Friday afternoon I interviewed Steve Ignorant, lead singer of pioneering anarcho-punk band Crass. An edited version of our chat, with a different intro, appeared at the Seattle Concerts Examiner (go here for a look).

Truth be told, though, the conversation was so lively, lengthy, and expletive-laden that there was no way on God’s green I could post it in untruncated form on a general-audience website. Enter the SunBreak’s ever-liberal, open-minded, and willing-to-post-all-the-cuss-words-in-the-lexicon editors. Below, please find the full(-ish), uncut interview.

Crass were never more than a devotedly worshipped cult outfit in the States, but in England they were one of the most significant bands to surface during the first wave of punk in the late 1970’s.

Their very genesis rendered them unique: The band formed in the fertile (and still-extant) grounds of an artist collective/free house near Essex known as Dial House, and the two founders of Crass–then-seventeen-year-old lead singer Steve Ignorant (né Steve Williams) and then-thirty-something performance artist and poet Penny Rimbaud (AKA Jeremy Ratter)–couldn’t have been more dissimilar. But Ignorant, Rimbaud, and the friends and fellow Dial House-mates who made up Crass’s line-up shared a fervent commitment to social and political activism that placed their money–and their art–squarely where their mouths were.

The band touched on several powder kegs of topicality during its existence–feminism, environmentalism, the placidly menacing spectre of Thatcher-era British government–then went one giant step further than most of their punk-band peers by acting on their political stance. Crass members covered the London Underground and that city’s biggest billboards with spray-painted pro-feminist/environmentalist/anti-war/anti-consumerist stencils. They became a burr in the Thatcher government’s saddle with a dizzying variety of hoaxes and protests, some orchestrated with anarchic humor to match the clarity of purpose. And according to a lengthy Vice magazine interview with Rimbaud, every live show Crass played was a benefit for a charitable organization or political cause, with almost all the proceeds (less the band’s tour van maintenance costs) going to striking laborers and environmental organizations like the then-embryonic Greenpeace.

Crass stuck defiantly by their ideals on the recording front, too, forming their own record label (Crass Records), completely producing and distributing their music independently (decades before Facebook and MySpace put such endeavors a few keyboard clicks away), and dressing in utilitarian black for their live sets–a gesture misinterpreted as fascistic by some wags, but intended as a statement against the rock and roll cult-of-personality mentality that induced the screaming breach-birth of punk in the first place.

Steve Ignorant considered himself just one of a collective when he spat out Crass’s politically-charged invectives, but he was (and remains) one of the punk genre’s singular vocalists; a massive aesthetic influence on the entire straight-edge punk movement. He’s lived a rich and varied life in the ensuing years since the demise of Crass in 1984, singing in other bands (Schwartzneggar, the Stratford Mercenaries), exploring artistic expression as a sculptor and Punch and Judy performer (yes, you read that right), and writing a well-received autobiography, The Rest is Propaganda.

But this punk-of-many-trades speaks to me today because of Crass. Or more specifically, the music of Crass.

A loud, mohawk-topped hornets’ nest has been stirred by the recent CD reissues of the original Crass back catalog. Ignorant, Rimbaud, and former Crass album cover designer Gee Vaucher coordinated the reissues, and some of Ignorant’s former bandmates are hopping mad about it. The veteran punk frontman–in quintessential fuck-you fashion–has responded to his former siblings-in-arms by hitting the road to play those Crass songs one more time. He’s currently traversing North America with a backing band, playing those tunes on what he’s labeled The Last Supper Tour. It’s the first time in nearly thirty years that many of those songs have been played live, in any form, by any member of the band’s original line-up. The tour lands at Neumo’s tonight (tickets, $21, are still available), and Ignorant’s even stopping by the Comet Tavern at 6 p.m. to chat with local journalist Chris Estey about Crass, the autobiography, and pretty much whatever the hell else he feels like.

The reissues and this current spate of live gigs can’t help but rouse some initial skepticism at Ignorant’s motives; and with Crass’s dissenting former bandmates keeping mum and speaking entirely through their lawyers, the world’s only getting a one-sided perspective on all the brouhaha. A few minutes of’ conversation with Steve Ignorant, however, blow a lot of pre-emptive cynicism out of the water. He feels a sustained and sincere pride in Crass’s legacy, for good reason: The band put out some of the most hard-hitting political punk ever bashed out by humans. And with their detours into spoken word, sound collage, poetry, and avant-garde improvisation, Crass expanded the boundaries of what a so-called ‘punk rock’ band could do.

