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What is This?
Pretty Connected
The Social Network of the Early UK
Punk Movement
Nick Crossley
Abstract
This article describes and analyses the social network of key actors involved
in the ‘inner circle’ of the early UK punk movement in London. It is argued
that the network and its structural properties are important if we wish to
explain both the emergence of the movement and certain key conflicts
within it. The article is empirically based and utilizes the methods of formal
social network analysis. A further argument of the paper is that the concept
of networks and these formal methods for analysing them are both import-
ant for a sociological analysis of culture and cultural movements in
particular.
Key words
music ■ social capital ■ social movements ■ social relations ■ social structure
I
N THIS article I analyse the social network of key actors involved in the
early UK punk movement. It is my contention that this network, which
in large part pre-existed the formation of the earliest UK punk bands
and certainly pre-dated the explosion of punk onto the British music scene,
played a key role in the formation and shaping of the movement. In addition,
I want to show that – and how – both the concept of ‘networks’ and the tools
of formal social network analysis can play an important role in the socio-
logical analysis of music scenes and subcultural movements.
Aspects of UK punk have been subject to sociological and cultural
analysis before (e.g. Dancis, 1978; Hebdige, 1979; Laing, 1985; Lentini,
2003; McKay, 1996; Marcus, 2006; Savage, 2005; Simonelli, 2002). The
key themes of this earlier work have been: the meaning of punk; its
■ Theory, Culture & Society 2008 (SAGE, Los Angeles, London, New Delhi, and Singapore),
Vol. 25(6): 89–116
DOI: 10.1177/0263276408095546
British punk borrowed most of its conventions, including the terms ‘punk’
and ‘new wave’, from other cultural developments of the time.
To offer a picture, however: punk music was influenced by 1950s rock
‘n’ roll, glam rock, pub rock, reggae and the US ‘garage’ scene, as well as
an antagonism towards ‘prog rock’, with its lengthy compositions, complex-
ity and virtuoso solo performances. Punk songs were short, usually fast,
basic and to the point.
In fashion terms, clothes were often ripped and safety pins loomed
large, both holding clothes together and serving as jewellery. In addition,
the trappings of sexual fetishism, including bondage and dog collars, were
often involved. And provocative symbols, including the inverted cross of the
antichrist, the circled ‘A’ of the anarchist and the swastika, were widely
paraded. Hair was often dyed and spikey, and in a symbolic rejection of the
hippies, cut short. For the same reason, flared trousers were rejected and
replaced by either straight or tighter cuts. Perhaps more than any of this,
however, the emphasis was upon Do-It-Yourself. The idea was that individ-
ual punks should innovate and develop their own ‘look’.
In addition, there was an emphasis upon confrontation and
controversy. One manifestation of this was the anti-authoritarian and anti-
establishment protest embodied in much that punks did and said. At another
level, though media reports exaggerate, there was a tendency for bands to
taunt their audiences and for audiences to reply by spitting at the bands
and throwing missiles. This aggressive posturing was part of a wider ‘struc-
ture of feeling’ (Williams, 1977) articulated by punk, centred upon alien-
ation, boredom and dissatisfaction with a world perceived to be stagnant
and artificial.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, there was a narrative of punk
which drew these conventions together, lending them a meaning and afford-
ing those who adhered to them a social identity. Punk involved both conven-
tions and collective definitions and interpretations of those conventions.
Some of these elements, particularly the narrative, were innovations
but many were borrowed. It is widely acknowledged, for example, that the
UK punks borrowed from US bands such as the Stooges, the Velvet Under-
ground, the New York Dolls, the Ramones, Patti Smith and Television, as
well as the Situationist art movement. In addition, bondage gear, which
Malcolm McLaren (manager of the pioneering UK punk band, the Sex
Pistols) and his business partner, Vivienne Westwood, designed and sold in
their shop, SEX, was inspired by the gay and fetish scenes. McLaren and
Westwood had aimed to turn this specialized underground clothing niche
into everyday wear long before the Sex Pistols emerged.
