Showing posts with label malcolm mclaren. Show all posts
Showing posts with label malcolm mclaren. Show all posts

20 Mar 2026

Dark Thoughts on the Light House

48 Berwick St., London, W1 
 
 
I. 
 
To the Light House!
 
For Virginia Woolf, this phrase didn't merely reference a destination, but something intangible that keeps us believing in a brighter future [1]. For me, however, it means a trip into Soho and a first-time visit to Joe Corré's new venture on Berwick Street, six months after opening in September of last year. 
 
 
II.   
 
For readers who may not know, Corré is the 58-year-old son of Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren. He is usually described in the press as an activist and businessman, though we might wish to reverse these terms for the sake of greater accuracy. 
 
In 1994, he established the lingerie store Agent Provocateur with his then wife Serena Rees, which they eventually sold to a private equity firm in 2007, for a sum of £60 million (later revealed to be a more than generous price). The following year Corré opened Child of the Jago, an independent boutique very much inspired by the retail outlets operated by his parents in the 1970s and '80s.  
 
In 2016, Corré controversially staged a protest which involved burning an estimated five million quids worth of Sex Pistols memorabilia on a barge on the River Thames [2]. 
 
And now, Corré is the proud owner of a lovingly restored Georgian townhouse that previously operated as a chandelier workshop [3]; thus the name of his new project (as far as I know, there's no Woolf-Westwood connection, even if the former inspired many fashion designers and once famously declared that, contrary to popular misconception, clothes wear us). 
 
 
III. 
 
It would not be fair - or indeed accurate - to describe the Light House as simply a retail outlet. 
 
For it functions as a multi-purpose fashion house, atelier, and members' bar and aims to provide a platform for independent designers known for "their creative aesthetic and high quality manufacture" [4], but who often struggle to find affordable retail space to rent in what remains of and passes for the real world. 
 
The Light House also intends to host exhibitions, talks, and other events; indeed, when I visited, an exhibition titled  'Vivienne Westwood: An Active Life' was just coming to a close [5]. 
 
All of which sounds great - and is great - and Joe is to be congratulated. The venue looks fantastic and, as a concept, the Light House is a brilliant idea. 
 
And let me add that the staff are amazing, too (give 'em a pay rise, Joe!).  
 
 
IV. 
 
However, a concern remains that the Light House is ultimately a space for an economic rather than a cultural elite to gather. To become a member, for example, requires one to cough up £950 per annum - which is quite a lot of money just to be able to access a tiny bar and mingle with a few other like-minded individuals. 
 
And of course, they will be like-minded; the terms and conditions governing membership (as well as the annual subscription fee) guarantee that. If one, out of curiosity, looks on the Light House website, one discovers that membership will be restricted to those artisans, craftspeople, designers, and individuals drawn from the creative industries who agree to conform to a set of house rules that govern not only how they behave, but what ideas to think and values to hold.
 
Members, for example, are not only made aware that loud and boorish behaviour will not be tolerated, but that they musn't discuss or promote any religious or politically extremist ideology. Members must also conform to an approved dress code; no jeans, no trainers, no tracksuits, no mass market fashion, or other unattractive attire
 
The management of the Light House also take a very dim view of drunkenness, lewdness, and aggressiveness. Members and/or their guests will be dealt with severely if they use abusive or inappropriate language, piss on the floor, or smoke in a non-designated area. The use of all mobile devices is also strictly prohibited.
 
And, finally, to ensure everyone follows the rules, members must also consent to use of CCTV and the storage of their personal data. A membership card - i.e., photographic ID - must also be carried and shown upon request by staff. I think that just about covers everything; the Hellfire Club it ain't and whilst Joe Corré may fancy himself as a bit of an 18th century dandy and sophisticated man about town, he's no Francis Dashwood ... 
 
 
V. 
  
