It Was Meant to Be Great But It's Horrible: Christmas with Uncle Malcolm and the King Mob

Malcolm Mclaren dressed as Santa Claus re-enacting the King Mob 

intervention at Selfridges in The Ghosts of Oxford Street (1991) 

 

 

I. 

 

King Mob was a radical group based in London during the late-1960s and early-70s, very much influenced by - but not officially affiliated with - the Situationist International [1]. 

 

The group's name was derived from a slogan said to have been daubed on the wall of Newgate Prison by rioters in 1780, after having destroyed the building and released the prisoners; one that declared the sovereignty of the people: His Majesty King Mob.    

 

As well as staging a number of interventions - i.e., public events intended to spark anti-capitalist riots, one of which we shall discuss in detail below - the group also published five issues of a journal entitled King Mob Echo (notorious for exalting murderers like Jack the Ripper) and a large number of posters and leaflets.  

 

 

II. 

 

Inspired by an action taken by a radical group in New York called Black Mask [2], in December 1968 two dozen King Mob members and affiliates - including a 22-year-old art student by the name of Malcolm McLaren - entered Selfridges [3] and made ther way to the toy department ... 

 

Here a member dressed as Santa Claus - Ben Trueman - not Mclaren - led the free distribution of the store's toys to eager children and their rather bemused parents, hoping to rekindle the true spirit of Christmas, based on gift-giving (not shopping).  

 

As well as the presents, a one-page manifesto was also handed out, the title of which read: Christmas: it was meant to be great but it's horrible. The manifesto called for the clearing away of the all the bullshit around the annual festival and encouraged people to light up Oxford Street and dance around the fires [4].      

 

Eventually, the Selfridges intervention would become an established part of punk rock prehistory. Speaking to Jon Savage, McLaren recalled the event: 

 

"'We were all handing out the toys and the kids were running off. The store detectives and the police started to pounce: I ran off into the lift. There's just me and this old lady: the doors start to open and I can just see all these police. I grab the old lady really tight and walk through like I'm helping her. As soon as I got out of the store, I belted out of there.'" [5]        

 

McLaren also re-enacted the scene in his (otherwise pretty dire) Channel 4 film The Ghosts of Oxford Street (1991) [6]. 

 

 

III. 

 

It would be nice to think something like the Selfridges intervention - a genuinely fun event - could happen again this festive season. 

 

But it's unlikely: the only kind of event that might cause a temporary glitch in the Xmas matrix is terroristic in nature and not even Ebenezer Scrooge would wish for that ...       

  

 

Notes

 

[1] In a seasonal nutshell, the Situationist International was a group of social and cultural revolutionaries made up of avant-garde artists, intellectuals, and political theorists, some of whom identified as libertarian Marxists, others as anarcho-surrealists. It was active in Europe from its formation in 1957 to its dissolution in 1972. 

      The SI's primary concern was to develop a comprehensive critique of consumer capitalism and the role played by the media in this (what it termed the society of spectacle). Via the staging of provocative situations, they hoped to counteract the spectacle and liberate the masses (what it termed the revolution of everyday life). Many of their ideas and slogans were utilised by those taking part in the May '68 protests in Paris. 

      Timothy Clark, Christopher Gray and Donald Nicholson-Smith - three of the founding members of King Mob - had been excluded from the SI in December 1967. Charles Radcliffe, another founding member, had resigned from the SI a couple of months prior to this. Twin brothers David and Stuart Wise, who had recently arrived in London from Newcastle, were the two other founding members of King Mob. 

 

[2] Black Mask (formed 1966) - who changed their name in 1968 to Up Against the Walll Motherfuckers - was another group affiliated with the SI promoting a form of revolutionary art and activism. Valerie Solanas was associated with them.  

 

[3] Selfridges - for those readers who may not know - is a British department store founded by American retail magnate Harry Gordon Selfridge in 1909, and located at 400 Oxford Street in an iconic building designed by Daniel Burnham. After Harrods, in Knightsbridge, it is the UK's largest shop. 

 

[4] This flyer or handbill - printed in black on Victor Bond watermarked paper (25 x 33 cm) and illustrated with Christmas-style motifs - can be seen on (and purchased from) the Peter Harrington website: click here. 

