N Sync’s “It’s Gonna Be Me” hit #1 in 2000, 10 years ago. Will it wow us on June 10th the same way it wowed teens 10 years ago?
Somewhere in my radicalizing college years, I stumbled across the life-changing tome of Lipstick Traces: A Secret History of the 20th Century. In it, music culturalist Greil Marcus cut and pastes a deep collage, (much like so many records of our underground youth), of a stream-of-consciousness explanation of the modern era through the outsider events of the past. While sewing together the actions of the Dadists, the Situationists, Insane monks, folk songs, historical epochs, and absolute non sequiturs in a wholly post-modern way, Marcus centers his sphere around a romanticized belief in the world shifting affects of the
Sex Pistols.
While on the one hand, I would have to admit that, were there a cult for this book, I would certainly be a card-carrying member, not to mention my firm standing by the absolute truth and paradigm shifting of the reality Greil crafted, on the other, as much as Lipstick Traces is his ode to the conviction that the Sex Pistols were the hands that ripped apart the constricting powers of domination, through the medium of punk music, it was the very words he wrote that began to make me re-think the entire equation.
Last week saw the loss of Malcom McLaren, the manager, and founder of The Sex Pistols. The lamentations ran deep about the loss of the godfather of punk and king of underground rebellion. I was shocked at the number of people deeply enmeshed in these scenes that cried the very same tears.
Yes, it’s obviously true that McLaren is the entire reason we have the Sex Pistols, and the reason why so many people have heard of punk rock. And it’s also most certainly true that he was similarly inspired by movements like the Situationists. (He even tried to travel to Paris for the ’68 demonstrations) But what does that mean? What were his actual motivations and intentions? For that matter, what does “punk” mean”?
Let’s chart the history of McLaren and the Sex Pistols. Picking up where things become relevant, in 1971 McLaren opened a clothing store in London with his at the time girlfriend. What’s most interesting to note here is that the girlfriend in question was none other than, now legendary, fashion designer Vivienne Westwood. The shop, Let It Rock, specialized in reviving the ultra-dapper, Edwardian, Teddy Boy look of the 1950’s. But this all changed after McLaren met the proto-punk group the New York Dolls. It was at this point he changed the name of his shop to Too Fast To Live Too Young To Die, and began to craft what would become “punk fashion.” By 1975, after an unsuccessful attempt at managing the New York Dolls, McLaren returned to Britain, and changed the name of his shop again, to SEX.
The next year would see him managing a group called The Strand whose ambition was to sound like The Who. After coming across a green haired John Lydon, wearing an “I Hate” Pink Floyd shirt, McLaren invited him to audition for the group by lip-syncing to an Alice Cooper song. Their new singer found, the group’s name was changed to the Sex Pistols and Lydon’s name was changed to “Johnny Rotten.” The group rose to fame through McLaren’s careful crafting of publicity stunts and shock value attitude. Not to mention the constant quaffing of the Sex Pistols “edgy” fashion.
But such a shallow foundation certainly could not hold, and by 1978 the group had disbanded due to chaotic internal dynamics. McLaren was constantly accused of stealing money from the group, and ultimately, Lydon won unpaid revenues and complete rights to the Sex Pistols, in court.
The Sex Pistols might have left a lasting impression on the world, (their legendary performance at Lesser Free Trade Hall in 1976 was attended by an audience that would later go on to form Joy Division, The Smiths, The Fall, and The Buzzcocks), but the themes that seem to run through their saga have less to do with anti-systemic rebellion, and more to do with fame, money, and fashion. Malcolm McLaren appears, in this light, less like a purveyor of radical vanguard, and more the 70’s equivalent to Lou Pearlman in the 90’s.
A, no joke, blimp tycoon in the early 90’s, Pearlman became fascinated with the success of the pioneering modern boy band, the New Kids on the Block. He eventually went so far as to found his own label, Trans Continental Records, with the idea of repeating the NKOTB equation. His first hand crafted group was The Backstreet Boys. The five unknowns were brought together by a massive talent search, but went on to sell 100 million albums. He followed this success up with the equally effective repetition of NSync, and later the ABC-MTV reality group, O-Town.
Several years after his heyday, nearly all of the major artists on Lou Pearlman’s Trans Continental Records sued him, and won, for “fraud and misrepresentation.” Though most of the lawsuits held a confidentiality agreement, it is known that both the Backstreet Boys and NSync suits involved unpaid revenues.
Obviously, the aesthetic of the Sex Pistols could be no further from that of NSync, but the through-line of fame, money, and fashion remains the same. Both sagas involved calculating masterminds who were able to foresee economically viable trends, and then act on them for their own benefit. What was laudable about both Pearlman and McLaren, in the talent world they inhabited, was the fact that they were both shrewd businessmen. (Though I’d say just as much stock could be put into simply being in the right place at the right time.)
