The Clash: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

 

 'Clash City Rockers' - single release (1978)   

 

'This Is Radio Clash' - single release (1981) 

 

'We Are The Clash' - album track on Cut the Crap (1985) [1]

  

I. 

 

One of the things that The Clash had a penchant for doing throughout their recording career was affirming their own identity, producing three tracks that directly reference the band's name: 'Clash City Rockers' (1978), 'This Is Radio Clash' (1981) and 'We Are The Clash' (1985). 

 

Of course, this kind of thing is not unprecedented: many bands across different genres write self-referential songs to celebrate their identity, legacy, or status. The practice is popular among metalheads, for example, but both punk rockers and hip-hoppers also like to establish credibility amongst a tightknit community of fans by self-proclaiming their greatness and authenticity [2].  

 

In other words, it's not just vanity - incorporating one's own name into one's body of work serves actual strategic and artistic purposes. By writing songs like the trio mentioned above, The Clash are actively participating in their own myth-making. 

 

Or, if you prefer, they are brand-building - letting fans know they are not just another punk group, but, in fact, the Only Band That Matters. The Clash were obsessed with posing as a gang of outlaws and declaring that it was them (and their fans) against the world - particularly the big corporations who controlled the record industry. 

 

It was all bullshit of course - The Clash signed a multi-album record deal with CBS in January 1977 - but let's discuss the three tracks in turn ...

 

 

II. 

 

And I wanna move the town to the Clash City Rockers 

Ya need a little jump of electrical shockers 

Better leave town if you only want to knock us 

Nothing stands the pressure of the Clash City Rockers [3]

  

'Clash City Rockers' was released as a single in February 1978, four days after my fifteenth birthday. 

 

I liked it then and I like it now: it's a good song, and represents the band at their punk peak - showcasing exactly what it was that made them such an exciting group, even if it was already moving away from the sound of their eponymous debut album released the year before. 

 

One of the things I liked about it was the fact that it attacked those who simply complain about their useless employment but lack the courage to jack it in, and it took a pop at David Bowie (for being old and stuck in a rut) and Gary Glitter (for being unfit) [4].     

 

 

III. 

Interrupting all programmes

This is Radio Clash on pirate satellite [5]

 

'This Is Radio Clash' was released as a single in November 1981. It received mixed reviews and although my friend Kirk Field liked it, I did not. 

 

In fact, I thought it was a bad attempt at a rap-funk combination designed for the US market; six months later they'd release the album Combat Rock, which was greeted far more enthusiastically by the American critics than the British critics.     

 

Ultimately, if I wanted to listen to a song about piracy then I'd go play Bow Wow Wow's fantastic debut single from the year before: I didn't need to tune into Radio Clash [6]. 

 

 

IV.

 

We ain't gonna be treated like trash 

We got one thing: we are The Clash! [7]

 

Having described 'Clash City Rockers' as a good song and 'This Is Radio Clash' as a bad song, I suppose I'm obliged to characterise 'We Are The Clash' as il brutto (the ugly).

 

Only, the more I listen to this song, the more I like it and start, like Ron and Russell Mael, to see the beauty in it. There's something touchingly bonkers about this final cry of defiance from Strummer and the lyrics also generously invite everyone to sing along - not just punk rockers, but hip hoppers, pill poppers, and show stoppers. 

 

And I like that: just as anyone can be a Sex Pistol during The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle period, so too anyone can be part of the Last Gang in Town ...     

 

Could it be that if this track were only given a decent remix, it might yet be recognised as the stand out number on the much-despised and much-derided album Cut the Crap (1985)? [8] 

 

   

Notes

 

[1] Unfortunately, the band themselves didn't release this track as a single. But a cover version by Sparks was released as a digital single in 2022: see the post 'Strike a Match! It's Sparks vs The Clash: Ron and Russell Show Joe and Bernie How to Cut the Crap' (9 Oct 2026). 

 

[2] It should be pointed out also that The Clash were heavily influenced by Jamaican music and that it was standard practice for reggae artists and dub DJs to self-promote by calling out their own names. 

 

[3] Lyrics from the song 'Clash City Rockers' written by Mick Jones and Joe Strummer, released as a single by The Clash in February 1978 (CBS Records). The b-side featured a song from Strummer's pub rock days - 'Jail Guitar Doors' - that was heavily reworked by Mick Jones who not only provided new lyrics and music but performed the lead vocals on the track. 

 

[4] Bowie had turned 30 in 1977. However, it was hardly the case that he was creatively at a standstill and did not need The Clash to show him the way forward. As for Gary Glitter, I suspect Strummer is suggesting he was fat and out of shape - that this was not a comment on his moral unfitness as his sex crimes against children were not revealed until twenty years later (1997). 

 

[5] Lyrics from the song 'This Is Radio Clash' written by The Clash (Mick Jones / Joe Strummer / Paul Simonon / Topper Headon), released as a single in November 1981 (CBS Records). The b-side was an alternative version and remix of the track simply called 'Radio Clash'. 

 

[6] It might be noted that the last single I'd bought by The Clash was 'London Calling' in December 1979 (and I wasn't a great fan of that either). The Bow Wow Wow single I refer to is of course  'C30 C60 C90 Go' (EMI, 1980). The contrast between The Clash's pirate radio station fantasy and Bow Wow Wow's provocative celebration of home-taping culture - which actually terrified the record industry at the time - is stark.

 

[7] Lyrics from the song 'We Are The Clash', written by Joe Strummer and Bernie Rhodes. Never released as a single by the band, this track featured on the sixth and final studio album, Cut the Crap (CBS Records, 1985). 

 

[8] Actually, the song - along with the rest of Cut the Crap - was given a decent remix/reboot by German punk musician Gerald Manns, who, in 2021, isolated Strummer's vocals from the original audio recording, re-recorded the music, and eliminated unnecessary overdubs and drum machines. 

      The result can be found on a limited-edition (unofficial) vinyl album titled Cut the Crap Rebooted (2021), by Mohawk Revenge with The Clash Mark II. The project received a positive response from fans and figures in the punk community - including Clash guitarist Nick Sheppard, who said the album came remarkably close to how he and the band had originally envisioned it sounding.

      Fortunately, the album is freely available on YouTube - and so, here's 'We Are The Clash' in its rebooted form (still not as amusing as the version by Sparks, but good fun nevertheless).   

 

 

A Tale of Two Caped Figures

 

In the absence of bats, a caped Kirk Field 

feeds the pigeons in Trafalgar Square (1981)

 

Meanwhile, a caped Larry David (alongside Jerry Stiller) 

features in an episode of Seinfeld (1994)

 

 

I.

 

One of the things best loved about the season six episode of Seinfeld titled 'The Chinese Woman' [1] is the uncredited guest appearance by series co-creator Larry David as Frank Costanza's eccentric divorce lawyer - a man with a penchant for wearing a cape ...