      The text opens with the lines: "It's lights out on Oxford Street this year. No more midnight neon. No more conspicuous glitter for compulsive sightseers to gawp at the wonders of capitalism. Even the affluent society can no longer keep up with its electricity bill." 

      It then goes on to suggest that Christmas always was a drag, involving a duty to be cheerful and nice to your family: "Don't let on that you're cold and tired, sick [...] of all the trash they try to sell you, sick of the kids who are trained to sing in chorus a whole lot of lies about love and mercy mild."

 

[5]  Jon Savage, England's Dreaming: The Sex Pistols and Punk Rock (Faber and Faber, 1991), p. 34. 

 

[6] See the post entitled 'Magic's Back: Evoking the Ghosts of Malcolm McLaren's Oxford Street' (25 October 2024) - click here. 

 

 

Don't It Make Your Blue Eyes Weep - A Guest Post by Simon Solomon

Police breach social gathering legislation to pollute lagoon at Harpur Hill, Buxton 

Photos: Sky News

The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion. - Albert Camus

In the febrile air of 1967/68 Paris, the Situationist International group planned a beautifully macabre stunt to protest the Vietnam war and épater les bourgeois by staining the Seine blood-red and depositing in it the corpses of a couple of hundred Asiatics to drift downstream to Notre Dame.

Reportedly, obtaining the cadavers was the easy part, courtesy of an enterprising plan to hijack a refrigerated truck en route to one of the city's medical schools that was said to do a brisk trade in Chinese dead bodies. However, the industrial dye proved a sticking point since the quantities were prohibitive. Thus, the plan sadly foundered, and the river herself remained artistically unperturbed. [1]

Fast forward to the viral madness of 2020 Blighty this week, when it has been depressing beyond belief to read of Derbyshire's Police's serial overreaches of the government's already draconian guidelines in locking down the entire nation - bar the odd permitted sortie to buy a pint of milk, stretch your legs or go to your job if you feel you must (and still have one) in order to, say, stay alive.

Taking as its departure point a spokesman's confidently philistine assertion that 'driving to beauty spots in the Peak District cannot be considered an essential journey', the constabulary has recently been keeping us safe by means of a catalogue of reassuring innovations - culminating in the reassuring use of drone surveillance to trace the car number plates of drivers back to Sheffield and subsequently name and shame on social media tweed-jacketed ramblers and old ladies with dogs. As Plod now extends its Orwellian arm to issue its wisdom concerning the dispensability of beauty for psychic health, God's green earth (beyond your own garden fence) is now - in its Cyclopian gaze - officially off limits. [2]

And so, building upon its blatant contempt for the necessity of beauty for anyone with half a soul or a breath of joy in their Covid 19-squeezed heart - and in a supremely dumb gesture strangely redolent of the French situationists (but without a soupçon of the spirit, wit and intelligence ) - the same force's recent desecration of a Buxton lagoon with a cheery black pigment at public expense has made good on its claim that communing with nature is to be outlawed, since the area (and doubtless any others it so decrees) is intrinsically 'dangerous'.

With this in mind, a surprisingly literate Facebook post on Buxton Police SNT reads, 'we have attended the location this morning and used water dye to make the water look less appealing.'

Difficult as it might seem for the rest of us to make this up, news reports state that the force has form in this domain, since the same tactic has been used in the past to reduce anti-social behaviour - such as children wading in the water or young people (whose risk of death from Corona virus is close to nil) admiring its turquoise tones in short sleeves. [3]

The former Supreme Court Justice Lord Sumption has lambasted the overreach in an extended public statement, the civil liberties group Big Brother Watch has dubbed the force's behaviour 'sinister' and 'counter-productive', and even the former Justice Secretary David Gauke has called matters 'badly misjudged', while local residents have themselves taken to social media, with one commenting: 'If only they were this authoritarian to people carrying zombie knives, stealing your car or grooming kids in Rotherham' - an item of customer feedback one wouldn't be surprised in the current climate to see earn its writer a court summons all by itself.

How best to respond to people who seemingly think aesthetics are a species of foreign head lice?

