
On Punk
Like the eyes of the Mona Lisa, it seems
to
have followed me everywhere, all my adult
life. It started on the faces of a couple
of
musicians in the mid-70s, but now graces
the
features of fashion models, Californian
surfers, career girls with attitude, and
middle-aged television
personalities.
It's the 'punk stare'. A sneery twisted
mouth,
a doggish flash of snarling (though
impeccable) teeth, stretched sarcastic
eyes,
oh-so hostile and blank.
I see it on the face of the editor of the
NME
as he denounces the Mercury
Prize, I see it on
the face of tubby best-selling hooligan
novelist Irvine Welsh, I see it ('after'
but
not 'before') in mediocre TV fashion
shows,
where a girl born in 1980 rather
perplexedly
lets smug 'fashion experts' restyle her,
with
the aid of horrible high street pink
leopardskin prints, as a
'punkette'.
I've yet to see it on the face of a
mainstream
politician, but it can only be a matter
of
time. And when that happens the punk
sneer,
now merely tedious and irritating, will
become
truly oppressive.
Mickey Mouse Has Grown Up A
Cow
Punk once meant something. In the mid-70s it was the kick up the
butt complacent bands
like Yes needed. As a cultural
revolution,
it's been wildly successful.
But like a snotty-nosed Dickensian
urchin,
Punk has grown into an ugly middle-
aged brat. It has been spoiled by its own
success. I heard Yes' Tales From
Topographic
Oceans for the first time this week,
and it
sounded to me like exactly the sort of
kick
today's 'punk' media arbiters need up
their
bloated, smug, immoveable arses. How has
such a
major reversal happened?
Irreverence: The New Piety
It is Britain's curse that its major
cultural
contribution of the last 25 years has
been
punk rock. The ideology of punk, while
refreshing in the mid-70s, has now become
an
unassailable orthodoxy, the religion of
the
generation currently in control of the
British
media.
These punk brahmins promote their
products
with diluted Jamie Reid imagery, pose
(without
much irony or distance) as Sid Vicious in
their 'young British art', and make oddly
reverent documentaries about icons of
irreverence like The Clash.
Reverent about punk, the old turks are
dismissive of everything else. Their
mindless,
undiscriminating irreverence has become
the
new piety.
What sadder sight could there be than a
forty-
something cultural mandarin with a shaved
head pogoing around his office, thinking
he still has the spunky nihilism of
the Pistols back in the day? The
generation of
'76 is ten times more smug, irritating
and
complacent than the generation of '68 it
replaced.
Westway, Westwood And The Windsors:
The Resistible Rise
I can already see the Conservative Party
sweeping to power circa 2005 with a
manifesto
based on 'punk' platitudes:
No Future for Europe!
Laissez Faire Capitalist Anarchy in The
UK!
No More Heroes, No More State Subsidy Of
The
Arts!
Sex Is Just Two Minutes Of Squelching
Noises,
So Let's Restrict It To Procreation!
Bondage, Spanking And Fetishes For MPs
Only!
Boredom, boredom!
Bank Generation!
In retrospect we can see punk rock's no
future
nihilism as one of the factors
contributing to
the triumph of Margaret Thatcher in 1979.
If
you refuse to believe in -- and therefore
to
start building -- a positive future, you
prepare the way for a politics of fear,
which
usually means authoritarian
leaders.
Punk was simply the sexy face of
Britain's
innate conservatism, its fear of the
future.
While seeming to attack the royal family,
punk
ended up, like much satire, energising
it.
Vivienne Westwood's parodies of
aristocratic
style were meant to be subversive,
revealing
the fetishism inherent in riding gear and
Saville Row tailoring. But British
politicians
and aristocrats and their apparel were
already
so blatantly fetishistic that it wasn't
much
of an insight to point this out.
Westwood creations have ended up
appealing to
the same Japanese and Americans who visit
Buckingham Palace when they come to
London.