Whilst Corré likes to be seen offering support to "those who challenge the norms today: punks, artists, activists, thinkers ..." [6] a high membership fee naturally filters the community by disposable income rather than purely by creative merit. This can risk turning a counter-cultural hub into a private lounge for the wealthy to larp as outsiders and rebels. 
 
And whilst Corré is right to say that Soho has been transformed since the 1980s from a gritty, artistic enclave to an area dominated by private members' clubs, one might suggest that as someone who commodifies the aesthetic of rebellion while operating within the same elite structures, he is himself contributing to the very gentrification of the area that he condemns [7]. 
 
When membership of a club is restricted to those who can afford it, the curiosity and conversation that Corré hopes to foster may lack the friction and diversity of thought found in truly public or more inclusive spaces. 
 
Ultimately, I'll leave it to readers to decide: is Joe a genuine 'punk' saviour and cultural 'terrorist', or is he merely a wealthy beneficiary of the system he criticises? Whilst fans of Westwood and defenders of the faith will love what he's doing, I'm sceptical to say the least ...
 
The Light House may be shining bright on Berwick Street, but for the freaks Corré claims to champion, the door remains firmly closed.  
 
 
Notes
 
[1] To the Lighthouse is novel by Virginia Woolf (Hogarth Press, 1927). It is arguably her best novel alongside Mrs Dalloway (1925), and widely considered a seminal work of modernist literature. 
 
[2] See 'Carri On Sex Pistols: Comments on the Case of Joe Corré and His Bonfire of Punk' (19 Dec 2016): click here.
      In this post, I argue that Corré's rather feeble (and belated) gesture was unnecessary; that his father working in collaboration with Jamie Reid had already alerted us in The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle to the fact that the Sex Pistols were fast becoming merely another brand name and that Bambi had already been butchered.
 
[3] Corré explains on the Light House website how he had been on the hunt for candlesticks for use in an art project, but ended up purchasing the entire building at 48 Berwick Street: click here. It seems that whilst you may or may not be able to buy happiness, you can certainly materialise your dreams when you have a significant sum in the bank: Lux ducit, sedpecuia eam realem facit ... 
      (I'm punning here on the Latin slogan used by the Light House: Lux me ducet - the light shall lead me forward. The phrase is often associated with the 19th century Italian writer Carlo Collodi, author of Pinocchio (1883), who adopted it as the motto for his magazine, Il Lampione. Along with other similar classical Latin phrases, it is commonly used to express inspiration, intellect, or spiritual guidance.)
 
[4] I'm quoting from the Showcase page on the Light House website: click here
 
[5] The month-long exhibition celebrated the life of the iconic visionary and activist Dame Vivienne Westwood. It was an interesting collaboration between the Vivienne Foundation, celebrity portrait photographer Ki Price, and life-long Westwood devotee, Steven Philip. Not only were limited edition prints of Price's pictures available, but Philip curated a sale of over a hundred vintage Westwood items drawn from his own collection. 
      For full details, see the Spotlight page on the Light House website: click here
 
[6] I'm quoting from the Showcase page on Child of the Jago on the Light House website: click here
 
[7] See, for example, his piece in The Standard titled 'My mother showed how fashion can bring light to dark days - it's a legacy I won't let die' (21 Feb 2026): click here
      Corré claims that once vibrant areas like Soho "have become sanitised and homogenised to the point where they resemble a shopping mall of zoned, soulless cubes of shite" and that his mission is to reverse the tide and "bring back the freaks". The Light House, he says, is a hub for people who love to dress up and discuss "artistic, intellectual and cultural ideas" - providing of course they pay their membership fees and respect the rules.  


19 Feb 2026

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. 


17 Feb 2026

Retromania: Reviewed and Reassessed - Part 2: Now (Chapters 1-5)

Simon Reynolds: Retromania 
(Faber and Faber, 2011)
 
Note that page numbers given in the text refer to the 2012 edition of Retromania
Part 1 of this post can be accessed by clicking here.
 
