The Birth of Crud

It was the 30th of August, 1986, and I was in my flat on Ellesmere Road, Colwyn Bay. I remember it well — one of those warm days when you’ve got the rickety shash windows open and the world just drifts in. That afternoon, I started hearing the thud of drums and raw guitars echoing across from beyond the main road. It sounded good. Really good. Curious, I followed the noise.

The music was coming from the Rydal School playing fields — an open-air punk gig / summer fete happening right in the middle of Colwyn Bay. Rydal was a private school, and not exactly unfamiliar territory. Being teenagers, we’d often skulk around there, full of adolescent hormones and the daft idea that we might catch a glimpse into the girls' showers.

On stage was a Welsh punk band called Anhrefn, delivering a fierce, rebellious set. I’d actually heard them just the week before, doing a session on John Peel’s show on Radio One. Seeing them live was something else — wild, Welsh, loud, and absolutely vital.

Sharing the bill were another band from Bangor called The Paraletics, just as raucous, just as raw. Their guitarist, Jez, ended up getting told off mid-set by — of all things — an angry clown, furious about his swearing. You couldn’t make it up.

As the bands played, I was appraoched by a guy selling fanzines. One stood out immediately — ROX, thrown together by John Robb of The Membranes, a maniacal noise outfit from Blackpool. I’d flicked through countless 'zines over the years, but this one had a real charge to it. It was anarchic, urgent, buzzing with DIY spirit.

I’d been keeping a scrapbook since leaving school three years earlier, full of oddball newspaper cuttings, satirical bits, and funny headlines. As I thumbed through ROX, I thought, Why not do something with all that? Maybe put together a fanzine of my own.

When I mentioned it to Edi, he took the idea a step further.

"Why don’t we do a ragmag-type magazine for the Bay?" he said.

I paused. "Yeah. But what the hell would we call it?"

Edi didn’t even flinch. "Well," he said, with a perfectly timed pause, "Crud."

And that was it. That was the moment it began — on a late summer day in Colwyn Bay, fuelled by punk noise, DIY attitude, and a clown with a grudge.