Clearly, the aforesaid pushback is pointless against those who clearly don't even have enough shame themselves to admit they are wrong (while seeking to shame others for such dangerous behaviour as going for a spin and a scenic stroll). We are ourselves at a loss, but would suggest that any remaining poets, anarchists and libertarians not yet criminalised in the Buxton area should band together under cover of nightfall, create a kindly cordon sanitare around the local cop shop, and throw a bucket of some suitably irremovable industrial dye of their own choosing over a few local officers. (In this venture, we suggest scarlet might be a colour of choice to leave the recipients suitably red-faced.)

As for the Blue Lagoon itself, by some accounts the water is barely more chemically benign than ammonia, contains dead animals, turds and needles, and is so cold it might (literally) drag you under at a stroke. There are a few sensible signs up, we gather, so that people can assess the risks for themselves like adults. Such excremental details, however, only make us love it all the more for its clearly Baudelairean allure to the local populace, and we look forward to looking in when time permits. 

Notes

[1] On the Situationist movement and fun and games on the Seine, see Christopher Gray (ed. and trans.), Leaving The 20th Century: The Incomplete Work of the Situationist International (Rebel Press, 1998). Thanks to Stephen Alexander for reminding me of this.

[2] Except it isn't! To see a summary of the correct and updated government/police powers (which allow one to drive and hike in the country with loved ones to one's heart's content), see https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/explainers-52106843.

[3] This is of course in no way to diminish the deaths of a small number of 'non-vulnerable' young and middle-aged people from Covid-19 in the UK in recent weeks.

Símón Solomon is a poet, translator, and critic. He is a professional member of the Irish Writers Centre, Dublin and currently serves as managing editor with the academic journal Psychoanalysis, Culture and Society. He can be contacted via simonsolomon.ink

Surprise musical bonus: click here. 

For a follow-up post to this one, click here.

Bliss it Was in that Dawn to be Alive: Reflections on the Event of May '68

For all its romantic idealism and revolutionary fanaticism, there's still something about May '68 that I can neither fully renounce nor denounce.

Indeed, fifty years on, and it seems to me that there's still something glowing red and magnificent, like a burning ember, at the heart of this irreducible and indeterminable event - albeit an event which, as Deleuze and Guattari say, failed to unfold on a collective level; something which deserves not merely nostalgic recollection, but active rekindling.

For as a punk-provocateur, reared in the politics of the Situationist International, I still think that offering creative (sometimes criminal) resistance to the status quo and challenging all forms of orthodoxy is the only ethical thing to do with one's life. In other words: It is right to rebel (a slogan originating in Marx, Mao or Marcuse, but which I learned from Malcolm McLaren).

But Johnny, what are you rebelling against?

Well, against all forms of reactionary stupidity for a start. And against that long list of words which begin with the letter C and induce boredom, including: capitalism, consumerism, cliché, conformity, convention, comfort and convenience. 

I was told recently that I would never make a very good philosopher, as I'm too impatient to read slowly and too shallow to care about fundamental ideas: "You're part blogger, part comedian - always looking for a catchy turn of phrase or an amusing punchline."

That's probably true: I certainly love those fabulous slogans that were sprayed on the walls of Paris: Il est interdit d'interdire! Soyez réalistes - demandez l'impossible! And, most famously, Sous les pavés, la plage! If this makes me a Marxist of the Groucho tendency, then so be it; as someone born in May '68 it's hardly surprising after all ...


Notes 

Deleuze and Guattari, 'May '68 Did Not take Place, Two Regimes of Madness, ed. David Lapoujade, trans. Ames Hodges and Mike Taormina (Semiotext(e), 2007, pp. 233-36. 

As I say above, for Deleuze and Guattari May '68 was (is) a pure event; i.e., an unstable condition without cause that opens up a new field of possibility or becoming. It might be quickly co-opted, but there's something in it that can never be outmoded; thus May '68 is, in a sense, still unfolding now/here. One is tempted to say something similar of punk - which is why the slogan punk's not dead is, technically correct (if not for the reasons that many adherents of the movement believe). And it's why even Joe Corré, despite his uniquely privileged (or accursed) position, cannot declare its passing; no matter how much shit he burns nor how many piles of ash he assembles in a Mayfair art gallery.