Steve Ignorant also mentions Crass fans frequently–not in a condescending, Marie-Antoinette-addressing-the-peasants way, but with familial, fraternal affection. His sharp mind and working-stiff compassion naturally offset his Cockney bluntness, so he’s as thoughtful as he is foul-mouthed (that said, of course, feel free to borrow a couple of F-bombs from this interview if your verbal weapons locker’s running short). He’s funny as hell. And he’s enough of a salt-of-the-earth guy to invite a schleppy music journalist to have a beer with him when he hits Seattle. Happy to oblige, Mr. Ignorant.

What’s the U.S. portion of the Last Supper Tour been going like so far for you? You’ve played New York, and now you’re in Canada.

Well, the first stop was Brooklyn. The venue was only expecting about 200 people, and about 400 turned up. The joint was hopping, as they say. Last night, we played in Montreal. That was live to 1,000 people. The response from the audience has been really good. It’s just been great so far.

Could you sum up the current Last Supper band line-up, and the shows, in your own words?

Well, the band consists of [drummer] Spike T. Smith; he’s worked with people like Morrissey and Killing Joke. I’ve also got Bob Butler [on bass], he used to be in a band called Schwartzneggar with me. On guitar is a guy called Gizz Butt; he’s been in The Fields of the Nephilim and the Prodigy, [and] the English Dogs. On female vocals, I’ve got Carol Hodge, who’s been in Synco and Bad Taste Barbies; and me on vocals. The set we’re doing is all Crass material, and it goes from the songs we did from 1977, to about 1981 or ’82. It includes songs from Penis Envy.

Basically, what we did when we started arranging this tour was put out [the word] on the internet, looking specifically at who’s got a favorite Crass song that they want to hear. Lots of people [responded]. Fortunately, all the songs they’d requested, we’d already put in the set.

That works out nicely.

Yeah, it was a real relief [laughs].

Of all the Crass records you’re drawing from on the current tour, I heard that you weren’t doing anything off of Yes, Sir, I Will. I was wondering why that was.

Because it’s just too difficult, and I don’t think that any of the people I’m working with at the moment would be comfortable doing that sort of material. Also, when I was in Crass and we used to do that Yes, Sir, I Will stuff live onstage, I was really never, ever comfortable with doing that. There were so many words, it was like reading the Bible, almost…

Crass songs as a whole have always been very dense lyrically, so for you to say that is really saying a mouthful.

Yeah. With that one in particular, I used to have to take the lyrics onstage with me on a piece of paper, and I just used to…It just used to make a block in the atmosphere. I just never felt comfortable doing it. I want to be David Bowie, and not bloody Allen Ginsberg [laughs].

It’s great that you’re playing to some massive houses. That seems pretty unheard of for somebody who started out as part of a collective of anarcho-punk squatters. What’s it like playing to crowds of that size?

It’s okay; I’m quite comfortable with it. Obviously it’s different because you can’t look at everybody in the face like I usually do. When I was touring in Europe last year, we did this gig in Munich and the band got a little twitchy, because there was all of sixty people there or something. They said, “What are we going to do?” And I said, “Don’t panic!” The thing is, It doesn’t matter if there’s one person in the audience, or if there’s a thousand. We do the same performance. You’ve got to give it the same bollocks, you know? It shouldn’t make any difference. And that’s really the way I feel about it, you know: You just sort of get on, and do it.

Sometimes I’m a bit silly; I always stand by the bar, so people can come talk to me. And I got a sore throat, talking, because so many people came up and talked to me [afterward]. So I shot myself in the foot a bit in Munich [laughs], but I’ve got to do it. I just think, if people are prepared to buy my records or if they’re prepared to come to a show, the least I can do is give them five minutes of my time.

It really seems like this tour is for the Crass fans. You’re doing it for the people who’ve been affected by your music.

I think that is absolutely right. I was talking to a bloke last night, and he said, “I’m really excited about tonight, not just because you’re playing, but I’m gonna meet some friends I’ve not seen in fifteen years. The funny thing is, that [with] all the shows we’ve done–even back in Europe and the UK–what seems to happen is: we go onstage, and yeah, it’s great and people love it, but suddenly it seems to take second precedence because most people go and they really get into meeting each other afterwards; after years. It’s like a real melting pot of people, and it’s lovely to see. And that’s what Crass gigs used to be like. It used to be like a real meeting place almost, and it seems to be happening again.

One of the things that made Crass’s music stand out was that although it was extremely message-driven, the band took a lot of twists sonically that a lot of other bands of the era were either unwilling or unable to take. Could you talk to me about some of your early musical influences?

