Thanks to Gerard (see comments below) we have Crass link. After the above IT cover came out in February 1977, IT did a brief interview with the Clash in August 1977 – from which came the Mick Jones quote “Whoever said punk is dead is a cunt” which was then recycled by Gee/Crass as image for their song “Punk is Dead” on Feeding the 5000 … so Crass and the Clash were reading IT in 1977.
Now back to 1976…
In the summer of 1976 I spent a week in London. It was very hot. Punk was still an unknown, so instead I wandered round west London in search of any traces of the Hawkwind/Pink Fairies era counterculture. I did not find any such traces.
I did find a copy of it /International Times which had just been re-launched again. The details are vague – but I must have subscribed since I recognised quite a few of the covers/ contents of later issues from this International Times archive.
What the archive shows is that there was at least some continuity of the counterculture from the sixties (IT began in 1966) through the seventies and into the eighties – which included punk.
There is another archive here, which is searchable. I found two articles by Kenneth Grant written for It in 1969. One includes this very strong warning to all dabblers in drugs:
What I wish to emphasize here is, that in the unrestrained and uncontrolled vision induced by drugs taken without proper magical knowledge and skill, great danger lies. It is a danger, not, so much of the drugs themselves as of obsess- ion by entities which seize upon the magically unprotected consciousness of the drug taker.
Just a shame all the hippies did not take Mr. Grant’s warning more seriously. If they had there would have been no need for punk…
I also found something I wrote for a later re-launch in 1986 and – which I had totally forgotten – something I wrote for IT in 1979 as well.
THIS IS A FILM This is a film, seen before On TV one night, too late Black and white, old and worn Sound gone hard to discover The action, the place, the time, the players. A train in steam, a city lit by gas Hotel room mirrors White and a maid, she seems Chinese Arranges flowers, careful decorations Outside in the centre, old cars, slow traffic Horses,cobbles Skyscrapers ultra new, electric trams Close up faces sullen heavy Hungry, empty. Demonstration in the docks Anger roused, violence begins Airship high gleaming silver Shoots into the crowd,bodies fall A child cries lost, uniforms,horses People running. Factory chimney black smoke twisting over rooftops Glistening leaded slates back to back Fading into each other crowded close Gathered below a pyramid of slag, smouldering. By night a volcano Tattered children playing by a railway Slow shunter curving lines of trucks Unemployed vacant staring Others picking refuse On a beach collecting coal A grimy sea spills lifeless waves dying on a barren shore. Empty prairie, lines of steel Pillar of smoke, a cloud becomes an armed train Shooting telegraph poles Bloody flag once black Desperate faces, knowledge of death. Betrayal. An office steel furnished Ticker-tape talking, papers fallen on the floor Green/grey useless notes, dying money In streets below Armed ex-soldiers, machine-gun Mounted on a solid tyred truck Frei-Korps hunting the remnants of a revolution. ALISTAIR LIVINGSTON International Times 1979