 

II.

 

The history of the sleevless cape in men's fashion is a journey from an essential piece of outerwear worn by the everyman in the ancient world for protection from the elements to an elite status symbol and indicator of class, before being largely relegated to ceremonial dress and an item favoured only by vampires and superheroes. 

 

Although the Ancient Romans loved their capes, it wasn't until the early-modern period that the cape reached its fashionable apex, frequently integrated into outfits along with doublets and breeches. Whilst the majority of men made do with short, heavy wool capes, the wealthy and privileged would wear capes of various length and style made of velvet and other fine materials, secured at the shoulder with jewelled brooches.   

 

There was nothing a nobleman loved doing more than sweeping aside his cape to reveal a sword or pistol at his side [2].

 

However, fashions change and as Roland Barthes would tell you, in the 18th and 19th centuries there came a cultural turning point known as the Great Renunciation when men increasingly abandoned ostentatious, colourful and theatrical clothing in favour of sober, functional, and uniform attire [3] - say goodbye to the swish cloak and cape [4] and say hello to the heavy overcoat.

 

By the early 20th century, the triumph of modern tailored overcoats meant that the cape was no longer seen as romantic and dashing but archaic and cumbersome. The cultural perception of the man's cape was further altered by Bela Lugosi's 1931 portrayal of Dracula and the 1938 debut of Superman, forever linking the garment to gothic horror, theatrical villains, and comic book characters.

 

With the cape firmly relegated to the margins of modern society, we can now return to the streets of Manhattan ...

  

III. 

 

When out picking up some groceries one day, Jerry and Elaine spot George's dad, Frank, with a mysterious figure wearing a cape. 

 

Elaine asks: 'Why is Mr Costanza with a man in a cape?' 

 

To which Jerry replies (in typical Jerry manner): 'Well it is good cape weather - cool, breezy ...'

 

Elaine is still troubled, however: 'Why a cape? Who wears a cape? Where d'you even get a cape?' 

 

Eventually, Jerry is forced to concede: 'You're right - it is strange', and he suggests they cross to the other side of the street to avoid a potentially embarrassing situation.  

 

Later, at Jerry's apartment, they tell George that they saw his father and Elaine mentions he was with a man in a cape. 

 

George asks: 'Why was he wearing a cape? Was my father wearing a cape?

 

Jerry replies: 'No, jacket and tie - no cape.' 

 

George is perplexed: 'Hmm. What was a man with a cape doing with my father? What was my father doing with a man in a cape? Why a cape?'

Later, when confronted on it, Frank reveals to his son that the man in a cape was his lawyer, casually explaining that he's 'very independent: he doesn't follow the trends'. 

 

IV. 

 

What motivated my friend and fellow punk Kirk Field to start wearing a cape back in the early 1980s, I don't know. Perhaps he too might be described as independent-minded and as someone who doesn't follow trends ... 

 

Only, of course, by 1981 the punk movement had already splintered into so-called post-punk and whereas some punks transformed into colourfully dressed new romantics, others sought out the darker, moodier look and sound of what became known as gothic rock (or goth for short). 

 

Thanks to Bauhaus, Bela Lugosi had risen from the dead [5] ... and would-be vampires like nineteen-year-old Mr Field were putting on their eye-liner and wearing their capes, before venues like the Batcave had even opened their doors [6]. 

  

 

Notes

 

[1] Seinfeld, 'The Chinese Woman' [S6/E4], dir. Andy Ackerman, written by Peter Mehlman (Oct 1994). Frank Costanza was played by Jerry Stiller. Click on the link to watch the relevant scenes discussed in this post. 

 

[2] Perhaps the last echo of this is to be seen in a Fistful of Dollars (dir. Sergio Leone, 1964) when the Clint Eastwood character flips back the right side of his poncho over his left shoulder exposing the holster on his hip and thus providing a clear visual cue that he is about to draw his pistol. This gesture serves as a signature dramatic signal immediately before a gunfight - as in the early scene from the movie linked to.  

 

[3] See Roland Barthes, 'Language and Clothing' and ' Dandyism and Fashion', in The Language of Fashion, trans. Andy Stafford, ed. Andy Stafford and Michael carter (Berg, 2006).

 

[4] Is there a clear distinction between a cloak and a cape? Well, in fashion, the word cape usually refers to a shorter garment and cloak to a longer (and technically different) type of garment, though the two terms are often used synonymously for full-length coverings.

 

[5] Recorded live in the studio in one take in January 1979 and released in August of that year, Bauhaus's astonishing debut single 'Bela Lugosi's Dead' (Small Wonder Records) laid the blueprint for goth with its slow, sepulchral bassline, dub-inflected drums, and vampire-themed theatricality. 

 

[6] The Batcave was a weekly club-night launched in Soho in 1982. It is considered to be the birthplace of the goth subculture in London and the south east of England. As Kirk and I were Leeds based in 1981-84, this was not our regular haunt - we danced the nights away at Le Phonographique. 

 

   

Eight Diary Fragments from 1981 with Reference to Malcolm McLaren and My Teenage Politics

Malcolm Mclaren holding Vol. II (1981)

of The Von Hell Diaries (1980-89)

 

 

1981 was a big year for me: I turned eighteen (13 Feb); I left school (22 May); I started college in Leeds (29 Sept). 

 

But it was also the year - having become enfranchised - that I began to form a political perspective informed by situationism and that I openly declared loyalty to team Malcolm over team Johnny ... 

Sat 3 January 1981

 

Listened to Malcolm being interviewed on the radio. He was yapping on about the importance of youth grasping the opportunities offered by so-called 'high pleasure technology' and explaining how being able to have music blaring out from under your skirt wherever you went was terribly sexy and exciting. Not entirely convinced, but 'Radio G String' is a fantastic track [1].      

 

 

Sat 17 January 1981 

 

McLaren on the radio again - this time interviewed by John Walters. He insisted that punk had destroyed the star system and that kids of 13 would now rather watch Deep Throat on their home video recorders than worship a pop idol. Again, not entirely convinced about this and certainly don't think Adam Ant would agree. Pretty sure Malcolm doesn't believe it either. Ultimately, it's just a projection of fantasy in the hope that it might one day be realised [2].  

 

 

Fri 27 February 1981

 

Malcolm on Round Table. He says some clever and amusing things, but mostly just laughs a lot. Claimed that he sold all the ideas to do with pirates and Red Indians to Adam for £2000. Slagged off Richard Branson and Virgin, but was surprisingly full of praise for Joe Dolce's 'Shaddap You Face' which is presently number one in the charts [3].    