Well, my initial musical inspirations came from ska and bluebeat, back in the sixties. That was the first music I remember wanting to buy. And then of course when I was old enough and could afford it, the first single I ever bought was “Close to You” by the Carpenters [laughs]. I discovered that that song was written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David; and I started looking out for their stuff. I thought they were a great combination, and I still think they’ve got great stuff. I know some of it’s cheesy, but I really like it.

Then there was Motown. I love the brass sections in those [songs]. And then, of course, David Bowie took hold of me after that. And then punk came along. When I first met Penny Rimbaud, he introduced me to things like Miles Davis and John Coltrane, and Joni Mitchell. I know some of her music’s a bit dodgy, but some of her lyrics are just fantastic.

So amongst your peers in the original punk movement, were there any particular bands or figures that inspired you; that you fed off of, creatively?

Yeah. Obviously, I was inspired by The Clash. They were the first band I ever saw. I remember walking into that concert hall, and Joe Strummer was belting out his gravelly vocals…. But it was Paul Simonon standing there with his bass, all dressed in black, blond spiky hair standing tall…and I just thought, that looks really good. I never stopped being inspired by other bands that I met. There was a band called The System that I really liked. There was a band called Theatre of Hate, with Kirk Brandon. I quite liked what he did. I got inspirations from all over the place.

Are you much on attending live rock shows in addition to playing them now?

Nahhh…I’m 53 years old. I go down to the pub; I read the paper, and play a bit with the dogs [laughs].

When you were attending live shows, were there other live shows besides The Clash’s that made an impact on you?

Yeah. Certainly, The Adverts…I never got to see The Pistols; I saw The Damned…I was never too sure about The Damned, I sort of liked them. Generation X, I saw and quite liked them. But I don’t like Billy Idol anymore. He’s kind of a fucking fat bastard now [laughs]. Did you know he got to sing backing vocals on a Joni Mitchell album? The fucker! She never asked me [mock-sobbing in falsetto]!

I stopped going to big shows. I saw Dr. Feelgood, and they were great…Ian Dury… But then I started finding these small pubs in London, like small back rooms, and they were cheaper gigs. I could just come and see these unknown bands, so it was all that.

So how do you think the Steve Ignorant of 1977 would feel about the Steve Ignorant of 2011 going out on the road with all these old songs?

Oh, I think he’d think he was a boring old fart! “What a cop-out [laughs]…. The bald old coot. 53 and still doing it [laughs]? Don’t he know nothing?”

Crass always seemed to really contrast a lot of what was going on in the punk movement, because spiritually you guys were a lot more tied into the purpose and mission of the sixties. Not to label you as hippies–there was a ferocity to your message that was very transformative–but there was a lot of idealism and purpose to what you were doing that was more akin to the hippie movement…what do you have to say about that?

I would totally agree to that. Absolutely. And I think that was because all of the other members [of Crass] were older than me, and they had been involved in the sixties thing. Penny Rimbaud and Gee Vaucher both went to the same art college. They were both into the Beat Poets and the Beat Movement, and they introduced me to it…Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and Neal Cassidy. At the time I couldn’t relate to it, because I’d never been to America, but now I understand it. And I think that’s where it really came from. There was that sort of idealistic hippie-dippy-wafty, gotta-love-each-other stuff going on. But then you had me going in, saying, “Fuck off, that sounds like a load of bullshit! Let’s tell the government to go stuff its face up the queen’s arse [laughs]!” But I think it was a good mixture.

From the interviews I’ve read with you, and talking to you, you strike me as a very aware and plugged-in person who reads a lot. What are you reading now?

Well, because I’m in America right now, I bought The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck; so I could read it as we go across the Great Plains. You know the film North by Northwest with Cary Grant, where he’s standing at that crossroads and that aeroplane comes along? We’re gonna go places like that, and that sort of reminded me of The Grapes of Wrath. That’s quite a long book, so that should just about last out that leg of the tour…

I’m assuming you’ve played Seattle before…

Yeah, when I was in…the Stratford Mercenaries.

How long ago was that?

Crikey…It’s been about fifteen years or something….

Any memories of playing here?

[long pause]

It’s OK if you say no….

[laughs] I remember it being a big venue, and that’s about it. I remember it was bloody cold…I remember the Market, the big Fish Market.

Pike Place Market.

Yeah!

You’re also doing an appearance at the Comet, signing your autobiography. Could you tell me a little about the book?