Getting back to the question of what exactly punk is, on a very simple level, it is an audacious sneer at the accepted paradigm. And while it’s obvious that, since the Sex Pistols, this posture has been commodified into a safe copy, for economic gain, there has always been its sincere original living just below the surface. If there ever was a sincere original to the photocopy of the Sex Pistols, it was surely Crass.
Formed in 1977, when Penny Rimbaud and Steve Ignorant met in the same open house community, Dial House, near Epping Essex, and began playing music together, the two managed to hammer out the classic tracks, “So What?” and, “Do They Owe Us a Living?,” before deciding to call the project, “Crass,” after a line from the song, “Ziggy Stardust.” Shock, fame, and fashion had little to do Rimbaud and Ignorant’s intentions. Instead, these shallow shackles were replaced by the actual socio-political theories of a sustainable world through anarchism, (no, not the same pseudo-nihilistic,“anarchy” intoned for dramatic effect by the Pistols, but the very serious foundation laid by people such as Emma Goldman and Peter Kropotkin). Beyond this, the group also preached environmentalism, animal rights, feminism, and anti-racism.
Eventually, the duo was joined by Joy De Vivre, Pete Wright, N. A. Palmer, Eve Libertine, and Phil Free, and many early shows were only attended by billmates, the UK Subs. After an unfortunate show at legendary club, the Roxy, Crass decided to increase the seriousness of their attitude towards the band (though this was the event that led to the famous punk anthem, “Banned From the Roxy.”) From then on, Crass chose to only play shows sober, and adorned all black mility-surplus outfits, at all times. In diametric opposition to Vivienne Westwood’s careful creation of the Sex Pistols iconic look, Crass’ attire was a statement against the, “cult of personality,” and towards a band without “rockstars.” They heralded this new era with their logo, which contained the juxtaposed, “icons of authority,” the cross, the swastika, and the union flag, surrounded by a two headed snake eating itself, (as, surely, in Crass’ eyes, would be the ultimate fate unchecked power).
Instead of being courted by Virgin Records, EMI, and A&M records, Crass was set to release their world-shifting album, “The Feeding of 5,000,” on independent label, Small Wonder. But even then, the anit-christian sentiment was too much, and plant refused to press the album. The band became some of the originators of the DIY punk ethic, and eventually put the album out themselves on their own label.
Even by the late 70’s Crass had become disillusioned with the sincerity of the punk movement. That very first album, in fact, contained a scathing attack against the status of punk, called, “Punk is Dead”:
Yes that’s right, punk is dead,
It’s just another cheap product for the consumers head.
Bubblegum rock on plastic transistors,
Schoolboy sedition backed by big time promoters.
CBS promote the Clash,
But it ain’t for revolution, it’s just for cash.
Punk became a fashion just like hippy used to be
And it ain’t got a thing to do with you or me.
Movements are systems and systems kill.
Movements are expressions of the public will.
Punk became a movement cos we all felt lost,
But the leaders sold out and now we all pay the cost.
Punk narcissism was social napalm,
Steve Jones started doing real harm.
Preaching revolution, anarchy and change
As he sucked from the system that had given him his name.
Well I’m tired of staring through shit stained glass,
Tired of staring up a superstars arse,
I’ve got an arse and crap and a name,
I’m just waiting for my fifteen minutes fame.
Steve Jones you’re napalm,
If you’re so pretty (vacant) why do you swarm?
Patti Smith you’re napalm,
You write with your hand but it’s Rimbaud’s arm.
And me, yes I, do I want to burn?
Is there something I can learn?
Do I need a business man to promote my angle?
Can I resist the carrots that fame and fortune dangle?
I see the velvet zippies in their bondage gear,
The social elite with safety-pins in their ear,
I watch and understand that it don’t mean a thing,
The scorpions might attack, but the systems stole the sting.
PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD.
PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD.
PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD. PUNK IS DEAD.
Even years later, the revolution of punk and the creation of hardcore in the DC area came not from an eccentric businessman like McLaren, but instead, a kid who dared to suggest that the youth of America should stay sober, and, instead of spend their time idly, release that new found focus against the injustices of the world. Again, the space where fashion and destruction met were replaced by vehicles for social change such as Positive Force.
McLaren is only the beginning of a long lineage of parallels between punk as a movement, and punk as an archetype with a pricetag. For every Sex Pistols, there is a Crass. For every Casualties, there is a Bill Narcotic politely voicing regret for helping launch their career. For every Greenday there is a Gather. For every Warped Tour there is Positive Youth Fest. For every Epitaph there is a Profane Existence. What it boils down to is that for every Malcolm McLaren, there is an Ian MacKaye.
Should McLaren be hailed as a hero to the underground? Maybe, but in my mind then so should Karl Lagerfeld. And as for the development of punk itself, that uncomfortable underground that still holds a chance for danger and change simply asks:
“Would you die for what you believe in, or just dye your hair?”
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