 

 

Thursday 7 May 1981

 

Having turned 18 in February, today was my first opportunity to vote [4]: so off I went with my friend Andy to the local polling station set up in a nearby school. I decided not to give my X to any of the parties - hate them all! Instead, I wrote 'Anarchy is the key - do it yourself the melody' on the ballot paper [5] - so Malcolm should be proud (even if this is merely a gesture). Disappointingly, Andy told me after that he voted for the Liberals ...!   

 

 

Saturday 1 August 1981 

 

Ultimately, I think I am more like Malcolm in spirit than Rotten. Lydon is a bit of a bore and thinks in a smaller, more selfish and more spiteful manner than McLaren who unfolds his schemes on a much larger stage and invites everyone to join in. Whenever I read an interview with Malcolm, it makes me smile - and that's not always the case with Rotten.    

 

 

Friday 14 August 1981

 

Reading two books at the moment borrowed from Romford library: The Student Revolt (1968) and Revolution (1970). Have also ordered a copy of Christopher Gray's book on situationism - Leaving the 20th Century (1974) [6]. 

      Copied out various lines including this one: 'It is better to fail disastrously through taking an uncompromising stand, than to achieve some of one's aims through taking part in the conventional process.' And this one: "Through the excitement of deep emotions, principally the emotions of hatred, one can manipulate the passions that are essential to Situationism.'

     Can now see where Malcolm got a lot of his ideas from - the 'politics of boredom', the 'comedy of outrage', 'unlicensed pleasure' as the only goal, etc.   

 

 

Saturday 7 November 1981 

 

A day in London with Kirk [7] ... First stop Carnaby Street where he bought a pair of trousers and I bought some pink spray-on hair colour. Couldn't find the bat earring that Kirk was after, however. Some skinheads gave us looks - the fact that Kirk was wearing a cape probably had something to do with it.   

      From Soho, we went to Chelsea on the bus. I bought a T-shirt with a print of Rotten's face on it from Boy on which was written: 'They're all wankers and wallies'. From Boy we went to what was once Seditionaries but is now called Worlds End. Loved the 13-hour clock with hands spinning backwards and the sloping wooden floor, but these design elements were the only interesting thing: did not think much of the clothes - not sure I want to be a pirate, Malcolm! [8]    

 

 

Saturday 14 November 1981

 

Having expressed reservations about wanting to be a pirate just last week after a visit to Worlds End, ironically went to see Bow Wow Wow playing at Leeds University [9] with my little gang - Kirk, August, Gillian, and Gaelle [10] - and I have to admit the band looked (and sounded) fantastic; particularly Annabella who, at just fourteen, is incredible [11]. If anyone can make you want to hoist the Jolly Roger it's her!

      Kirk made his way to the front of the stage: August annoyed me a little by wanting to stand way back. I stayed with Gill and Gaelle somewhere in the middle. I'm not a fan of encores, but was glad they returned to play some of the old favourites: 'Sexy Eiffel Towers', 'Radio G String', 'Louis Quatorze' - and, of course, 'C30'. It was a great evening - even if I was disappointed that Malcolm wasn't anywhere to be seen [12].        

 

 

Editorial Notes

 

[1] 'Radio G String' is a track by Bow Wow Wow (with lyrics written by McLaren) which features on Your Cassette Pet (EMI 1980). It has also appeared on various compilation albums including Girl Bites Dog (Parlophone Records, 1993): click here. 

 

[2] I would later come to appreciate that the word 'fantasy' used here is inappropriate and that I should have written desire. For whereas the latter is, according to situationist theory, a libidinal reality, the former is what capitalist society substitutes for desire and lived experience. 

      This is expressed in a famous slogan from the May '68 uprisings: Faites vos désirs réalités! and was given a little more poetry and philosophical substance in this declaration sprayed on the walls of the Sorbonne: Je prends mes désirs pour la réalité car je crois en la réalité de mes désirs (I take my desires for reality because I believe in the reality of my desires). In sum: McLaren was not a fantasist. 

 

[3] See the post 'What's-a-Matter Midge? (Hey!)' published 31 July 2021. 

 

[4] Local government elections were held across England and Wales on this date. The Labour Party, under the newly appointed leadership of Michael Foot, made substantial gains while the Tories under Margaret Thatcher lost control of over 1,000 council seats and control of the GLC (enter stage left Ken Livingstone).

 

[5] This slogan appears as part of the 'Rot 'n' Roll' text designed by Jamie Reid (in collaboration with McLaren) that featured on the back cover of the Sex Pistols' single (sung by Sid Vicious) 'C'mon Everybody' (Virgin Records, 1979) - taken from the soundtrack album The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (Virgin Records, 1979). Reid's artwork can be found in the V&A Archive: click here. 

 

[6] The first of these works - The Student Revolt: The Activists Speak (1968) - was compiled by Hervé Bourges, a prominent French journalist. He put together the text by conducting a series of interviews with the main student leaders driving the May 1968 uprising, including, most notably, Daniel Cohn-Bendit. 

      It was translated into English by Ben Brewster, a Marxist intellectual who worked extensively with the New Left Review, and published in the UK as a hardcover by Jonathan Cape. It was simultaneously released as a widely distributed paperback by Panther Books.

      The second of these works - Revolution (1970) - was by Peter Calvert and published as part of a series of books on key concepts in political science by Pall Mall Press (London).  

      Finally, the book I had to request - Leaving the 20th Century: The Incomplete Works of the Situationist International (1974) is probably now the best-known - certainly within punk circles. Edited and translated by Christopher Gray, it had iconic visuals provided by Jamie Reid (who later used the exact same aesthetic in his designs for the Sex Pistols). It was the first English-language anthology of Situationist writings and Gray hoped to capture something of the violence, madness, and dark humour of Guy Debord, Raoul Vaneigem, and the rest of the gang. 

 

[7] Kirk Field - author of Rave New World (2023) - was my closest friend and partner in crime during the college years (1981-84) and I have mentioned him in several posts on Torpedo the Ark, including this one, for example: 'Punk Friends Reunited' (9 April 2019).  

 

[8] Obviously, I now very much regret not buying in to McLaren and Westwood's new vision. But, rightly or wrongly, I remained sartorially very much inspired by punk. For as I noted in my diary the following day (Sunday 8 Nov 1981) - following a gig at the Lyceum with Theatre of Hate (supported by Peter and the Test Tube Babies and the Meteors) - "although the so-called 'hardcore' punk look is dated, it still looks great".

      Finally, it might be noted that, amusingly, that last line about not wanting to be a pirate was later repeated by Jerry in the famous 'Puffy Shirt' episode of Seinfeld [S5/E2, 1993], written by Larry David and directed by Tom Cherones.  

 

[9] Tickets were priced at £2.50. The band were booked by the then Entertainments Secretary of the Leeds University Student Union, Andy Kershaw, who went on to find fame as a DJ and broadcaster. 

 

[10] August Finer, Gillian Hall, and Gaelle Sherwood. As with Kirk Field, readers who are interested can find their names in Labels and from their go to posts in which they feature.  

