1977 And All That

A casual bit of chatter on Twitter this evening made me realise that there are some important years that (potentially) change the courses of our lives. For me, 1977 was one of those years. It marked the demarcation between hippy and punk and all that that meant.

In 1976 I was 16 and had long hair. I spent the long, hot summer reading 'The Lord of the Rings' and books about the Celtic twilight and how tree-hugging made sense. I wore (and sorry for swearing) flares. The hair got longer ...

In 1977 my hair was cut off, my jeans narrowed and I played loud bouncy music, fast guitars and drums, slower reggae bass and beats and listened to John Peel. I had seen the light.

Most of my peer group at school kept the hair and the flares and played Led Zeppelin, Steve Hillage, Pink Floyd and all that stuff. In the 80s I've got no doubt that they appreciated bands like Dire Straits and joined the Thatcher 'me' generation. Punk does seem to be a dividing line - you either loved it or hated it (like Marmite) and that sent you reeling down through the years. I obviously loved punk and it has influenced me since those heady days way back when. It set me free to be who I am. I don't bounce and pogo much any more but I'm still me and that's part of the essence of punk.

I think there's something going on in my mind. Last year at this time I posted a blog titled 'Who Are You?' in which I talked about my 'punk sensibilities' that made me rebel against black tie culture. I probably ought to work my way back through time to find out why March throws up these soul-searching blogs.