Oi Punk

The skinhead sub-culture in which Oi-Punk music has its roots, like all phenomena on the margins, sinks down only to resurface later. Those roots can be traced back to the Caribbean islands, and above all to Trinidad, an island that for far too many years was a colony - first French, then English - which developed a popular musical culture of a strongly protest-driven kind. What else, after all, are the calypsos, the seductive rhyming verses of calypso? A music that took shape in the shantytowns of farmers who emigrated to the cities, bringing with them, along with poverty, that desperate and despair-inducing "blues of their own" straight from the fields of the crops imposed by the colonisers.

On the other hand, the catatonic, obsessive rhythms of the finest punky/reggae tracks by Sham 69, led by the never-tamed Jimmy Pursey (vocalist and frontman) - who in 1976, together with Dave Parsons on guitar, Dave Tregunna on bass and Rick Goldstein on drums, gave life to the band that would become the reference point for Oi-Punk - draw their lifeblood from genuinely Rastafarian sounds, which have very old roots in Trinidad. Among other things, Sham 69 penned a true anthem: "If The Kids Are United", "...they will never be divided..." it went on. Proclaiming, then, the unity of the working class in London's suburbs. And not only that. The song opens with a slashing guitar over which a drum pattern piles up, almost like a military march. And Pursey's hoarse, abrasive voice puts the finishing touches on it all. But above all there's "Borstal Breakout", January 1978: "One, two, three, four... one, two, three, four". Pursey's voice snarls, incites, attacks. The guitars are like sandpaper, the bass follows suit, the drums give no room to breathe. In the video "1978 Live In Reading", you can see waves of punks and skinheads together in front of the stage, from which the "prophet" Pursey demands peace, work and dignity for the exploited people of Albion.

Sham 69 spent their best years - essentially the first four or five - touring everywhere and playing with everyone. It's worth remembering that John Cale of the Velvet Underground always held them dear, to the point of producing some of their work; above all their first single, "I Don't Wanna", from 1977. Straightforward punk, at times minimal, almost echoing some of the Velvet Underground's guitar phrasing. Their debut album, "Tell Us The Truth", came out in 1978. The title track is Clash-like in its vocals, lyrics and "musicality". The same can be said of the following track, "It's Never Too Late", with melodic choruses, sharp yet lyrical riffs, and a low, steady voice. Right up to "Red London", where "the golden canon" of Oi-Punk is set in stone: terrace-chant assonance, minimal length (1:58), and a structure built around guitar/bass/drums.

But, as mentioned at the start, calypso was one of the battle-genres of Laurel Aitken, of Cuban origin, and of the urban world. And it's Aitken himself, together with Prince Buster and Clement "Coxsone" Dodd, the latter two Jamaican, who should be considered the spiritual fathers of Rude Boy music. Reggae, rocksteady and ska. An explosive mixture of musical styles. Born in the ghettos of Kingston, and spreading out from there. Everywhere.

Kingston, a city loaded with violence and poverty. Sparks fly from its suburbs, notes of protest emerge. Those of the Wailers, reggae's "dream team": Dodd, Marley, Tosh and Wailer. Those of Jimmy Cliff, who sings against the Vietnam War and against unemployment in "The Harder They Come". In this melting pot the Rude Boys took shape, a story that Desmond Dekker would go on to tell in song, in his "Judge Dread".

The rude boys - and we're talking about thousands upon thousands of working-class youths - began, in the mid-1960s, to take an interest in politics too, deciding to support organised workers' movements across Jamaica. Organising concerts and happenings outside factories: it was precisely from this practice of musical activism that the forerunners of the rap practice that would develop in the US in the 1980s were born.

Legendary figures such as U-Roy, Dennis Alcapone and King Tubby forged themselves in that social climate, adapting the tradition of the African Griot (the storyteller) and the prewar blues of the Mississippi Delta to the Kingston of those years, giving rise to toasting, whereby one sings or chants over a riddim or a beat - that is, parts of tracks made up essentially of percussion. With an unbroken flow of sound, "inside" which the words are shortened, twisted or spoken very rapidly. This is what would later be called dub poetry, or, for New Yorkers, the last poets.

Until, one fine day, the Rude Boys, weary of the unchanging economic and social situation, emigrated to England, right after Jamaica gained independence (1962).

London also saw the arrival of the harsh anti-militarist notes of the Soul Brothers with "Lawless Street" and the Heptones with "Gunmen Coming To Town", alongside Duke Reid with "Shuffling Down Bond Street Trojan", who cried out in the grooves of his first single (those were the days) "...peace in the ghettos... freedom for black brothers...". In England's working-class neighbourhoods, the Rude Boy subculture hovered over, or rather, met head-on with the mod(ernist) subculture. And speaking of working-class culture, Jimmy Cliff's "Struggling Man" has always been a staple of Cock Sparrer, a rough-edged band from London's West End. Together with Sham 69, the guiding lights of Oi-Punk's canon.

Colin McFaull, Mick Beaufoy, Steve Burgess and Steve Bruce: a legendary lineup. Direct lyrics and compositions, firmly on the side of the working class, at times with harsh populist/nationalist overtones. But always in favour of the common people. They formed in 1974, starting out playing solid pub-rock, sharing stages for a while with Eddie And The Hot Rods, before gradually diverging towards a drier, harsher sound.