 

[11] Actually, Annabella, born on 31 October 1966, had just turned fifteen a fortnight before this gig. 

 

[12] While McLaren masterminded the band's conception, visual aesthetic, and supplied lyrics for the songs, he left the day-to-day coordination of regional dates to tour manager Andy Corrigan. Malcolm occasionally attended some shows, but there is no record of him at the Leeds University gig on November 14th.   

 

 

Delicious Poison: The Final Taste (1986-88)

Kirk Field downing the dregs 

of his most Delicious Poison 

 

'Waves form to break and suns rise to set ...'

 

This post is a continuation: to read part 1 - 

Delicious Poison: The First Sip (1981-85) - click here. 

 

 

I.

 

By early 1986, Kirk and I both found ourselves living back in Leeds ... 

 

The year started quietly (some might say ominously) with Delicious Poison playing a set at Haddon Hall to a virtually empty room. 

 

Their following gig, however, at a club called Adam and Eve's and promoted in the Yorkshire Evening Post, was one of their best: "The band gave a very loud, energetic, and much angrier performance than usual. No frills just the thrills, as people like to say." [1] 

 

Nevertheless, despite the band's slightly harder edge and the brilliance of new songs such as 'New Sun Rising', I found my enthusiasm for the project was waning - and I was growing tired of the entourage of losers that seemed to follow them everywhere; the Bromley Contingent they were not.   

 

Another birthday gig took place at Haddon Hall on June 7th, for which I had gifted Kirk a hand-painted 'New Sun Rising' T-shirt and which he wore on stage that night. Gordon [2] approached me after the show, offering £25 plus material expenses to outfit the rest of the band with similar shirts. 

 

I was slightly wary of getting too entangled in the band's inner workings again, but Kirk showed up at my door the following morning, and his persuasion won me over. I spent a whole day working on them, including a punky-looking unicorn design for guitarist Nick Ramshaw with the Delicious Poison slogan and song title (borrowed from the book by George Melly) 'Revolt Into Style' written underneath.  

 

At a time when the UK average wage was nearly £4 an hour, I should have asked Gordon for at least £50, but, I suppose, this is what's known as a labour of love, or an act of friendship. 

 

 

II. 

 

By the late summer, Kirk and I had relocated to London once more, for another assault upon the capital. 

 

On August 17th, we met up at the house he shared with the band in Tooting, not far from where they used to film on location for Citizen Smith [3]. That evening, fuelled by a bit too much whiskey, Kirk and I renewed vows of friendship and decided that we were, after all, two of a kind. Sadly, however, as the year wore on old differences resurfaced and our relationship remained somewhat fraught.  

 

A September set at the Rock Garden felt shaky; the band seemed nervous, perhaps intimidated by the London crowd. A few weeks later at a club in King’s Cross, the stakes felt higher. Gordon was talking about a potential Janice Long session [4], but the gig itself was another hit-and-miss affair. The room was mostly empty, save for a few friends, and I could see Kirk's frustration boiling over. I felt for him; despite all his hard work, something wasn't clicking [5]. 

 

For me, the breaking point came during a meeting with Kirk and Gordon at the GLO offices in October. As we discussed the band's image, the irreconcilable differences between my vision and theirs became impossible to ignore. At one point, for example, the idea was floated for Kirk to adopt a matador look. I suggested it would be far more provocative (and pagan) if he came out wearing horns to embody the spirit of the Minotaur instead. 

 

Neither Kirk nor Gordon seemed particularly amused by this. To break the silence that followed, I pitched an idea for a new song based on the story of Ariadne and of how we might incorporate Picasso's artwork. This, however, was rejected by Gordon as being a little too clever for the desired fanbase. 

 

The year ended with two more shows: one on December 6th at the Polytechnic of Central London and one six days later at the Fulham Greyhound, a pub renowned for its live music gigs. Let's just say that when Delicious Poison were good - as they were at the latter - they were very, very good; but when they were bad - as they were at the former - they were very, very bad. 

 

At the PCL gig the band looked tired and uncaring and were besieged by various technical problems to do with sound and lighting (which, to be fair, were beyond their control). If I hadn't felt a bond of loyalty to Kirk, I would probably have walked out. But I stayed - and even watched ten or fifteen minutes of the band they were supporting - the Blueberry Hellbellies. 

 

Not bad. And, as I noted in my diary (with echoes of Miss Brodie), for those who like this sort of thing, then this is the sort of thing they like. 

 

The Greyhound gig - the band's 50th - was much more fun and it was nice to see Kirk having a lot of fun (and being funny) on stage. He really should have been a stand-up comic rather than a singer and I remember once he suggested we form a comedy double act with the name Norfolk 'n' Good.    

 

 

III. 

   

1987: my new year's resolution was to try and keep my mouth shut as far as possible. 

 

Kirk, meanwhile, had decided to detoxify the band's name by making it less poisonous. From now on they would simply be billed as Delicious. They had their first gig of the year under this new name at the Marquee on 14 January and Kirk was excited about that - and about the emergence of what he called new pulse music that would set the future dancing to a different beat.

 

Retrospectively, I can see now that Mr. Field was remarkably prescient and that my failure to understand what he was talking about showed my own ignorance of (and fundamental lack of interest in) the direction in which youth subculture was moving. Almost ten years after the event, I was still obsessed with the Sex Pistols and Mclaren's great rock 'n' roll swindle. Kirk, however, was looking forward rather than back and the shortening of the band's name to Delicious was the first step in shedding the punk past for something more neon and euphoric. 

 

The Marquee gig was okay, but only okay. Despite intuitively sensing that old school rock as a guitar-driven band-oriented genre that involved songwriting and live performance was about to be superseded by house (i.e., electronic dance music characterised by the synthetic sounds of the Roland TB-303 and continuous DJ sets), for now Kirk was sticking with the boys in the band.   

 

 

IV.  

Didn't see much of Mr. Field for the next couple of months and when we did meet up for dinner at his place on March 7th, we didn't get on. No unpleasantries, but we bored one another. 

 

Despite that, we sat up talking until after 3am and Kirk confessed that, for the first time, he was making plans for a possible future post-Delicious (indicating that he felt Nick and Colin were holding him back). Perhaps that explains why the next gig - again at the Marquee (7 April) - was so appallingly bad ...

 

I wrote a scathing review in my diary afterwards, describing their sound as Americanised rock and their performance as tired, desperate, and clichéd. Left the venue feeling sad and disappointed and hoping that Kirk would call time on the band, remembering Malcolm's words from the Swindle about the need to put a dying horse out of its misery. 

 

Wrote a letter to Kirk telling him all this and received a reply a couple of weeks later essentially agreeing he had to make radical changes. Then, out of the blue, Colin Dodsworth (the bass player) rang me and asked if he could come over for a chat, to which I agreed. 

