve to get
Can't switch off big brother, they've lost all will to act
Lost in drab confusion, was it fiction, was it fact?
Another plastic bullet stuns another Irish child
But no-one's really bothered, no, the telly keeps them mild
They've lost all sense of feeling to the every hungry glow
Drained of any substance by the vicious telly blow
No longer know what's real or ain't, slowly going blind
They stare into the goggle box while the world goes by, behind
The Angels are on T.V. tonight, grey puke fucking shit
They army occupy Ireland, but the boot will never fit
Was it Coronation Street? Or was it Londonderry?
Oh it doesn't fucking matter, Paul Daniels'll keep us merry
Yes, I've heard of Bobby Sands, wasn't it Emmerdale Farm?
Yes, that's right, he was kicked by a cow
I hope it didn't do him no harm
And wasn't the Holocaust terrible, good thing it wasn't for real
Of course I've heard of H-Block, it's the baccy with man appeal
Deeper and deeper and deeper, layer upon layer
Illusion, confusion, is there anyone left who can care?
Yes, the Abbey National cares for you
Nat West, and Securicor
Well brings out the Branston bren-guns
Let's spice it up some more
The Sweeney are cruising Brixton, created another Belfast
And J.R.'s advising Thatcher on lighting, make up and cast
A thousand camera lenses point at the people's pain
As millions of mindless morons watch the action replay again
Action replay again
Softly, softly, into your life, you're held in it's brilliant glow
Softly, softly, feeding itself on the you you'll never know
You're life's reduced to nothing, but an empty media game
Big Brother ain't watching you mate, you're fucking watching him