The conventions of punk constitute an important aspect of its social
structure. They generate a pattern within (inter)action. No less important,
however, is the structure of the network of actors involved in the early days.
We may think of this, in the first instance, as an ‘inner circle’ of punk bands,
the earliest and most central of whom were: the Sex Pistols, the Clash, the
Damned, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Subway Sect and Chelsea (later
renamed Generation X). There were bands closely identified with punk who
pre-existed the above (e.g. the Stranglers and the Jam). It is generally
accepted, however, that these bands didn’t belong to the originating ‘inner
circle’ of punk and only became associated with punk after it had taken
shape (and even then perhaps only in the eyes of certain fans and commen-
tators). Likewise, other bands, such as X-Ray-Spex and the Adverts, became
central to punk but only after it had begun to take off. Punk was shaped by
interactions within the inner circle but as its popularity grew it exerted an
influence well beyond, affecting established bands and inspiring new ones
to form.
To explain the emergence of British punk we need to focus upon its
inner circle. It was interaction within this circle that generated punk. There
may be a story to be told about the ‘structure of feeling’ articulated by punk
and its relationship to trends and conflicts in wider society. But feelings do
not suffice to make movements. As work on both protest and social capital
indicates, collective action and mobilization, which is what the birth of punk
is about, is far more likely in the context of dense social networks (Crossley,
2007). This point needs to be unpacked.
Collective action presupposes a collective and, arguably, a collective
which is large enough to both distribute the costs of action sufficiently to
make them bearable for the actors involved and to lend the action the legit-
imacy and authenticity that size often confers. There is no single, easily
definable size threshold at which it becomes legitimate to refer to punk as
a cultural movement or scene, but a small grouping is always vulnerable to
the charge that it is ‘just a few individuals’ and lacks significance.
Size is not everything, however. Collective action requires coordina-
tion and thus communication and cooperation. It requires the pooling of
resources and arguably also the trust between participants that allows each
to take the risks that it entails. This requires that actors interact, forming
a network. And it is much easier to achieve when at least some of the
actors involved are already connected and thus some part of the network
already exists, not least because networks between potential parties to a
collective action and the meaningful relations they involve can take time
to form and certainly do not form just because they are necessary for a
particular action.
These points have been discussed at some length in the social move-
ments literature. It has been noted, for example, that the black civil rights
movement in the USA took shape within the context of black churches and
colleges, drawing upon the existing networks involved therein and borrow-
ing the organization structure of those networks (McAdam, 1982; Morris,
1984). Likewise, there is very clear evidence of the role of pre-existing
neighbourhood networks in the mobilization that led to the Paris Commune
(Gould, 1991, 1995). Moreover, when movements have begun to take shape,
pre-existing networks can play an important role in recruitment, with those
involved drawing their further contacts into the movement (Snow et al.,
1980).
Bastard
Masters
London 101ers Strand
Flowers
Untitled Banshees
Clash Pistols
Damned Castrators
Chelsea
SSect
Slits
Pretenders
GenX PIL
afterwards, having been approached by Bernie Rhodes and Mick Jones, who
had seen the 101ers play several times, he became the front man of the
Clash. Stuart Goddard, who was to become Adam Ant, reports a similar
experience. Goddard’s band, Bazooka Joe, was supported by the Pistols on
what was the first-ever Pistols gig. The day after the gig he left Bazooka Joe
and looked to form a new band.5 That band, Adam and the Ants, were
originally managed by Goddard’s friend, Jordan, who worked in SEX for
McLaren and Westwood.
In addition, many members of the vanguard punk bands were regulars
in the audience at the early gigs. Each gig or punk night provided an oppor-
tunity for new members to connect with old and become part of the network.
It is significant, in this respect, that many of the early Pistols gigs were held
at art colleges rather than the usual venues of the pub rock circuit. Art
college bars attract customers more likely to appreciate the innovation and
artistic citations in punk, and less likely to be affronted by its moral and
aesthetic subversion. This was no doubt why McLaren chose these venues,
and it helped generate the early network. Gigs and venues draw music fans
together. They function as mechanisms of network formation: foci. But they
more effectively generate a network when audiences self-select according
to taste and outlook.