 

Unsurprisingly, he was less than happy with how things were going for the band and voiced a series of complaints not only about Kirk, but about the manner in which his own role was minimalised and marginalised. 'No one', he said, 'likes to feel that they could be replaced by a monkey'. Which, I suppose, is true. 

 

Didn't really know what to tell him (and, to be honest, didn't feel it was my place to advise him). It was clear he'd like to develop his own ideas in the future and so I simply wished him all the best (not mentioning that Kirk too was thinking of either quitting the group or sacking the other members of the band).    

 

Somewhat surprisingly, Delicious were still together for Kirk's 25th birthday gig on June 7th, at the Rock Garden - and, actually, it was a lot of fun. And they even had a couple of new songs! 

 

The thing that pleased me most, for Kirk's sake more than mine, was that a couple of members of the Porn Squad had made the journey down from Ulverston. They, along with several other old friends of Mr. Fields, formed the fan base of his punk band back in the late 1970s, Initial Vision. 

 

I think it tells us something significant when a person can command such love and loyalty and, it has to be confessed, Kirk's charm is such that even though I first met him over forty-five years ago - and even though I've not seen or spoken with him for almost thirty years - I still feel a lot of affection when I think of him or record these events here.         

 

 

V. 

 

Monday 3 August: another Delicious gig at the Marquee. By this point, there's not much more to say: it was very much just another show. The flyer the band produced to advertise it is reproduced below, alongside a Delicious Poison postcard from back in the day that I have kept all these long years.  

 

At the end of the month Kirk had decided the best thing for the band to do was release a single themselves (something he had previously long resisted doing). 'Delicious' b/w 'New Sun Rising' on a GLO financed label - Temptation Records - was originally scheduled for release in early November (1000 copies), but then put back to early in the new year. 

 

As far as I know, this never came to pass (or, if it did, I never received a copy). 

 

The year ended at the Limelight (22 December): it was a good night with new friends, but Delicious were like a group of strangers on stage, playing unknown (and unliked) material. Didn't get to speak with Kirk afterwards and the next time I saw him was in January 1988, in Mayrhofen, Austria, at the Scotland Yard pub, where he, Nick and Colin were now performing as the in-house band.

 

Without telling me any of the details, Kirk informed me that Delicious had officially broken up as a band (and that he wouldn't be having any future dealings with Gordon Lewis either). An inevitable ending and probably for the best. But I could tell Kirk was hurting, despite the brave face and the spin he was so good at putting on events. 

 

I noted in my diary with a mixture of envy, admiration, and amusement that Kirk 'planned to stay in Austria for as long as possible; hanging around with the ski bums; drinking hot chocolate, walking in the mountains, seducing the local girls, and only thinking about where to go and what to do next when he absolutely had to ...'  

 

It was a plan that, within two years, would lead Mr Field into a whole new world of adventure and he went on to become a defining voice of the UK rave scene, documenting and playing an active role in the very revolution he'd sensed coming back at the Marquee. 

 

Today, Kirk is a celebrated author and public speaker; his critically acclaimed memoir Rave New World was a tremendous (and much-deserved) success and I'm happy to know that, in a sense, the world has finally recognised the star I always knew him to be.  

 

 

 

   

Notes

 

[1] Quoted from an entry dated 24 Jan 1986 in The Von Hell Diaries 1980-89.  

 

[2] Gordon Lewis was effectively Kirk's manager. As mentioned in part one of this post, as the founder of the Gordon Lewis Organisation (GLO), he produced some of the most memorable pop videos of the period. By the end of the '80s, Lewis had opened a number of stylish café bars and clubs in Soho, London. 

      Today, he is perhaps best-known as an author; his book Secret Child (2015) was a Sunday Times bestseller and made into an award-winning short film in 2018, dir. Yewweng Ho. I still think he should have paid me more than a pony for the shirts. 

 

[3] Citizen Smith was a BBC TV sitcom (1977-1980), written by John Sullivan, and starring Robert Lindsay as Wolfie Smith, a would-be Marxist revolutionary and leader of the Tooting Popular Front. I was half-tempted to suggest that Kirk should adopt his look and start wearing an Afghan coat, Che Guevara T-shirt and black beret.   

 

[4] Janice Long's early evening Radio 1 show was well-known and respected for promoting music by indie and alternative bands.  

 

[5] To be fair, a second gig at the Rock Garden on 31 October - supporting Geno Washington and his band - went very well; a short, tight set with the brilliant new song 'Beautiful Friend'. Kirk was much more relaxed and made me laugh with his King of Siam impression, telling the crowd 'When I clap, you shall clap. When I cheer, you shall cheer. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera!'  

 

 

Readers who enjoyed this post, might want to check out his book, Rave New World: Confessions of a Raving Reporter (Nine Eight Books, 2023), or his latest, Planes, Trains & Amphetamines: Clubbing Holiday Confessions (Velocity Press, 2025). Both are available in bookshops, via Amazon, or from Kirk's website: click here. 

 

 

Delicious Poison: The First Sip (1981-85)

My Beautiful Friend Kirk Field 

of the band Delicious Poison

 

 

I. 

 

In an interview with Urban Rebel PR to promote his entertaining 2023 memoir, Rave New World, Kirk Field reflects on his failed attempt to find '80s pop stardom with the wistful fatalism of a man who almost caught the bus: 

 

'My band Delicious Poison played The Marquee, supported some big bands and played over 100 shows, but it wasn't meant to be ...' 

 

As someone who was a friend of Mr. Field's during this period, I would like to share a few observations recorded in diaries from the time, as well as some retrospective thoughts. 

 

If I get a few things wrong - misremember or misinterpret events - hopefully Kirk (and other individuals mentioned in this account) will forgive me; it really was a long time ago now and I've never been anything but an unreliable narrator (even of my own life). 

 

 

II. 

 

Let me start from the beginning, just to provide a bit of context ... 

 

I met Kirk at the beginning of October 1981, in the student bar at Trinity and All Saints College (Leeds). 

 

My initial impression was of a flash young punk with pixie boots and a quiff, who liked to pose and play with a yo-yo. He asked if I played guitar and fancied being in a new group he was putting together, with him as frontman. 

 

As a matter of fact, I didn't play guitar and didn't want to be in his band. But I liked him; he was smart, funny and fast-talking and although it wasn't immediately obvious we would form a close relationship - he could be irritating - that's what happened. 

 

The first time I saw Kirk on stage was the following year at the TASC Cabaret. I was impressed by his cover of a Soft Cell number, although noted that he was - as a drama student - more of an actor than a singer; one who couldn't quite carry a tune, but was able to give a convincing impression of someone who can. 

 

In other words, he was a skilled performer, rather than a virtuoso vocalist. 