 
I. 
 
It's telling that Reynolds still thinks the crucial element of pop is the music; that all the rest is just ephemera - disappointing that he should still posit such a clear distinction between the sound and the look. 
 
Nevertheless, I share his horror of rock and pop museums and probably wouldn't visit one (unless, I suppose, it were in the name of research) and I'm pleased to see him quote Julie Burchill's line about anything that can fit into rock's rich tapestry (i.e., be conveniently and seamlessly sewn into the fabric of history) is dead at heart
 
This includes pretty much every genre, every band, every record, but I'm happy that Reynolds chooses to give a special mention to the Clash's London Calling (1979), which "re-rooted punk in the riches of rock 'n' roll and Americana, and was duly anointed Greatest Album of the Eighties by Rolling Stone" [10] - the kind of album your older sister buys you for Christmas [a].   
 
Apparently, "Theodore Adorno was the first to point out the similarity of the words 'museum' and mausoleum'" [11]. It's a phonetic resemblance rather than an etymological link, of course, but true to note that the former too is a final resting place for objects that have passed on and are now similar to "medieval sacred relics [... which] elicit morbid awe rather than scholarly respect" [13].
 
I understand why people defend museums and public collections of work, or why some people think it crucial to document, commemorate, archive, preserve and restore, etc. But, like Reynolds, "there's a part of me that will always thrill to, and agree with, the Futurist manifestos" [21]. Marinetti called on us to flood the museums, just as, many years later, Malcolm McLaren would insist that history is for pissing on.
 
In sum, we can all agree that there's been a massive cultural shift; from the modernist obsession with making new and leaping into the future, to our current preoccupation with heritage and the protecting of things deemed to have historic value. The problem is: "History must have a dustbin, or History will be a dustbin, a gigantic, sprawling garbage heap." [27] [b] 
 
 
II. 
 
Generally speaking, like Reynolds, I avoid band reunions. For as he notes, they are usually a "recipe for disappointment" [39]. I saw the Sex Pistols play Finsbury Park in the summer of 1996 at a friend's invitation (and insistence) and wasn't impressed.
 
As for rock 're-enactments' ... What's the point: "It seems obvious that the simulation of 'being there' fails on every level: you know there's no real danger [...] you know what the outcome is going to be" [51]
 
Having said that, however, Reynolds offers a fascinating and strong defence of the latter, which ultimately relies upon what Derrida terms the myth (or metaphysicsof presence and a dash of what Walter Benjamin describes as an artwork's aura
      
"Although they've emerged out of the art world rather than from rock culture itself, rock re-enactments resonate with a buried hunger within the music scene for a spasm like punk or rave that would turn the world upside down. On the face of it, re-enactments seem just to feed into a backwards-looking culture that's taking us ever-further from the conditions in which such total transformations and singular disruptions were possible. But perhaps the artists are onto something when they talk about failure as the goal: a goad to the audience, simultaneously stirring up and frustrating the longing for the Event." [53-54]
 
"Re-enactment art is at once an extension of and an inversion of performance art, which is event-based by definition. Performance art is all about the here and now. Its components include the bodily presence of the artists, a physical location and its duration [...] Re-enactment is like a spectral form of performance art: what the viewer witnesses never quite achieves full presence or present-ness." [54]
 
In other words, authenticity is tangible whilst the ghostly is never quite the real deal (no matter how haunting it may be).  
 
 
III. 
 
I mentioned YouTube in passing in part one of this post and Reynolds devotes a whole chapter to the question of music and memory (Ch. 2: Total Recall), describing the online video sharing platform as an "indiscriminate chaos of amateur cultural salvage" [56]. That would make a nice tagline, but I'm not sure Google would go for it. 
 