In 1977 they wrote their first original song (before that, they had only played other people's material). The title of the single is "Runnin Riot": melodically jagged guitars (a second guitarist, Garrie Lammin, had recently joined), drums and bass in tight accompaniment - a classic of Oi: driving, yet played with skill, full of breaks and riffs that surge upward.

Long tours followed, which kept them busy for months on end in England alone (where they were adored by the huge skinhead communities scattered across the country). This continued right up to their 1983 album (released only with great difficulty), "Shock Troops", which contains some genuine gems, a clear demonstration of what is meant by street-punk - another fitting name for Oi-Punk.

“Where Are They Now”, “I Got Your Number”, “Riot Squad”, “England Belongs To Me” are cardinal points for the bands that would later form (often right after witnessing one of their performances) to strengthen this particular and specific “segment” of the broader, ever-shifting punk movement. The lyrics, first of all: direct, no frills, taking sides — with those living in working-class neighbourhoods — often seasoned with injections of slang and therefore sometimes a bit rough. The music: lean, fast but melodic, never as cacophonous as we often find in classic punk. Songs typically run a few minutes long, neither too long nor too short.

In Cock Sparrer's sound we find musical traits of the Small Faces, of the Kinks — in short, of the more electric rhythm'n'soul groups, who had a greater influence on the mod movement, from which, through “fusion” with the Rude Boys, hard-mod was born, also known as skinhead original.

The mod movement dances to the warm rhythm of soul and West Coast jazz. It's a youth movement, and as such fiercely intolerant of rules, dictates and standards imposed from above. This love for music typically rooted in Black culture also fuels a rapid acceleration of an oppositional culture. Hence the openness to immigrants, the welcome extended to political refugees. And so it's a very short step that brings the mods into contact with the Rude Boys.

The members of the hard-mod movement (the first skinhead movement, it's worth stressing) were also great lovers of Northern Soul, an original English musical genre born from an explosive mix of soul and rhythm'n'blues combined with sped-up rhythms and, at times, touches of urban funk.

This music strengthened a sense of community, given how much active participation it demanded from those attending the gigs — genuine performances in the style of the Baptist sermons of churches in the southern United States.

The year of grace for hard-mod? 1969. Just like the second word that completes the name of the band that, to be historically precise, gave birth to the skinhead/revival movement: the aforementioned Sham 69.

Similar to Sham 69 in musical power and emotional tension were Angelic Upstarts, part of the second wave of bands in the skinhead revival, straddling the late 70s and early 80s. Standard-bearers of the working class, with their socialist ideology always translated into their lyrics. Mensi, the singer, Mond on guitar, Forsten on bass and Sticks on drums came of age and were forged in the era of Margaret Thatcher and her offensive against the working class and immigrants.

From their very first single in 1978, “The Murder Of Liddle Towers”, self-released in a run of 500 copies all sold at gigs, they took a stand against police brutality and the repression of struggles.

Their proper debut album came in 1979: “Teenage Warning”. Pure dynamite, from the title track to every other song on it. But it's the overall sound that hits hardest: screaming guitar and bass, drums doing the same, all providing solid backing to the enormously hoarse voice of the giant Mensi, a modern-day Spartacus. Hard-hitting, explicit songs, with the instruments “tamed” by the expressive power of the lyrics.

1980 would bring the monumental “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place”, which was taken on tour across Europe during the heroic strikes by Polish dockworkers in Gdańsk and Szczecin, with part of the proceeds donated every night to their cause.

“Solidarity”, the centrepiece and pivot of the record, is a heart-wrenching song. As if Woody Guthrie had met punk. The words are so fitting, so carefully chosen, it's almost like reading the Steinbeck of “The Grapes of Wrath”.

That alone would be enough, but we can also mention “Lonely Man Of Spandau”, a hard, stinging punk track with no restraint. Solid and heavy. Much like “We Gotta…”. Fast, quick, similar to the punkiest Clash, before they were swept up in the world-music of “Sandinista”.

This “world music” would instead prove a constant, lasting inspiration for the more open and clear-cut rhythms of the ska revival, which sprang from the rediscovery of Jamaican rocksteady (itself a variant of the original early-60s ska) played at a faster tempo than reggae.

English ska of the early 80s also drew energy from the fury of punk (above all the Clash, the Ruts and the early Police), giving rise to a thoroughly enjoyable genre. Notable names included the Beat, the Selecter, the Specials.

Bands all committed to “making people think while they dance”. Lyrics that were never banal, always carefully crafted, inevitably winning over the skinhead movement, given its Black roots — musically, culturally and materially speaking. Oi-punk and ska coexisted, and still coexist structurally, as the two musical axes of this subculture. This attitude, moreover, can be felt deeply in the reggae detours and rhythm'n'soul intrusions of other bands “devoted to the cause”. Just think of the Redskins, Oi Polloi, the more recent Dropkick Murphys, or Brigada Flores Magón. As Italy's own Nabat once shouted: “We'll take to the streets and…”.

Oi-punk, the music of the street.

Ride the wave of great music

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