 

It wasn't until Feb 1983 that Kirk and his new band - The Hound Dogs - made their official debut. More mockabilly than an earnest punk band, they offered an entertaining mix of covers and original numbers like 'Teenage Vampire'. 

 

One gig, in December of '83, I remember in particular as a riot of fun involving flour and water à la King Kurt and everything played at a 1000 miles per hour, including a version of 'New Rose' that even The Damned would've been proud of. 

 

 

III. 

 

In the summer of '84, Kirk and I graduated and left Leeds for London ... 

 

Almost overnight, everything changed. It was less a smooth transition and more a violent rupture of some kind and, sadly, our friendship became increasingly strained; partly for personal reasons, partly because we were heading in very different directions, artistically and intellectually. 

 

As I had noted in my diary a few months earlier: Kirk and I are fundamentally different. Ultimately, he's career-driven and wants to climb the ladder to pop stardom, whereas I want to knock over the ladder. 

 

I was working as an assistant press officer (and McLaren mole) at Charisma Records [1], but wanted to escape the music business as fast as possible so I could become a full-time writer. Kirk, meanwhile, was working at GLO and being mentored as well as financially supported by Gordon Lewis [2]. 

 

Kirk had decided it was time to get serious with his musical career and so began adjusting his look and sound accordingly: no more Hound Dogging. 

 

His new group, Delicious Poison - originally called Torpedo the Ark [3] - was intended to be the vehicle via which he would find fame and fortune and, to be fair, things looked very promising; not only did Kirk seem to be in the right place at the right time, but, in Gordon Lewis, he had serious backing. And, it should be said, some of the new songs he was writing were fantastic. 

 

My role - inasmuch as I had a role - was to provide the band with ideas and artwork and help out with press and promotions. I had certain reservations about this but, nevertheless, agreed to collaborate at some level with Kirk's Delicious Poison project, particularly when it took a more pagan direction. 

 

Thus, for example, I hand-painted a number of T-shirts for them to wear on stage and produced material for an official fanzine. 

 

 

IV. 

 

The band played their first gig on Sunday 9 December 1984, at the Bierkeller, in Leeds. Gordon drove up from London and seemed very pleased with what he saw. An exciting set included several new songs, such as 'New Sun Rising'. 

 

This gig was essentially a live rehearsal for a show on the 18th of December at Le Beat Route - a seminal, subterranean nightclub located at 17 Greek Street, in Soho, London, which served as a major hub for the New Romantic subculture in the early 1980s (or, as I described it in my diary, a dark hole serving overpriced drinks to overdressed people). 

 

Again, despite certain reservations, I agreed to introduce the band on stage. Unfortunately, despite the excellence of the show nine days earlier - and all my bullshit as MC - the performance was flat and disappointing and the year ended on a low. 

 

 

V. 

 

Throughout 1985, the band continued gigging, writing new songs, and trying to land a record deal. But I saw very little of Kirk as our paths diverged still further. The fact that he lived in Barnet and I lived in Chiswick certainly didn't help matters (literally being miles apart only reflected the fact we were figuratively miles apart also). 

 

I did travel up to Wakefield, however, for a Delicious Poison gig on Kirk's 23rd birthday (7 June); another really good show. And I saw them as well the following month playing at a club in North London and noted in my diary (6 July) that Kirk was infinitely preferable to Bruce Springsteen, who I had been dragged to see earlier that day at Wembley. 

 

 However - and this is perhaps central to why, as Kirk says, it wasn't meant to be - they still seemed like a pretend (or simulated) rock band for some reason - cf. The Wedding Present, for example, whose first single I was helping to promote [4]. David Gedge and the boys looked and sounded and acted like an authentic group that knew exactly who their audience was and what they wanted. 

 

Delicious Poison was never really more than a backing group for Kirk and Kirk couldn't quite decide (at this stage) who he wanted to be and to whom he wished to appeal - other than his own reflection: it was always telling, I think, that one of his favourite tracks was the Gen X hit from 1980, 'Dancing With Myself' [5]. 

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] Charisma Records was a famous independent record label based above the Marquee at 90, Wardour Street, Soho. 

 

[2] The Gordon Lewis Organisation (GLO) was founded by Gordon Lewis in 1980 and it produced some of the most famous pop videos of the period, for bands including Soft Cell, The Cure, Bananarama, and The Pretenders. Readers might be amused to know that Kirk even appeared in a video for the latter, directed by Tim Pope, dressed as a polar bear. 

 

[3] Torpedo the Ark was a phrase borrowed from Ibsen. The band recorded a four-track demo under this name in March '84 and Kirk secured a meeting with Arista on the back of this demo on June 1st, but, sadly, nothing came of it. 

      Later, in November of this year, Kirk decided to change the group's name to Delicious Poison; a phrase taken from Shakespeare's Anthony and Cleopatra (Act 1, scene 5). It was intended to sound a little more seductive and less nihilistic than Torpedo the Ark. Later, the band would simply go by the name Delicious, but, for the sake of convenience, I refer to the band as Delicious Poison throughout this post. 

 

[4] The Wedding Present's self-financed first single - 'Go Out and Get 'Em Boy!' - was released in May 1985, through their own label, Reception Records. The first pressing consisted of just 500 copies. I loved it - and, more importantly, John Peel frequently played it on his show, thereby helping establish their reputation as an exciting post-punk indie band. My involvement - which, let me stress, was minimal - came about because I knew the bass player, Keith Gregory. 

 

[5] 'Dancing With Myself' is a track which so easily might have been a Delicious Poison number and one is almost tempted to describe Kirk as a cross between Billy Idol and Robbie Williams; the latter's sad clown persona mixing knowing irony, self-deprecation, and fluid masculinity was anticipated by Mr Field over a decade before Williams found a way to make this combination work. 

 

 

The second part of this post - 'Delicious Poison: The Final Taste (1986-88)' - can be read by clicking on the link provided. 

 

 

Retromania: Reviewed and Reassessed - Part 3: Then (Chapters 6-9)

Simon Reynolds: Retromania  - cover of the US edition

(Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2011)

 

 

I.

 

So, here we are at page 183 and still not half-way through a book which can be summarised in one short sentence: We live in a culture that prefers to curate the recent past rather than create the future. And whilst he doesn't use the phrase, Reynolds seems to suggest that the solution to this is: torpedo the archive! 

 

It amazes me that there are still another 7 chapters and another 250 pages or so to get through; Reynolds is like a spider that has already caught the fly, but can't resist weaving an ever-expanding web, delighted with its own ingenuity.  

 

Anyway, let's explore the four chapters that make up part two of Retromania - and let me remind readers that the page numbers refer to the 2012 Faber edition of the book.  

 

 

II. 

