Penny Rimbaud peering out from behind the Crass logo
I.
The Horse Hospital is a Grade II listed building in Bloomsbury, built by James Burton, in 1797, as a place of rest for sick and tired horses, notable for its unique stone tiled floor.
Since 1992, however, it has been an independent arts venue exhibiting work by those who like to think of themselves as being underground, countercultural, or avant garde. The kind of place that boasts about not only championing the outsider, but, by rejecting professionalism and the market, refuses to sell out:
'We are alternative, celebrating individualism, anti-conformism, sincerity and integrity ... Embracing the romantic and the life affirming.'
But then, having said that, it prides itself also on the fact that it is 'firmly established in the London arts and fashion industries' and has worked in conjunction with many prestigious organisations: 'giving the Horse Hospital international recognition'.
It also isn't shy about asking for financial donations from would-be supporters and selling 'Everything from original Artworks, Posters, DVDs, Books, Magazines, CDs and T-shirts to just mad shit we think you'll like' (the latter including an official Horse Hospital pin badge for £10, which works wonderfully on any lapel).
Readers can make up their own minds about this, but, needless to say, it's not really my kind of place and it seems to me that in the transition from purpose-built stable to progressive arts venue the honest smell of 19th-century horseshit has been replaced with an odour of sanctimonious bullshit.
II.
Perhaps not surprisingly in light of what I say above, three members of the anarcho-hippie art collective Crass [1] - Gee Vaucher, Steve Ignorant, and Penny Rimbaud - chose the Horse Hospital last night to launch their new book, CRASS: A Pictorial History 621984 - 4022024 (Exitestencil Press, 2024) [2].
Whilst I have time for Vaucher and her artwork - and would recommend the recent study by Rebecca Binns; Gee Vaucher: Beyond Punk, Feminism and the Avant-Garde (Manchester University Press, 2022) - I am less sympathetic to Messrs. Ignorant and Rimbaud.
Ignorant - a young Clash fan who fell under the influence of Vaucher and Rimbaud when staying at Dial House [3] - was the Crass vocalist who provided the group with a certain working-class credibility. And he still seems to happily play this role now; a kind of punk court jester wearing his cor blimey trousers and effing and blinding like a trooper.
The perfect comic foil, in fact, to Rimbaud's philosopher-king, and, despite all the pretence that Crass operated as a community of equals, I think it was pretty clear that Rimbaud - or Pen, as his friends and devoted followers like to call him - is the first among equals.
If I was interested in what Vaucher had to say and vaguely amused by Ignorant, I was taken aback by the ramblings of Rimbaud who, it seems, has learnt absolutely nothing in the last 40 years, still maintaining his belief in revolution and still aching like Walt Whitman with his love for universal humanity (born of his romantic idealism rather than any true feeling for others).
There was something senile and self-regarding about Rimbaud that I really didn't like and so I'm glad that I didn't have to pay the £5 entrance fee, as I wouldn't wish to have given even a penny for his thoughts [4].
Gee Vaucher and Steve Ignorant
Notes
[1] I know some people will insist that Crass are first and foremost an anarcho-punk band, but I always felt they were rooted more in the Summer of Love than the Summer of Hate; just because hippies wear black that doesn't mean they stop being hippies. Steve Ignorant may belong to the punk generation and have something of the punk attitude, but Penny Rimbaud and Gee Vaucher clearly have a very different background and perspective and are often dismissive of punk (and youth culture in general).
[2] The numbers are dates: though keen-eyed readers will note that they have either missed out a zero in the first date or mistakenly added a zero in the second.
[3] Dial House is the large, Grade II listed, 16th-century farm cottage on the outskirts of Epping Forest, Essex, where Penny Rimbaud and his partner Gee Vaucher established an open-house and creative arts centre in the 1960s. It remains an anarcho-hippie haven to this day.
[4] Nor would I pay the £50 asking price for the book being promoted, though plenty did; they even waited patiently in line to have the book signed by their heroes (bless).