One cluster of Pistols’ fans, drawn from their early gigs, deserves
special mention. The ‘Bromley Contingent’, whose ‘members’ included
Siouxsie and Steve Severin, later of the Banshees, and Billy Idol of
Chelsea/Generation X, were very closely identified with the Pistols, some
even being involved in the famous Bill Grundy interview.6 The Bromley
Contingent were the first identifiable punk audience, serving both as role
models for other audience members and as an illustration of the ‘spread’
and threat of punk for journalists and photographers keen to document this.
Members of the Contingent, including Siouxsie, had shopped at SEX
prior to seeing the Pistols play. It was the gigs that hooked them in, however.
One member, Simon Barker, describes the first time he (unwittingly) turned
up at a gig where the Sex Pistols were playing (as a support act):
I got there and I saw Malcolm: I’d seen him in the shop and I thought ‘Wow,
what’s he doing here?’ Then the Sex Pistols came on and I was the only one
clapping. (quoted in Savage, 2005 [1991]: 145)
It was Barker who alerted Siouxsie and others to the Pistols and encouraged
them to go to the next gig. After Contingent member, Berlin, organized a
party for the band at his house, following one of the many gigs they subse-
quently attended, relations between the band and this cluster of their closest
fans were sealed.
The Bromley Contingent formed a large clique with the Sex Pistols, in
a technical sense; that is, a sub-group within the network, each of whose
members is bonded with every other. This clique had its own focus. The
Pistols and the Contingent tended to hang out together at Louise’s, a lesbian
bar. It was here that their relations were sealed. Many plans were hatched
at Louise’s and it became a nerve centre of the punk vanguard.
Constituting the Network
Figure 2 represents a snapshot of this evolving network of relations between
the 46 main punk protagonists. The snapshot represents documented
relationships for the period between January and November 1976; that is,
the period before the Bill Grundy interview, which catapulted the Pistols to
infamy, and before the ‘Anarchy Tour’, when a number of the key early bands
took to the road together and, in some cases, forged further relations.
Given the multiple contexts in which these individuals gathered, and
the extent to which each of the bands whose members are represented here
played together (on joint tours and at festivals), it is probable that each of
the 46 knew each of the others to some degree. They must have all met on
occasion and many others could be included in my network if I were to
define ties in terms of the casual acquaintance that comes from such
meetings. It is clear from his biography, for example, that Hugh Cornwell
(2005) of the Stranglers, who is not included in my network, knew members
of my 46, having met them at gigs. I only count them as linked, however,
where one or more of the following conditions are met: (1) they were
involved/had been involved in a band together; (2) worked together in
another context; (3) lived together; (4) were romantically linked or gener-
ally known to have been close friends in or before 1976. Given these criteria,
the ties mapped in Figure 2 are both strong and marked by a high frequency
of contact. In addition, as many of the 46 are linked by more than one of
my criteria, the ties are also largely multiplex.
I am constituting the network as one of human actors linked by
personal relations. Note, however, that there is a division of labour between
these actors and that they contribute different resources to the network. It
is equally a network of roles and resource exchanges. Among the band
members, for example, there is a division according to instruments played
and, in addition to musicians, there are managers, promoters and opinion-
leading audience members. In the analysis that follows I will be focusing
upon basic relational patterns within the network, irrespective of roles and
resources, but we should be mindful that a further reason for the import-
ance of the network was that it facilitated the mobilization, combination and
coordination of a diverse range of resources and contributions. Connection
between actors who possess and are willing to use the necessary resources
for particular forms of collective action is an important prerequisite of such
action.