Well, of course, it’s about me [laughs]; it’s not all about Crass. It’s about where I was born; how I grew up; what music influenced me; how I got into skinhead culture in the late sixties, when I was a bit of a football hooligan like every other kid in England at the time; disastrous first attempts at sex and all that sort of stuff…there’s a bit about Crass; and life after Crass. I basically tried to be as honest as possible and talk about everything.

How long had the autobiography been gestating? Is it something that you’d been working on for many years, or did it kind of come in a rush for you?

It had been in my head for about twenty years. But I met this guy, Steve Pottinger. And he gave me a book of his prose that he wrote…his writing is similar to how I write, so I asked him if he’d help me do it, and he said yeah. It took about a year-and-a-half.

Do fans seem to be satisfied with the book?

Yeah. I don’t know so much about the American [fans]. I don’t know if many of them have gotten it yet. But certainly I’ve heard a lot from English people. Most of them say,”Steve, that reminds me so much of my childhood. I remember playing truant from school, and my stepdad was an arsehole,” and that kind of thing.

The Crass reissues have come out very recently, and I know there was some contention about them from some of the old band members. Is that something that’s been resolved? I know Penny seems to be okay with them, but what about the other band members?

Those old fossils…all we wanted to do was firstly, save the Crass material, which was on two-inch tape, from what used to be analog. So Penny Rimbaud and I went in and decided to put it all on digital. While he was sitting there, he realized he could tweak the sound so that it sounded better; so that we could get the sound we always wanted. When we used to record onto vinyl, because we were always short of money, we used to cram as much material as possible onto a 12-inch disc. Well, that meant that the actual grooves were so close together you couldn’t get a big bass sound. That’s why all the old Crass records sound tinny. I used to hate it, because we never sounded punk, particularly. So Penny said, “Would you mind if I sort of muck around with them?” and I said, “Go for it.” He sent me a sample. I was like, “Wow! At last! It sounds like we should’ve sounded.” So he said, “I’ll do the others, then, if that’s all right.” And I said, “Yeah, go for it.”

So he did it, and Gee Vaucher…got excited about it and started mucking about, and started coming up with all this lovely artwork. We sent these samples to each member of Crass, and said, “If you want to contribute, feel free.” Some of the boring bastards went, “No, don’t touch the record; you should just leave it as it is.” Part of the problem is, when we first put the stuff on CDs years ago, you lost half the artwork; it was so small, you couldn’t read it. With the new releases, you see everything; it sounds better; you’ve got additional artwork; so what’s the problem?

We [original members of Crass] had to have this meeting. During the meeting we had this fight. Blah, blah, blah…all we’re doing is talking about our fucking record here. “You don’t like the color of the cover?” “No!” I said, “All right then. Can we change it?” “No!” “Can we put out these re-releases like we’d like to?” “No!” “So can we put out the material, exactly like it used to be?” “No!” God almighty.

I stormed out of the meeting, really pissed off. Penny and Gee phoned me and said, “Guys, what should we do?” And I said, “Oh, fuck ‘em. Let’s just do it. I’ll just do them on tour. What great publicity.” So I will say–live, here and now–if I am taken to court, it was all my responsibility. I am to blame [laughs]…how bollocks is that that my intergalactic anarchist band of all time Crass can’t sort out a little problem like this without going like so many other stupid fucking rock bands? That’s also part of the reason that I’m doing this tour. It’s so that people remember Crass–and those great songs–for these lovely nights that we’re having; rather than this bullshit that’s going on about these re-releases.

You seem to have a lot of pride in the original material. Aside from squabbles about the artwork and audio, do the dissenting members not share that pride?

I think the problem is: One of the things we discovered at these meetings was that there was a lot of history dating back before Crass; that some people didn’t like other people from way, way back. And that really, really upset me; because that means that all the time we was in Crass, there were these resentments under the surface. I decided, don’t get down about it. I thought, fuck it. You know what? I’m going to go and perform these songs. And I’m going to perform them the best I can. And I’m going to put my body and soul into it, because in a funny way, Crass songs don’t belong to Crass no more. They belong to the people. And when those people sing along every night, I think, “Yeah, fucking sing your hearts out, because they’re yours now. You’re meant to get pissed to them; you’re meant to fuck around, or fuck some bird up the arse to them.” Do what you want. It’s not about someone going, “Oh, this [CD art] needs to be a different color,” Fuck off, you boring old cunts.

One of the great things about this tour for a lot of fans is hearing that Crass material with a real band. And hearing the songs with that extra heft is a really exciting prospect.

Oh, yeah. At sound check last night, I was like, “Oh, fuck; this sounds great!” So it’s gonna be good.