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Post by stu77 on Oct 9, 2020 18:04:17 GMT
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Post by Lord Emsworth on Oct 9, 2020 19:14:44 GMT
Well there's poor old Brian Connolly of Sweet who was attacked in a pub and his voice was never the same again. Nor was he.
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Post by Lord Emsworth on Oct 9, 2020 19:18:03 GMT
The Cockney Rejects had some massive brawl in Birmingham with Birmingham City hooligans, think the same thing happened in Liverpool too
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Post by Lord Emsworth on Oct 9, 2020 19:19:55 GMT
My most violent gig was The Lurkers and Adam and the Ants at the Electric Ballroom. Absolute carnage. Both groups had hardcore fans who ended up fighting plus, for reasons I dont understand there was also a contingent of NF supporters who, so far as I could work out, were just there for a ruck.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 9, 2020 20:08:04 GMT
The Disturbed/The Condemned in Paisley's Cellar Bar in the mid 80's. A small pub nearly Paisley Tech.
The Condemned were a punk/skin band in the Blitz mould but utter shite from Glasgows east end.
Their presence attracted a large group of skinheads from Greenock who in turn started to attack anyone who wasn't a skinhead going for a drink or going to the bog so it was a bit of a massacre. However, those of us who fought a rearguard action to get out the pub down to Paisley High St intact were doing well.
However, the over exhuberant skins who strayed too far up the hill both pissed and knackered were taught a very severe lesson my brother that night.
It laid a marker down.
Never liked skinheads since.
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Post by zeopold on Oct 9, 2020 20:21:47 GMT
The roughest show I attended was The Pack supporting Crass in Deptford in 79. Wall to wall BM skins sieg heiling. Norm Fasey from the old TP organised the event.
The weirdest part was this lone punk, Glen from Sidcup, with a cool barnet, matching tartan bondage trousers and kilt, swaggering around smacking all the skins in front of their mates and none of them did anything about it.
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Post by stu77 on Oct 9, 2020 21:09:57 GMT
Seem to recall someone dying at a Radiators From Space gig , summer '77.
In Preston possibly.
And a death at a London punk gig that year or the year after.
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Post by stu77 on Oct 9, 2020 21:12:27 GMT
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Post by oldpunk on Oct 9, 2020 21:42:32 GMT
Seem to recall someone dying at a Radiators From Space gig , summer '77. In Preston possibly. And a death at a London punk gig that year or the year after. think it was in dublin  or maybe it happened in both places |
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Bassy
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Post by Bassy on Oct 9, 2020 22:12:17 GMT
By the time I started going to punk gigs (1982) there were constant rumours that skinheads were going to turn up and ruin the event. Although this threat never materialised, the paranoia and fear were very real. Funnily enough, the only serious fight I ever saw at a gig was when watching The Smiths  Unfortunately, I didn't manage to entirely escape the skinhead menace. On my way out of The Lyceum in 1982, I was relieved of a t-shirt I'd bought at the merch stall by a large skinhead. I gave it up in a philosophical manner. He was twice my size and clearly prepared to forcibly take it. |
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Post by stu77 on Oct 10, 2020 4:27:36 GMT
Seem to recall someone dying at a Radiators From Space gig , summer '77. In Preston possibly. And a death at a London punk gig that year or the year after. think it was in dublin or maybe it happened in both places Yeah it was Dublin don't know why I thought it was Preston. The other one was someone called Henry Bowles at a Subway Sect gig in Kings Cross . |
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Post by zeopold on Oct 10, 2020 9:19:31 GMT
On my way out of The Lyceum in 1982, I was relieved of a t-shirt I'd bought at the merch stall by a large skinhead. Luxury. Back in '79 I was relieved of my tartan bondage strides at gunpoint by four of them, doused in petrol and tortured after they forced their way into the Mornington Crescent squat where I was staying. |
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Bassy
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Post by Bassy on Oct 10, 2020 10:21:58 GMT
On my way out of The Lyceum in 1982, I was relieved of a t-shirt I'd bought at the merch stall by a large skinhead. Luxury. Back in '79 I was relieved of my tartan bondage strides at gunpoint by four of them, doused in petrol and tortured after they forced their way into the Mornington Crescent squat where I was staying. Fuck !  |
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Post by Lord Emsworth on Oct 10, 2020 10:29:09 GMT
I have heard Zeo's tale before. It's truly shocking and the stuff of nightmares
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Post by politician2 on Oct 10, 2020 12:14:40 GMT
I have only two tales of encounters with skinheads, both of them comical rather than horrifying.
In the early eighties, a French friend – with a strong French accent – and I were walking back after a gig when we were approached by a none-too-bright skinhead spoiling for a fight.
"Er, like… are you British?" said the skinhead to my friend.
"No."
"What are you, then?"
"I'm Scottish."
"Er, like… that's shit. You're stupid. Scottish is British, innit?"
"Is it?" replied my friend. "I never knew that."
Not knowing how to react, the skinhead slunk away quietly.
The second incident occurred on a train in the late nineties, when I was with several of my commuting pals. A group of skinheads had boarded the train, which wasn't that busy – some were sitting down but others were loitering in the passageway between the seats. An irritable old man was trying to get past, with a skinhead in the way, and snapped at him, "Can't you lot sit down like normal people?"
A certain hush descended over the carriage: I think it's fair to say that most people expected some swearing in response, maybe a few threats of violence, perhaps even for the old man to get punched. However, that's not what happened – if it had, at least he would have been able to claim the moral high ground.
Instead, the surprisingly well-spoken skinhead responded, "Now see here, my good man. That was completely uncalled-for. A simple 'excuse me' would have sufficed, thank you very much."
Dumbfounded by this eloquence, the old man launched into a bizarre and splenetic rant about Tony Blair and "people speaking for me". The skinhead, who was obviously a very well-educated man, interjected only occasionally, but every time he did it was with something witty and pithy, which completely destroyed whatever argument the old man was attempting to build, which only made him angrier.
Finally, people started to heckle the old man, shouting "You're Victor Meldrew off the telly!", "Give us your autograph, Victor!" and the inevitable "I don't BELIEEEEEEEVE it!" However, this wasn't the skinheads: it was my commuting pals, all businessmen men in pinstripe suits. His worldview turned entirely on its head, the old man stormed off to another carriage.
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or maybe it happened in both places 