 

Because I like fashion, I do like chapter 6; one which opens with Reynolds expressing his excitement at discovering just how fabulous the futuristic looks designed by the likes of André Courrèges, Pierre Cardin, and Paco Rabanne in the early 1960s were - before everything turned psychedelic and full-on hippie and "youth style started to revel in anything and everything that was neither modern nor from the industrialised West" [185] [a]. 

 

I don't quite agree with this: "From a distance [...] retro and historicism blend into each other and look rather like inspiration-starved designers, rifling through the past's wardrobe" [190] - but it's not far from being the case. At some point, even Vivienne Westwood - for all her attempts to justify her historicism - ends up frantically pillaging the past just like everyone else.     

 

The footnote provided by Reynolds on vintage and class is excellent; "vintage is a largely middle-class game [...] The further down the class ladder you go, the more value is set on things being brand new [...] the UK's white working class [...] would not be seen dead in anything that even looked old, let alone actually was second-hand" [194]. Chavs, says Reynolds, are - in some ways - "Britain's last bastion of futurist taste" [194] [b] - heaven help us if that's true!   

 

 

III. 

 

Here's a claim that would make for an interesting discussion: "Pop music exists somewhere between fashion and art, but leans far more to the art side." [196] 

 

I'm not sure that's the case. And it's certainly not always the case. Indeed, one could make a strong counterargument; that music is, as Malcolm McLaren never tired of saying, the sound of fashion, just as fashion is often the look of music. 

 

And it's absolutely false to claim: "People are moved by music in a way that is different to the feelings they might have for a pair of shoes or a jacket. They become attached to music in a more enduring and deeply felt way." [196] 

 

I would remind Mr Reynolds that the king of rock 'n' roll himself valued getting dressed up to mess up above money or performing on stage and that whilst you can burn his house, steal his car, or smash his record collection, under no circumstances would he accept anyone criticising or stepping on his blue suede shoes [c].     

 

Ultimately, trying to defend a hard and fast distinction between music and fashion in terms of emotional value is not only in vain, but a little ridiculous. For the record, I remember the excitement of pulling on a pair of tight black PVC trousers for the first time just as vividly (perhaps more) than hearing the first Clash album. The fresh and bold aspect of punk lay in the fashions created by McLaren and Westwood, not in the records produced by bands strumming and banging away on traditional instruments to a 4/4 beat.   

  

 

IV. 

 

There are somethings I'd rather not know; including the fact that, when a student at Oxford, Reynolds chose to associate with a group of "out-of-time hippies" [202], despite the fact that his "musical leanings [...] were incompatible with theirs" [202] - and despite the fact that Malcolm had explicitly warned to never trust them.  

 

Revivalists and those living in a time warp (whether wilfully remaining there or trapped like insects in amber), have never particularly interested me. It's not that I encourage people to move on; but I don't like the idea of standing still and remaining the same either. The knack is to reverse the past into the present so that one might live yesterday tomorrow and ensure that what returns is difference itself, the engine of newness and becoming [d].    

 

Pleased to see Reynolds write this: "Time-warp cultists [...] seem unable to recognise that the same energies they prize about the music of the remote past can be found in the present [...]" [206], which is both true and important, but one suspects they want more than these 'energies' - though what it is they're after I'm never quite certain. 

 

If it's authenticity then there's a problem, for there's an "inherent contradiction to musical cults of authenticity: fixating on a style that is remote either in time or space [...] inevitably condemns the devotee to inauthenticity" [211]. Reynolds spells out this contradiction:

 

"Either he strives to be a faithful copyist, reproducing the music's surface features as closely as possible, risking hollowness and redundancy; or he can attempt to bring something expressive and personal to it, or to work in contemporary influences and local musical favours, which then risks bastardising the style." [211]

 

That is a dilemma. 

 

Were I to advise, I'd say to the faithful copyists, don't worry about hollowness; be a bit more Buddhist about how one views the idea and worry a bit less about what T. S. Eliot might say [e]. And to those who wish to jazz or punk things up a little even at the risk of bastardising the original, I'd say knock yourselves out; what is corruption and debasement to one man is the laughter of genius to another.     

 

 

V.  

 

"I've never totally understood the appeal of Northern Soul" [214]; no, me neither - so let's skip this section and abandon the faith ... If Reynolds is right to say that the logic of redemption is what defines this subculture, then let me just remind readers that, actually, you can never buy back the past. 

 

As for the post-punk mod revival of the late 1970s - wasn't impressed then, and I'm not interested now. Admittedly, The Jam made some great singles, but Paul Weller's a prick and the band essentially appealed, as Reynolds says, "to British kids who liked punk's high-energy sound but didn't care for either the yobbish element or the art-school theory-and-politics contingent" [224]. 

 

Ultimately, the new mods only contributed to the cultural stagnation; a "betrayal of the original principles of modernism, which involved being into the latest, coolest thing" [229] and not dressing up "in the glad rags of a secondhand subculture" and listening to "copies of yesterday's sounds" [229].      

 

   

VI. 

 

Rave culture: NMCoT. At all. 

 

But I'm sure my old friend Kirk Field [f] would agree with this:

 

"In its early years, 1988 to 1993, rave was like a flash flood-engorged river bursting its banks and scattering off foaming side-streams in a dozen directions. The era's sense of runaway momentum was stoked by the energy flash of Ecstasy and amphetamine." [234]   

 

But would he, I'd be interested to know, also agree with this, now that he makes a living from rave nostalgia:

 

"By the mid-nineties, though, rave's engine of drug/music synergy was sputtering; the participants had hurtled down the road of excess at top speed only to crash into various aesthetic and spiritual dead ends. Once so future-focused, ravers began to look back wistfully. 

      Like everyone else who got swept up in the collective rush, I never dreamed that the culture would ever slow down, let alone succumb to retrospection." [234] 

       

Old skool: it's always been a slightly irritating term; "a shorthand for notions of origins and roots [...] used by epigones [...] who believe that the present is less distinguished than the illustrious past. [...] People who [...] often seem to believe that things could be righted if only the ignorant and insufficiently reverent new generation [...] would let itself be schooled by wiser elders." [235]

 

Well said, that man! Surely, the only thing worse than someone identifying as old skool is someone insisting that we keep it real ...

 

Of course, we're all prone to a touch of nostalgia; Reynolds admits to being "highly susceptible" [239] himself. Which is why, perhaps, he suddenly offers the mnemonic muse defence: "Nostalgia [...] can be creative, even subversive [...] the past can be used to critique what's absent in the present" [239] - an idea that takes us into chapter 8 ...

 

 

VII. 

