Not an urban theme, exactly, though Moorcock always said it was ‘city music’. And without the Westway – a brutal piece of 60s urban renewal – probably no Hawkwind. A long story, and probably another blog.


It’s late May, and all over Britain, middle-aged folks who should know better are sheepishly making their excuses, and slipping out the door to see…Hawkwind. I should know, because I’m one of them. It’s a guilty pleasure because after over the years it’s been made clear though name-calling, bullying, and general rudeness – and that’s just from our friends – that any interest this group of interstellar reprobates is simply not acceptable. Like a taste for doner kebabs, or amphetamines, it’s something that should have been left behind in adolescence. Unfortunately in my case, Hawkwind stuck, partly because the bastards wouldn’t go away (they’ve been going 42 years), and partly because over time it became clear that we, that is, fans, were far from alone. In fact collectively we’ve outed quite a crowd, some of them even quite respectable. The musicians include John Lydon, JJ Burnel, Henry Rollins, Jello Biafra…

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