Analysing the Network
The size of this network is important. There are 46 vertices (actors) in Figure
2. This just involves key players and therefore underestimates the actual
size of the early punk crowd. As we have seen, however, these 46 actors
constituted the critical mass necessary to generate the bands, managers,
Scabies
Myers Vanian
Auguste Godard Sensible
Czezowski October
Packham Wobble
Levine T James Andrews
Towe
Simonon Hynde Idol
B James Grey
M Jones
Chimes
Rhodes McLaren Matlock Berlin
Letts Rotten Ashby
Headon Strummer Jordan Severin
S Jones
Up Juvenile
Vicious
Siouxsie Catwoman
Palmolive Faull Stevenson
Cook
Albertine Hall
Pirroni Barker
‘cheerleaders’, etc. who, in turn, formed the nucleus of both the first local
punk scene and, indeed, the wider national punk movement. This is not the
place to discuss the complexities of the theory of critical mass or my own
assessment of it (see Crossley, 2007, 2008a; Gould, 1993; Kim and
Bearman, 1997; Marwell et al., 1988; Oliver and Marwell, 1988; Oliver et
al., 1985 ). It must suffice to say that both scenes and movements are forms
of collective action which are more likely to emerge and be recognized as
such when the size of the collective involved increases (albeit perhaps up
to a point whereupon further growth is counter-productive). Size is import-
ant because collective action involves ‘costs’ (broadly defined) which may
prove prohibitive if they cannot be sufficiently distributed, and because the
required work may exceed that possible for a small group. Moreover, claims
to credibility and legitimacy often invoke size (would we be prepared to call
a single band with three fans a ‘scene’ or a ‘movement’?). It is not possible
to be precise about the population size threshold values at which a
scene/movement becomes feasible and recognizable as such, at least not
unless we accept some rather artificial simplifications. In the present case
it must suffice to say that a mass of 46 actors was big enough to generate
the bands, punk nights and festivals that formed the nucleus of punk.
Mass is only part of the picture, however. The 46 were able to generate
a scene, and ultimately a movement, because they were connected to one
another in a network. Cultural production and contestation requires a
pooling of resources and energy which can only occur when actors are
connected. Channels of communication and exchange between a critical
mass of protagonists are necessary if their actions are to be combined and
coordinated constructively, and if ideas, innovations, narratives and collec-
tive identities are to be disseminated. In addition, pioneers require channels
through which to recruit likely participants, and participants must be in a
position to influence one another if the conventions of a recognizable style
are to emerge. This is what the London pioneers had but was missing
(initially) in Manchester. Very early innovations took off because they were
taken up within a network of similarly attuned or perhaps, rather, mutually
attuning actors.
Punk was created by way of interactions within a network; interactions
in which dynamics of mutual stimulation and purposive response gave rise
to innovations, some of which became subcultural conventions, being both
reinforced and disseminated by way of further interactions in the network.
The network itself was not a passive container of this interactivity, however.
The configuration of the network, its emergent structure and properties,
made a difference.
Networks have a ‘diameter’, for example, defined as the shortest path
between their two most distant actors; ‘path’ and ‘distance’ both being
measured in terms of the number of intermediary relations (‘degree’)
between the two actors. Diameter is important because, all things being
equal, the smaller the distance that innovations have to travel, the quicker
they will travel and the less likely they are to be distorted by successive
iterations and interpretations. Subcultural conventions should spread more
quickly and maintain a higher degree of homogeneity where a network
diameter is small.
The diameter of the network represented in Figure 2 is three, meaning
that the two most distant actors in it are separated by only three relation-
ships (two intermediary agents). As with a number of measures in social
network analysis, our interpretation of this figure is hindered by a lack of
established norms against which we might compare it. However, I suggest
that this is low, given that we are dealing with a network involving 46 actors
and only counting strong relationships. Clearly the cultural innovations
emerging at different points of the network wouldn’t have far to travel to
touch its extremities. All members of the network are likely to have enjoyed
quick and reliable access to them.
Moreover, a shorter diameter increases the chance that actors within a
network will find others with both interests similar to their own and the
necessary resources to facilitate joint projects (assuming such others exist in
the network). A small diameter makes a network more searchable for its
members because the ‘feelers’ that they put out have less distance to travel.