Reynolds continues:
 
"YouTube's ever-proliferating labyrinth of collective recollection is a prime example of the crisis of overdocumentation triggered by digital technology [...] the astronomic expansion of humanity's resources of memory." [56]
 
Nietzsche wouldn't like it - innocence and becoming are tied to forgetfulness, not memory - and Heidegger wouldn't like it; we remain unfree so long as we remain enframed by the essence of technology, whether we spend hours on YouTube or not.  
 
Because we have instant access to the past, "the presence of the past in our lives has increased immeasurably and insidiously" [57]. And this erosion of the here and now is probably not great for our well-being: we become unable to live in the moment; incapable of focusing on work, or fully immersing ourselves even in the things we enjoy:
 
"Attention-deficit disorder is the name of this condition, but like  so many ailments and dysfunctions under late capitalism, the source of the disorder is not internal to the sufferer, nor his or her fault; it's caused by the environment, in this case the datascape." [73]
 
Amusingly, Reynolds confesses that he's now nostalgic for an era of boredom contra this time of total distraction and a million-and-one possibilities; "a cultural economy of dearth and delay" [74] and an experience of tedium so intense "it was almost spiritual" [74]. Technology has even robbed us of this.          
 
IV.
 
"This is one of the big questions of our era: can culture survive in conditions of limitlessness?" [77]
 
The short answer is: it depends on what Nietzsche terms the plastic power of a people; i.e., their capacity to incorporate the past and the foreign and to balance an overwhelming amount of knowledge with the need for action and forgetting. A strong, healthy culture possesses high plastic power and is able to use history for life rather than allowing the past to become the gravedigger of the present [c]
 
Unfortunately, I'm not sure ours is a strong, healthy culture. But maybe my post-Nietzschean pessimism and Reynolds's cultural anxiety will prove mistaken ... 
 
For maybe the digital environment is that rhizomatic utopia that Deleuze and Guattari term a plane of immanence; i.e., a non-hierarchical virtual field of pure connectivity, where all concepts and forms emerge through, and are defined by, their speed, movement, and intensity. 
 
Or, to put it another way, maybe the internet is an open, unmediated, and self-organising space that exists without fixed structures or transcendent rules, making it a fantastic place for creating new possibilities. 
 
But then again, maybe not: maybe it's a kind of hell to which we are damned for all eternity.
 
 
V. 
 
Chapter 3 of Retromania is on record collecting and provides a fascinating psycho-philosophical insight into the phenomenon, with references to all the usual suspects - Freud, Benjamin, Baudrillard, et al.
 
Having said that, one can't help wondering at times if Retromania might have benefitted from a ruthless edit; I'm sure I'm not the only reader to find it a bit meandering at times. I understand it's a work of critically-informed journalism and not an academic text, but, even so, a sharper analytic focus would've been nice [d]
 
Anyway, as someone who doesn't collect records, has never downloaded or file shared music, and doesn't own an iPod or an MP3 player, this chapter doesn't particularly interest. Though I do like this observation: 
 
"First music was reified, turned into a thing (vinyl records, analogue tapes) you could buy, store, keep under your own persona; control. Then music was 'liquified', turned into data that could be streamed, carried anywhere, transferred between different devices." [122]
 
Should we, then, demand the return of objects? As an objectophile and object-oriented philosopher, readers will probably be able to guess my answer to this. 
 
 
VI. 
 
Chapter 4 is on the rise of the curator - and that does excite my interest. 
 
For, in a sense, I feel myself to be the curator of Torpedo the Ark; someone who doesn't merely connect ideas and images, but reimagines and recontextualises them; someone who - most importantly - cares as well as creates (etymologically, the word curate comes from the Latin cura, meaning to care or safeguard, as Reynolds rightly reminds us).    
 
Moving on, here's another line that seems indisputably true: 
 
"Once, rock 'n' roll was a commentary on adolescent experience; over time, rock itself became that experience, overlapping with it and at time substituting for it entirely." [135] 
 
I get the impression Reynolds feels that this results in ersatz emotion and cliché; "songs aren't torn from the soul so much as lovingly pieced together" [139]. But is he really defending the "rock ethos of blustery authenticity" [139] here ...? 
 
