A big journey back in time, not "Ashes to Ashes" but "Sense of Doubt"; the mid to late 70's, detailing the big bang captured on typewriter, zerox machine and a great deal of foresight. Read this to gain insight into the characters; the heavy Clash backstage silence, Sid jumping on the fanzine for poser effect, the fickle Bowie/Roxy fans simpering into synth pap. The fault lines evident in hindsight. At the time euphoria carried the day.
The distance between Rotherhithe, Deptford and Bromley, physically is around 2-3 miles. A journey via Lewisham, Catford, Downham before arriving at Bromley. In economic terms it is more than a cultural generation away. It demarcates completely different lifestyles. Sniffin Glue joined the two together for the first time creating the bond age of "art".
This was the proto power of 77. Euphoria and belief, captured by the Clash, Chelsea, Pistols, Damned, Johnny Thunders, Johnny Moped, Ramones, Cherry Vanila, Buzzcocks and the countless others all exploding into being. A social document, rather than a template for the modern world, this exploded when young people believed they could initiate change instead of impersonate their parents.
It is now far easier to record, distribute and bypass the major corporations to sell to the public. The product is missing, the inverse of the late 70's where everything was a struggle, but the end result was startling.
The fanzine was a success of the free market system, it entailed to replace. Ironic, because the free market system looked on these entrepeunarial skills with aghast rage. The working classes doing things for themselves was the not the vision they wanted to inculcate. Those churned out of Secondary Modern were cannon fodder for the machine that swallowed up their parents and grand parents.
Eventually caught in the cross roads of success, Sniffin Glue disbanded. Meanwhile some of these bands sold their souls to Mephistopheles for filthy lucre, in return for everlasting corporate life. Others disbanded just like the "Glue" as the world shifted into Ballardian sterility. Forever parading lesser doses of rebellion and greater notions of absraction, the short change of the audience "in the name of love" churned with precision. Angst and rage fractured into fragments.
This is the real sound of the inner city before it succumbed to heroin, cheap beer and crack addiction. This is when the true free market decided a hostile takeover was needed to rescue itself.