 

"There is a paradox right at the heart of punk: this most revolutionary movement in rock history was actualy born from reactionary impulses. Punk opposed iself to progress. Musically, it rejected the sixties idea of progression and maturity that had led to prog rock and to other sophisticated seventies sounds. A concerted effort to turn back the clock to rock's teenage past [...] punk rock also rejected the notion of progress in a broader philosophical sense. Driven by an apocalyptic appetite for destruction and collapse, its vision was literally hope-less." [240]

 

I might phrase the above passage slightly differently at certain points, but I would basically agree that this provides an insightful reading of the slogan no future. The rejection of progress as an ideal is, of course, central to Torpedo the Ark as well: it's a secularised religious fantasy, born of what Nietzsche terms enfeebled optimism. Life is not getting better, humanity is not moving toward some predetermined higher goal, and Sgt. Pepper's is not superior to Elvis Presley.    

 

Was punk the "ultimate time-warp cult" [257]? Again, that's debatable. But let's agree that even if it started out as such it quickly escalated into a revolution: 

 

"Musical influences from outside rock 'n' roll, as well as non-musical catalysts from the worlds of politics, art theory and avant-garde fashion, entered the picture. Everything came together in a surge of energy, and then, Big Bang-like, exploded outwards into new galaxies of sound and subculture." [258] [g] 

 

That's the key: punk was never a unified musical movement; it was an Event or, as Reynolds metaphorically implies, a singularity. Although, strangely, the post-punk universe saw "revivals of every kind" [262] and a "retreat to established forms" [262]; it's hard living in the chaotic period immediately after a Big Bang - much safer to retreat to a prior time [h].   

 

 

VIII. 

 

Billy Childish and Stuckism: I'm not convinced and I'm certainly not on a quest for authenticity. 

 

But interesting that Reynolds should conceive of it as a form of love; fidelity to a golden past that one either remembers or imagines (albeit a form of love that can quickly become obsessive and turn rotten). 

 

 

IX. 

 

Chapter 9 - the never-ending fifties revival; not sure that's a topic that warrants a whole chapter (any more than Childish warranted an entire section at the end of chapter 8), but let's take a look ...

 

Nice idea that glam rock "musically harked back to the fifties without replicating it" [291] - perhaps that's why I loved it so as a ten-year-old (and later loved punk) [i]. 

 

And I'm pleased to see that, despite everything, Reynolds has the courage and integrity to admit that "the glam era's most creative reinventions of rock 'n' roll came from Gary Glitter [...] It was a genuinely new sound achieved by communing with the decade's lost spirit" [292].

 

I think Glitter's writing out of pop history is absurd, quite frankly - and hypocritical. And I agree entirely with what Reynold says here:

 

"Glitterbeat's atavistic-futuristic brutalism sounded totally seventies. If the singer had been a little less camp and a lot younger and scrawnier-looking, songs like 'I'm the Leader of the Gang' could have been a proto-punk sound for early-seventies juvenile delinquents [...]" [292] [j]   

 

And then there's The Cramps ... "a fusion of non-mainstream rock 'n' roll and pulp fiction [...] into a cult of adolescence" [297]. 

 

I can't say I was a big fan, but I know a girl who was and those psychobillies who "fixated on the moment when rock 'n' roll's jungle rhythm and voodoo frenzy was seen as ungodly and subversive" [298] are alright by me [k].   

 

Reynolds concludes the chapter on a hauntological note ...

 

"From the early eighties on, rock 'n' roll recurred only as a ghostly signifier detached from any real-world referents. Like a spook, it moved through the world without affecting it, lingered as a faintly disquieting trace of what-once-was." [307]

 

One might interrogate the above by asking what constitutes a non-ghostly signifier and a real-world referent for Reynolds and what is the nature of their relationship - but as this part of the post is already far longer than I would wish, probably best we leave such questions for another day. 

 

 

Notes

 

[a] It amazes me that a young woman would choose to dress like a villager in Bangladesh when she could look as if she had just arrived from Moon Base Alpha. For my take on space age fashion, see my post on futuristic fashion with reference to the sci-fi mini-skirt: click here. 

      Interestingly, Reynolds also seems smitten with such designs invented for a world that hasn't yet arrived, though one might have imagined he'd approve of the authenticity of clothes made in Asia, but no, he prefers ultra-modernism to retro-shit and the Biba aesthetic.      

 

[b] Reynolds wrote this in defence of chavs earlier in Retromania: 

      "In the UK, almost the only people who remain immune to the romance of the antiquated are the 'chavs', a derogatory term for working-class whites who identify with black American style and music at its most flashy and materialistic. Although chav-haters complain about their lack of taste and vulgarity [...] the subtext of the animosity is the chav's un-English lack of interest in old stuff: antiques, heritage, costume drama." [24] 

 

[c] Obviously, I'm referencing Elvis's version of the Carl Perkins song 'Blue Suede Shoes', the opening track from Elvis Presley (RCA Victor, 1956) and later released as a single: click here.   

 

[d] According to Deleuze's reading of Nietzsche's concept of eternal recurrence, the key thing is not the return of the Same or the identical, but rather the repetition of difference itself. It's false to think we remain the same person from one moment to the next or that the phrase 'same time, same place' is meaningful. The future, my friend, is not merely blowing in the wind, it actively ruptures the circularity of habit (the present) and the depths of memory (the past) allowing for newness to emerge.  

      See Deleuze writing in Nietzsche and Philosophy (1962), trans. Hugh Tomlinson (The Athlone Press, 1983) and/or Difference and Repetition (1968), trans. Paul Patton (Columbia University Press, 1994).  

 

[e] In Buddhism the idea of emptiness (Śūnyatā) is a central, liberating truth about the nature of reality and understanding the hollowness of self is an important practice. For the poet T. S. Eliot, of course, hollowness implies spiritual and emotional deadness; hollow individuals lack substance, purpose, authenticity, and the ability to act in a morally meaningful manner.    

 

[f] Kirk Field is a dance culture devotee, promoter, travel agent, and writer; see his best-selling book Rave New World (Nine Eight Books, 2023). I knew him in a previous life when he was a punk rocker (and still, to this day, greatly admire his work as vocalist and lyricist with Initial Vision).   

 

[g] As Reynolds concedes: "Arguably, the non-sonic aspects of punk were more crucial in terms of generating all these 'futures' than the music itself ..." [258] - that must slightly pain him to admit as a music lover and music critic first and foremost.  

 

[h] I understand that this may not make any conceptual sense to a scientist for whom there is no before the Big Bang - but we're discussing pop history here, not physics. 

 

[i] See the post 'Notes on a Glam-Punk Childhood' (24 July 2018): click here.  

  

[j] In fact, Glitter was later adopted by the punks as one of their own, many of whom, like me, remembered him fondly from their childhood.   

[k] Reynolds provides an excellent footnote on the punk/rockabilly connection on pp. 303-306, rightly arguing that rockabilly remained a "submerged but crucial component" [303] of punk, repeatedly rising to the surface. 

 

 

Part 1 of this post can be read here. 

 

Part 2 of this post can be read here. 

 

Parts 4 and 5 of the post will be published shortly.