Thus bands find the members, managers, promoters, etc. that they want, and
vice versa. We see this in punk in the various exchanges of personnel
between bands noted in Figure 1. Musicians and managers moved between
bands in the early days of punk, effectively trying out different combinations.
In some cases this created new network ties, but it also drew upon them
and, to this extent, benefited from the short path lengths (small diameter)
characteristic of the network. Had the diameter of the network been bigger,
many key players might never have been put into contact and many classic
group line-ups might never have emerged. Since the music is generated by
way of interaction between the players, this, in turn, would have impacted
upon the music.
Equally important is density; that is, the number of connections in the
network compared to the possible number. In our network we have 246
relationships out of a possible 1035, giving us a density score of 0.237. In
absolute terms, that is not particularly high, but it is generally recognized
that density varies in inverse proportion to group size, such that big groups
are never dense in absolute terms. Given a network of 46 people, and given
that we are focusing only upon strong ties (not mere acquaintance), I suggest
that this is quite high. Almost 25 percent of all possible relations are
present.
Density is important, in the first instance, because it tends to generate
social capital, which in turn increases actors’ possibilities for action (Burt,
2005; Coleman, 1990). In high-density networks reputation mechanisms are
more likely and more effective. Word gets around about an actor and this is
consequential for that actor, such that they have an incentive to play fair,
prove trustworthy and cooperate. Insofar as all actors are equally affected,
this tends to produce a context of trust and cooperation (social capital)
wherein actors are able to achieve more than they would in a ‘backstabbing’
environment (Burt, 2005; Coleman, 1990). And the benefits of this ‘circle
of trust’ constitute a further incentive to keep one’s place within it.
We see this in punk, notwithstanding the falling out, in the various
ways in which the bands helped one another out by, for example, using one
another as support acts. Pete Shelley of Buzzcocks, who I return to later, for
example, claims that ‘social obligation’ was key to early punk (cited in
Savage, 2005 [1991]: 487). Buzzcocks got their ‘break’ through their contact
with McLaren, who introduced them to the London scene and invited them
to tour the UK with the London punks. They reciprocated, and were
expected to do so, by generating support slots for others:
. . . we got our first gigs in London through Malcolm: the 100 Club festival,
and later the White Riot tour. We had the Slits and the Gang of Four for the
Another Music tour, Penetration for Entertaining Friends, and Subway Sect
for the Love Bites tour. (cited in Savage, 2005 [1991]: 487)
that I have identified for the early punks, breaking ranks could have just
such an effect.
The social capital generated by high density may also have been an
important supportive mechanism for those who took to the stage for the first
time, particularly when they were musically inexperienced and inept. The
claim that punk bands couldn’t play their instruments is overstated. Many
could. But some couldn’t and some, such as the first line-up of Siouxsie and
the Banshees, took to the stage (at the celebrated 100 Club punk festival)
before they had bothered either to learn to play or do much rehearsing. That
the Banshees got to play in this festival at all, alongside the Sex Pistols and
other rising luminaries, is a reflection of their well-connected position within
the network:
‘There was a vacant space’, says Siouxsie, ‘and it was being discussed at
Louise’s. Malcolm was saying ‘We need another band’, and I volunteered,
‘We’ve got a band’. We hadn’t. (Savage, 2005 [1991]: 218)
But so too is the fact that they were able to survive on stage. It is only under
certain conditions that a band who can’t play can take to the stage and last
for the 20 minutes that it famously took the Banshees to perform their
version of the ‘The Lord’s Prayer’. Such a performance could only work with
an audience predisposed to be sympathetic and supportive. It is not clear
that just anybody would have got that support. But the Banshees weren’t
anybody. In addition to Marco Pirroni (later in Adam and the Ants and friend
of ‘Soo Catwoman’, who was a friend of Siouxsie and other members of the
Bromley Contingent), they were Siouxsie and Severin of the Bromley Contin-
gent, close friends of McLaren and the Sex Pistols, and also Johnny Rotten’s
close friend, Sid Vicious. It was safe for the Banshees to take to the stage
without much idea of what to do because they were connected within a
relatively dense network (present and strongly involved at the gig), and
could thus expect both a charitable interpretation and a supportive recep-
tion of their performance. This is a reflection of the Banshees’ position
within the network, but it is also a reflection of the network’s overall density.
