A British artist's personal perspective on the Godfather of Punk's life…
Malcolm McClaren, punk impresario, manager for the Sex Pistols, scourge of the chattering classes, and all round troublemaker has died at 64 of cancer. Shepard Fairey has written a great piece in Swindle Magazine about the life and times of this and hated (in equal measures by the majority of Britain depending on your background/class – yes class still exists), eccentric genius of the independent British music scene.
I just thought it would be pertinent to get a Brit's perspective on the man, after all I grew up with Malcolm's influence all around me as a child, and I am, in my own small way, a fellow troublemaker desperate to kick up against the system. But only in order to tip it to the brink of destruction in order that we all reevaluate this nation.
I have a hazy memory of my mum, she had me very young, dragging me and my sister along King's Road at the height of punk tourism, she wanted to window shop as usual, she found herself, in the attempt to avoid the amphetamine glare of postcard punks sporting 2ft high mohicans at a shop window that as it happened was Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McClaren's 'Sex' boutique. As soon as she realised she dragged us onto the nearest double decker, sweating profusely with the aftershock of cultural impact. That's what Malcolm was all about, shock. We're all quite immune to it all now, but back then world wide communications were still relatively slow, 1970s Britain relied on the TV, the newspaper, and radio to brush up on their current events. In turn that meant everything else in culture dragged its heels too, the streets were still filled with hippies and bikers way after punk's demise. But for a few years something exciting happened. For the briefest few years Britain went into a state of panic, it didn't understand its youth, at all, and it didn't really want to. The same applied to the disturbingly forthright youth culture of the time, they didn't care what it was, they hated it. The spat at their own idols, so I'm sure you can guess what they thought of everyone else.
Post-Millennium Britain sees it as a norm now, the aching gulf between parents and teens, government and people, the pensioners and the youths, multicultural divides, economic chasms, it's just the same now, only bigger, and worse. But back then, when I really think back on it, lots of people looked grey, even in the sun. No matter their age, most people wore awful jumpers in the winter, it took years for men to stop sporting enormous sideburns and flares. Women all tried to look like Farrah Fawcett, at least that's what they asked their hairdressers, and middle partings were all the rage. Life was a mish-mash of attitudes and cultural programming from WW2, rationing took so long to end that people still looked like they'd picked out an outfit at the local charity shop. Colours didn't really exist either, bar the odd smidgeon of psychedelic garb from Chelsea and Carnaby, most of fashion was grey, brown tan, black and white.
As I grew a little older I realised just what I'd been missing, as soon as I felt I'd developed even the slightest veneer of 'cool' I sided with whatever remnants of the post-punk scene, however ugly, I could muster which included all sorts of awful new wave haircuts and fashion choices, a half-hearted attempt to be a Goth for about 6 months. I partly blame my mum for ruining that doomed foray into the undead of punk, mainly because of her subversive game play of buying me black clothes with just a fleck of colour. Black mohair jumpers with flecks of orange, pink and yellow that she thought was more 'cheery'. Black shirts with red stripes, black and red are of course official Gothic colours, but add stripes to the effect and you'r halfway between a 1940s football kit and a 1970s regular at lounge bars. No I missed punk, much to my chagrin, I did however catch a few gems from Malcolm McClaren over the next decade.
I am probably one of a small handful who still love his 1983 Duck Rock album that mixed up styles from South Africa, Central and South America, the Caribbean, and the USA, including hip-hop. Check out this one called Double Dutch, one of my favourite tracks on the album.
He produced a few more blinders in the 80s, probably his most successful release was Madame Butterfly in 1984.
It's a shame I can't say more about Malcolm, he tried out plenty of other projects for the next few decades, nothing quite worked out, but for the British that isn't the point. Malcolm McClaren wasn't loved by all, especially by his nemesis, singer(ish) for the Sex Pistols John Lydon aka Johnny Rotten. The thing is that guy's done pretty well too over the years, PIL and his solo tracks including Home were pretty much amazing so I'm sure whatever bad blood there was between them dissolved over the years. The fact is Malcolm has been suffering from a long drawn out cancer for years, it was on the cards. Besides John has been doing butter ads recently so any argument of money before art goes out the window at that point in the proceedings.
What I like to do, especially with the recent death of my father, is not dwell on the death, not focus so much on the end, but try and remember what made that particular individual a stand out person, not exactly good nor bad, but their place in the world and how difficult it will be to fill. Malcolm was like a latter-day heterosexual Quentin Crisp, perhaps with less of the pomp and ceremony, but in the main, unbeknownst to him most likely, Malcolm took on that particular mantle. McClaren picked out the faults in our stifled and regressive society. Because the British, no matter how drunk we get, or how many drugs we take, or hip hop slang we pick up, are a rather a Presbyterian bunch, rather dour, led to compulsion over the tiniest detail, only too eager to conform in general principle and design, even if those principles to smack of a mild rebellion. Malcolm McClaren didn't do that, he rebelled. He didn't just project rebelliousness, he actually hated conformity. He was an out and out capitalist, that's true, he didn't want to live as a pauper, but he was bored by the pace of the British sentiment, the doleful make do attitude that gets us through wars but is slow to adapt to cultural and economic change.
If there were more people like Malcolm in positions of power, high up in business, at the forefront of the arts and the media, this country, Britain, would be the most exciting place in the world. You know why? Because when we love something here we embrace it with a passion, however at odds with the status quo it might be, because it's fun, and that's one thing this country is sorely lacking right now. A sense of fun.
All the best Malcolm.
Very insightful and a good epitah to a remarkable man. I like the Day of the Dead backdrop; cool psychedelia
Hey thanks for the comment Geoff – well I always admired the guy, even if he was a tad Machiavellian it was all Punk… That’s actually one of my prints called Day of the Dud