These tourists, refreshingly free of the
spite
and sarcasm of Punk's founding fathers,
lap up
the lot without irony. Westwood, Windsor,
it's
all the same.
When Westwood appeared on the cover of
Vanity
Fair in the 80s disguised as Margaret
Thatcher
it was unclear whether the gesture was
mockery
or tribute. Less ambiguous was the moment
when
Julie Burchill, NME's 'hip young
gunslinger'
of punk, embraced Thatcher. Following the
sinking of the Belgrano, Burchill started
speaking of her with the same breathless
admiration she had previously reserved
for
John Lydon and Siouxie Sioux.
Here in Britain we can still save
ourselves
from the dull power of those who think
that
punk is still a fresh and liberating
philosophy. The victory of shaven-headed,
sneery, gobbing Tory 'punk' William Hague
in
2005 is not inevitable. But avoiding it
will involve
creative effort, renuncuation,
denunciation
and depunkification.
Nonesuch Must Be Built!
We must build a new art, fashion and
style
revolution which turns punk values upside
down. This movement must put London on
the
international cultural map. There must be
Newsweek and Time covers, major interest
in
Japan, architects commissioned in the new
cities of China, stylists
headhunted by the major Paris fashion
houses.
But these designers and
musicians, composers, architects and
writers
must avoid all the tedious
memes of punk -- irreverence, anarchy,
sneery
aggression, words like
'blank' and 'void' and 'anarchy' and
'destroy'. Any reversion to these
weary themes will instantly negate the
whole
movement, and make the rest of
the world say, 'Oh, it's just the British
trying to sell us punk rock
again'.
We must stress everything which is the
opposite of punk ideology:
* Sensuality
* Cosmopolitanism
* Optimism about the future
* Flamboyance, Intellectualism
* Aspiration, Refinement
* Reverence
* Appreciation of art and creativity
* Friendliness
* Classicism
* Sophistication
* Co-operation
* Elaborate decoration
* Slow tempos
* Insincerity
* Hope for the future
* Indifference to royalty
* Diversity, pluralism and an
encouragement of
difference
* Coloured fabrics, not black leather
* Soft curves, not spikes
We need big names, big guns to beat the
stubbornly persistent punk meme. I
suggest we replace the grey, warlike,
saxon
style of punk with a forgotten
but surprisingly persistent British meme:
Italianness. As the cultural
centre of London shifts eastwards, and
global
warming makes the city feel
more Mediterranean, we must switch from
carpets to tiles, from pubs to
outdoor cafes.
We can beat Lydon with Shakespeare. We
can
beat the Thanatos of punk with
the Eros of an Italian-inspired British
renaissance. Shakespeare's plays,
completely British, were mostly situated
in
the beautiful walled city
states of north Italy. Punk situated its
dramas in the council estates of
Dagenham, the tower blocks of
Bolton.
We must abandon the London of Derek
Jarman's
'Jubilee', and instead try to
recreate the city in the image of his
'Caravaggio' and 'The Tempest'. We
must rebuild London Bridge in its
Florentine
aspect, milling with people
and houses and market stalls. Covent
Garden
should look even more Italian
than it already does, Englishmen should
kiss
each other on the street as
they did in the 18th Century, they should
visit the opera and make sexual
assignments for money on the heath. They
should
be bisexual, not asexual.
There should be international trade,
decoration, mannerism, complication
and intelligence again. Coffee house wits
and
Grub Street poets must
flourish. The City Of London should be
restored to a
technologically-enhanced version of the
Roman
town Londinium. Henry VIII's
magnificent Tudor palace Nonesuch should
be
reconstructed from the few
drawings that remain.
Since it needs a name, I suggest we call
this
new movement, which will
dominate the flavour of British culture
for
the next 25 years, Nonesuch.
Out with Punk, out with nihilism! Let's
build
Nonesuch!
Momus,
London, October 1999
nick
@momus.demon.co.uk
Column
Index
Index