Because ‘everybody knew everybody’, punk created safe spaces for cultural
experimentation.
High density can also be important because it has been shown to play
an important role in maintaining subcultural patterns. Bott (1957) has shown
that dense networks protect traditional conjugal role systems in an other-
wise changing environment, for example, while Milroy (1987) makes a
similar claim for traditional speech patterns (see also Boissevain, 1974;
Burt, 2005; Mitchell, 1969). In dense networks the same ideas, information
and prescriptions tend to reach actors via different contacts, reinforcing a
sense of their importance. And it is easier for shared criteria of interpret-
ation and judgement, as well as shared norms, to emerge, as there is an
overlap in the pool of actors involved in the various contexts where such
criteria and norms are mobilized, such that interpretations and judgements
20
15
10
Mean = 10.7826
Std. Dev. = 6.09157
0 N = 46
0.00 5.00 10.00 15.00 20.00 25.00 30.00
Degree
Figure 3 Degree frequency distribution (raw figures)
shop, SEX, was the source of much of this clothing. Indeed, it has been
claimed that McLaren only became involved with the Sex Pistols because
he believed they were a vehicle through which to sell his clothes (Savage,
2005 [1991]). Likewise, it has been claimed that Vivienne Westwood sought
to cultivate certain members of the Bromley Contingent as possible models
for her clothing (Savage, 2005 [1991]). In themselves these observations
point to the significance of social networks: stylistic innovations were trans-
mitted by way of social ties. Those closest to the source were most affected.
In addition, however, note that the members of the Sex Pistols and the
Bromley Contingent (which included Siouxsie and Severin of the Banshees)
formed a clique within the network I have analysed; that is to say, each of
the 13 actors involved enjoyed ties to each of the (12) others. They formed
a maximally dense region of the network. Moreover, as noted above, they
enjoyed their own distinct network focus (Louise’s bar). Add to this that
members of the Clash were both strongly bonded among themselves but did
not enjoy strong direct relations with members of this clique, at least during
1976, and there is at least a plausible case for explaining the concentration
of the ‘fetish’ look by reference to networks. Members of the Clash simply
weren’t strongly tied in to the region of the network where this was import-
ant. They enjoyed sufficient distance, and thus autonomy, from the clique
in which the fetish look took hold, to develop their own look.
To pull this first part of the analysis together, what I hope that I have
shown here is that the emergence of a punk scene in London in 1976 was
both facilitated and shaped by the properties of the network linking its key
protagonists. Something called ‘punk’ was able to emerge because the actors
most closely associated with it, who brought it about, were connected to and
interacting with one another. Indeed, punk was not the product of their
individual actions but rather of their interactions with one another. This is
not just a matter of interaction, however. The interactions that generated
punk were concentrated in a dense network, with a small diameter, in which
all actors had a relatively high degree. I have tried to suggest that these
network properties were also important to the generation of punk.
Power and Conflict
The ‘connectedness’ of the early punks, and even the cooperation between
them, does not preclude the possibility of power imbalances and conflict
between them. And in the history of punk anecdotes abound which attest to
the presence of both. Networks are irregular structures which, even as they
confer general advantage (where they do), nevertheless position their
members differently and advantage them to differing degrees, generating a
possibility for resentment and conflict. Likewise, tightly knit regions can
border on and interfere with loose-knit regions, generating tension (see
Crossley, 2008c).
With respect to power imbalances, the resources of individual actors
and the specificities of their interdependence with particular others are
important. An actor who has access to the resources that others require, and
upon whom others are dependent to a greater extent than she is dependent
upon them, will enjoy power in those relations (Elias, 1978). They have the
levers necessary to manipulate others and, even if they are not explicit about
this, it may be a tacit premise in their negotiations.
