Robert Forbes and Eddie Stampton — The White Nationalist Skinhead Movement: UK & US 1
I should mention two important disclaimers here. Firstly, I was largely ignorant about the book’s subject, before I bought it (which was precisely why I bought it). Secondly, I did buy it: I’m aware that the mere contents of the book are going to provoke criticism, so I think it’s important to point out that this isn’t a free, review copy. I bought it myself, in the hope of a good read, to learn more about ‘The White Nationalist Skinhead Movement’. I need to say this, because I’m going to drag bits of the book through the mud.
So what did I learn? A lot - possibly too much. I’m not going to plot the book’s contents out, chapter by chapter, but I’ll give the briefest outline here. The book charts the movement through the years 1979-1993, with a short chapter about developments in the US pegged onto the end. Geographically, it concentrates on the UK, but it crosses over to mainland Europe a few times; not least because of the labels Rock-O-Rama Records, and (the somewhat mysterious) Rebelles Européens. To be even more precise, the north of England is often the focus, given that London gigs became increasingly difficult for the bands involved due to protests and issues with police and local councils. Naturally, Skrewdriver and Ian Stuart dominate proceedings, as they dominated the scene; but the book also charts the stories of bands who were barely noticed, or didn’t even record a demo. Forbes and Stampton begin by charting Skrewdriver’s beginnings in punk, and Stuart’s gradual disillusionment with the scene, paired with his increasing interest in skinhead culture and the violence that quickly became attached to the band. (Initially, this violence actually involved fights with Teds.) Following through Skrewdriver’s conversion into an outright ‘Nazi’ band, we read about the re-emergence of RAC (Rock Against Communism) and the bands who became associated with it. To mention a few: Brutal Attack, Skullhead, No Remorse, Sudden Impact, Public Enemy and Battlezone - the rest of the book details the activities of these and many other bands.
The White Nationalist Skinhead Movement is chronological, which neatly sidesteps it being a series of identikit band histories. However, it often creates the opposite problem: rather than concise, ordered information, everything becomes a confusing mess. When I said I learnt ‘a lot’ earlier, the ‘too much’ was something of an understatement. Forbes and Stampton cram every single morsel of related fact into the text. The book (bearing in mind my previous disclaimer that I can’t comment on the contents’ validity) is clearly ruthlessly researched. However, the impression given is that the authors have just dumped the research on the paper, without any filtering or thought. There are any amount of paragraphs which just read, ‘On DATE, BAND X played VENUE, supported by BAND Y and BAND Z’. And that’s that. Whilst the book is chronological, it’s often lacking a sense of narrative: events occur, but they’re not always woven together. To compound this, the book often lays bare the chosen research methods, in a somewhat ugly way. I suspect that the authors, very sensibly, posted requests in the public domain for the accounts and experiences of anyone involved in the scene; however, these responses are, more often than not, simply pasted into the text wholesale. Quite often, when discussing a certain gig, the book will tell you that ‘Andy’ went to it, and then quote his recollections of said gig; however, on several occasions, the ‘recollections’ turn out to be entire life histories. Sometimes, the authors even introduce them as, ‘This is his story…’. These stories are nearly all fascinating, the research is (apparently) fruitful - but the use of the material is cumbersome and ungainly. The sense of a chronology is often bogged down and disrupted by it. Worse, in the desire to deploy every scrap of research, we end up with ludicrousness like the following: the text tells us that Andy Frain saw Skrewdriver at the 100 Club, in London, in October 1982 - adding to the excitement with, ‘He has agreed to talk for the first time ever…’; what follows is a brilliantly colourful, riveting, potted life story, which ends, ‘I … went to see them at the 100 Club. I can’t remember much about it, though.’. Laughable. Frain’s story is really great reading, but it doesn’t tell us anything about the gig. It’s as if Forbes and Stampton have indexed all of their research and then pulled out anything that mentions the subject in hand. (Ironically enough, The White Nationalist Skinhead Movement does not even have an index - but it’s a book that screams for one.) Following on from this bizarre misuse of research - and also echoing the indexing idea - I’m going to have to quote a large chunk of text; a bit like a teacher humiliating a child in class:
The gig was well-attended, attracting some seven hundred to one thousand people. Clearly the popularity of Skrewdriver was growing. Colin H. From Enfield was there, so was Eddie Stampton, so was Nick Rich from Kent, so was Mike from Feltham, so was MJ, so was William from Hounslow, so was Glyn from South London, so was Mark from Coventry, so was Val Drury, so was David Webster, so was Chad from Barrow, as was Mark from Birmingham…
This is … not good.