It is no doubt partly for this reason that McLaren, Rhodes and, to a
lesser extent, Czezowski, as the three key band managers in the network,
are usually identified as powerful players within it. They had the money,
business know-how and influential contacts outside of the network necess-
ary to support and promote the bands and musicians within it.
Position in a network, and particularly centrality, which is understood
to afford agents leverage in at least some situations (Bonacich, 1987), are
important too, however. SNA offers a number of ways of measuring central-
ity. We can compare the number of connections each actor enjoys (degree
centrality). We can analyse their distance (by the shortest path) to every
other actor in the network (closeness). And we can analyse the extent to
which they fall in the (shortest) path connecting all pairs of others in the
network (betweenness). Alternatively, we can examine ‘structural holes’ or
‘aggregate constraint’. The concept of ‘structural holes’, first postulated by
Burt (1992, 2005), suggests that actors who connect otherwise unconnected
alters in a network (thereby bridging a ‘structural hole’) derive power from
doing so as they can broker between the various parties that they connect,
controlling the flow of resources between them and also the conditions under
which they interact. ‘Aggregate constraint’ is one operationalization of this
concept available in the Pajek software used here. It is a measure based
upon the degree of connection between the alters that each ego is connected
to. The more connected ego’s alters are, so the argument goes, the less room
for brokerage ego has and the more constrained by her connections she is.
We cannot afford to be too mechanical in reading ‘advantage’ or ‘power’ into
these positional measures. Centrality doesn’t always confer advantage
(Bonacich, 1987), brokers can find themselves attacked or subject to exten-
sive demands from each of the parties they connect (Crossley, 2008c), and
the advantage of any position is only ever a potential which must be actu-
alized by an agent capable of playing their hand to the full, and willing to
do so. These measures are important indicators of potential influence,
however.
It is possible for actors to score highly on any one of the centrality
measures but not the others. In the case of our network, however, the top
three positions are occupied by the same actors in each case. The Sex
Pistols’ manager, Malcolm McLaren, is top of all three scales, with a degree
(29) almost three times the mean (10.8) and almost six times the mode (5).
The Sex Pistols’ second bassist, Sid Vicious, comes second for degree (25)
and closeness, and third for betweenness. The Clash’s manager, Bernie
Rhodes, comes third for degree (24) and closeness, and second for between-
ness. There are no absolute structural holes in the network, in the sense
that all parties are linked by more than one intermediary (albeit sometimes
by a circuitous route), but in terms of aggregate constraint these same three
actors again occupy the most advantageous position (i.e. in this case, have
the lowest score), with McClaren in the most advantaged position, followed
by Rhodes and then Vicious.
In the case of Vicious, his centrality and aggregate constraint are not
significant except insofar as they confirm his überpunk image and reflect his
drift between various bands. His position could perhaps have conferred
advantage upon him but there is no evidence to suggest that he ever
exploited it or even realized that he was in such a position. The positions
of McLaren and Rhodes are more significant, however, because they
indicate that the power generated by their resources was further amplified
by their network positions. And in their case there is plenty of evidence to
suggest that they used their position, albeit sometimes generating resent-
ment against them which then disadvantaged them. They were well placed
to know what was going on in the network and to convey that information
to others, who in some cases might become dependent upon them for this.
They could get their own message out very quickly and put a ‘spin’ on
rumours and information. And in some cases they were the brokers between
smaller groupings within the network, a position which again generated
dependence upon and thus leverage for them. They could influence the
conditions under which other sets of actors met and exchanged resources.
It is important to reiterate, in this respect, that McLaren had other
contacts outside of this network, which also bestowed a brokerage role upon
him. His involvement with the New York Dolls and acquaintance with Tele-
vision, for example, made him a broker between the US proto-punk and UK
punk scenes. Likewise, he had contacts in the fashion world, by way of his
boutique (which was well known in London fashion circles), which he was
able to use to promote the Sex Pistols. He was an entry point for the punks
into ‘higher’ cultural circles than they would otherwise have mixed in.