There’s also confusion as to the politics of the book itself. On page 441, Battlezone’s ‘Nowhere to Hide’ album is described as ‘a worthy addition to any punk and oi collection, despite the use of the N word in ‘Victimised’.’ But elsewhere, the book is very obviously celebratory of the scene and its ideologies. This might be down to the fact that the authors have divided up the book between them - certainly the writing suggests that in places. But if they do have differing political views - Stampton is an active far-right figure, equally scorned by parts of the right, as the left, it seems - there’s never any dialogue or discussion on the subject. Just a book that carries an unresolved tone. Tucked away at the very end of the book, is a disclaimer, stating that ‘No hatred is aimed at any people or races mentioned within…’ and so forth: it’s legally astute (and necessary) on the part of the authors and Feral House, but it feels a little ‘cute’. (It’s noticeable that the recollections of an ‘Eddie Stampton’, quoted at length in the book, are littered with censoring asterisks - whilst, elsewhere, these offending words are spelled out in full by others.)
It’s not all bad, though. As I mentioned earlier, most of the raw material (recollections from those involved) is fantastic: colourful, evocative, and engaging. As you might imagine, the book tells an often violent, bloody (even fatal) story, with the pages full of everything from minor scuffles to set-piece battles. Though, one thing that struck me, was the extent to which violence was actually avoided; perhaps my abiding ‘memory’ of the book is that it’s almost a list of re-direction points: nearly every gig poster comes adorned with a meeting point, often with a specific time window, at which to be told the actual venue - kept secret until that point. Indeed, an oddly touching moment, is when ‘Mike from Feltham’ recounts how he got to know notorious hardman, Nicky Crane; he says that after a while, Crane would confide in him venues in advance of gigs, so that he could travel straight there. Crane’s story is a compelling one, which could fill a book in itself: a violent street-fighter and committed neo-Nazi, he was security for Skrewdriver; he then came out in the early 90s after years of rumour and gossip, to the horror of his comrades (‘homosexuality is a perversion’ - Ian Stuart). It’s these more intriguing characters and quirky elements that make the book: Crane being spotted carrying Marilyn (the androgynous, 80s New Romantic pop star) out of gay club Heaven, Johnny Adair playing bass for Offensive Weapon, before rising to lead the brutal ‘C Company’ of the Ulster Freedom Fighters, the Final Sound’s ‘sore thumb’ appearance on the ‘No Surrender’ compilation, with their electronic ‘synth-pop’ sound, and No Remorse’s (similarly conspicuous) ‘N.R. Rap’, which might have been intended as a parody of hip hop, but is just plain awful. Perhaps the other thing to be drawn from the book is the genuine warmth shown towards Ian Stuart; although, as always, the scene had divisions and fall-outs, Stuart is remembered with a tenderness and love quite opposite to the violence that surrounded him. As a last positive note, The White Nationalist Skinhead Movement is visually very beautiful, thoroughly evoking a different time: gritty photos of gigs and bands, and handmade, often hand-drawn, gig flyers - all stencils, typewriters and letraset.
So, what do we have? We have a lot of fascinating research, on a fascinating subject; ruined, somewhat, during the attempted conversion of that good work into a readable book. The White Nationalist Skinhead Movement almost feels like a collection of source material, with which to write the book proper. I’m not necessarily criticising the authors here: Feral House published it, and employed someone to edit it - but you’d have to seriously ask if anyone at the house even read it. (The text also has format issues, where subjects run into each other without adequate sub-titling.) But then, the sales spiel for the book laughably claims that, ‘When Feral House first published the award-winning Lords of Chaos: The Bloody Rise of the Satanic Metal Underground, little was known about the “black metal” genre of music…’ - so, we’re not talking about a bastion of conscientiousness… Also, for a project that concentrates on the musical side of the movement - the more overtly political, organised, side of things crops up (the British Movement and the National Front, affiliations and splits), but is never fully explored - the book is oddly shallow when discussing the sounds of the bands, most often merely printing lyrics verbatim. So, this all feels like a missed opportunity. Whatever your political persuasion, the story hidden inside The White Nationalist Skinhead Movement is an intriguing one: a DIY musical movement conducted truly underground, hounded by state and political enemies alike. (There’s something strangely ‘alien’ about many of the band photos - it’s equivalent to seeing glam rockers in glitzy clothing and platform boots.) It’s a neglected area of punk history, like oi, which has been skated over in the continual recuperation of the genre: the Sex Pistols as national treasure. After the first hundred or so pages, which were spellbinding, I had high hopes for the book (curiously, the last chapter, concerning the US, is more readable - perhaps due to less clutter, or the ‘novelty’ of US skins recreating a UK phenomenon); however, it soon became a bit of a slog. Having amassed a treasure trove of research, images, and stories, the book simply fails to bind them into a worthy account.