Given their central position and the advantage this afforded them, or
rather their perceived abuse of that advantage, it should come as no surprise
that McLaren and Rhodes were controversial figures within the network and
were involved in some bitter disputes. They were in a position to exert an
influence that wasn’t always welcome. There were other areas of conflict too,
however. The Damned, for example, created controversy by breaking ranks
with other bands on the ‘Anarchy’ tour and playing venues where the Sex
Pistols were banned. They evidently did not feel the obligation that other
bands felt to remain solid and have been quoted as saying that they were
outsiders within punk and not part of its ‘inner circle’ (Savage, 2005 [1991]:
215).
This points to an interesting dynamic that I have explored in a
different context (Crossley, 2008c). The coexistence of an in-crowd and
outsiders to it, particularly if the latter are isolates, can generate a power
differential. The support which members of the in-crowd get from others
gives them an advantage and their collective actions can generate negative
externalities for those in their vicinity. This can generate resentment among
outsiders.
The Damned, by my definition, were part of the inner circle of punk.
They were not complete outsiders. There can be in-crowds within in-crowds,
however, and thus (relative) ‘outsiders’ too. Levels of connection, as we have
seen, vary. As indicated above, for example, the Sex Pistols and the Bromley
Contingent formed a clique within the network. They formed a sub-group
(of 13) within the network, focused upon Louise’s, each of whose members
knew every other. This created a block of solidarity which may have afforded
its members an advantage but for this reason also annoyed those excluded
from it. The clique may have been perceived as ‘cliquish’ (in a non-
technical sense) to those on the outside and perhaps also autocratic, given
that the clique made decisions which affected others. Although the Damned
weren’t the only network members excluded from this clique, their sense of
being outsiders may be partly explained by this. They were sufficiently
integrated in the inner circle to be aware of and affected by it, but not
sufficiently to exert influence or enjoy the perceived privileges of the clique.
In addition, their manager, Andy Czezowski, had a significantly lower
degree than the other key managers, McLaren or Rhodes (10 compared to
29 and 24), and the average degree of Damned members themselves was
relatively low too: 6.8, compared to 9.7 for Clash members and 19.8 for Sex
Pistols members. Moreover, with the exception of Brian James’ connection
to Mick Jones and Tony James, they had no direct ties to members of other
bands, unless we count McLaren, who briefly managed them as Masters of
the Backside. They were, at best, ‘friends of friends’ with members of other
bands. Though sometimes a source of influence, friends of friends can also
There is a popular joke about the first gig, to the effect that if every-
body who claims to have been there actually was then it would have been
a stadium gig, when only 28 tickets were sold in advance (Nolan, 2007: 32)
and estimates of attendance range between 40 and 100 (Nolan, 2006).
Needless to say, there is a great deal of argument about who was there at
this foundational moment. What is less contested is the fact that both of the
Lesser Free Trade Hall gigs were extremely important.
For the Sex Pistols, this was their first foray outside of London and a
step towards national recognition. They were enthusiastically received and
their reputation in Manchester spread very quickly by word of mouth, such
that attendance at the second gig was much bigger than the first (of course,
the national reputation of the group was growing via the music press at this
time too). As a number of audience members from the first show note:
I’ve no idea of the time difference between the first and the second show but
I just get the feeling that we’d all run around and said ‘You’ve got to come,
you’ve got to come . . .’ (Paul Morley, cited in Nolan, 2006: 72)
I was evangelical about it, honestly. I told everybody about that band,
everybody I encountered, about the Sex Pistols. (Ian Moss, cited in Nolan,
2006: 72)
Maybe it’s only in a small city that you can have that kind of communication,
that can take you from thirty-five people on June 4th to several hundred on
July 20th. The word goes out, the word spreads. (Tony Wilson, cited in Nolan,
2006: 71)
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