It certainly feels like it when he takes a pop at The Darkness and describes their amusing take on metal as malignant; "a tumour of not-really-meaning-it that eroded any actual power that metal still possessed" [140]. That's more than a bit harsh or histrionic; to write of the cancer of irony that has "metastasised its way through pop culture" [140] has unpleasant echoes of Nazi rhetoric [e]
 
Again, one is obliged to ask: is it really so terrible if a band assembles their identity "within a kind of economy of influences" [141], rather than "drawing from deep within their personal life" [141]? I don't think so. Art doesn't have to be inhuman, but there's always an impersonal element to it otherwise its just an emotional expression of the individual and a washing of dirty laundry in public.   
 
And, further more, reference is not always deference; nor indeed is citation merely a "form of showing off or connoisseurial conceit" [141]. It can be. But it doesn't have to be. For the most part, it's an acknowledgement of the fact that Romantic ideals of originality, authenticity, and genius are just that and all creation takes place within an intertextual context. To some extent, we are all monsters made from multiple parts and dead tissue and even the good doctor Frankenstein himself was basically a Promethean plagiarist playing God.   
 
   
VII. 
 
I mentioned earlier - a couple of times I think - the importance of forgetting. And so I'm pleased to see Reynolds write this: 
 
"Maybe we need to forget. Maybe forgetting is as essential for a culture as it is existentially and emotionally necessary for individuals." [159] 
 
But there's not much chance of forgetting in the age of the cathedralesque box set ... in which the past is repackaged and remastered and made Whole; "the box set is where an old enthusiasm goes to die: a band or genre you loved frozen into an indigestible chunk [...] bloated with out-takes [... and] impossible to listen to all the way through" [161] [f]
 
 
VIII. 
 
Apparently, Japan is not only the land of the rising sun, but also the empire of retro:  
 
"No other country on Earth [...] has dedicated itself so intensively to archiving the annals of Western popular, semi-popular and downright unpopular music. And no other music-producing nation has blurred the border more thoroughly between creation and curation." [162]
 
And that gives me yet another reason to love Japan apart from the cherry blossom, the literature, the beauty of the women, and the fact that - as noted by Barthes - it's a place in which symbols and signs play freely rather than begging to be interpreted or seeking to impose meaning. 
 
The thing with the Japanese fans is they have learnt not only the first rule of punk - do it yourself - but the equally important (but often forgotten) second rule - do it properly - and Reynolds rightly notes that what is striking about the Japanese take on Western pop forms is the fact they get everything so spot on thanks to "the unstinting attention to stylistic detail" [164]
 
The Japanese don't produce cheap copies, but perfect simulations; more real than the real thing and "liberated from the anchors of geography and history" [170] - it's the smile without the cat! I can't say I'm a fan of Shibuya-kei, but I certainly don't feel its practitioners and adherents are postmodern imperialists "whose fundamental mode of operation is the reprocessing of culture" [170] and who undermine the vitality and expressive power of genuine musical genres such as reggae, rap, and folk. 
 
"Once music is a reflection of esoteric knowledge rather than expressive urgency, its value is easily voided." [170] 
 
That is quite a claim. But whilst it's far from being merely an empty assertion - Reynolds has already assembled a good deal of evidence to support it - I'm still not entirely convinced by what remains ultimately a subjective claim and turning Japanese is not the worst fate that might befall a people. 
 
 
IX. 
 
Chapter 5 closes on quite a melancholy note:
 
"When I look back at the development of pop and rock during my lifetime [...] what perplexes me is the slow but steady fading of the artistic imperative to be original [...] from the mid-eighties onwards, gradually but with increasing momentum, that changed into an impulse to create something very much heard before, and moreover to do it immaculately, accurate in every last detail ..." [176]
 
This is what Reynolds means by the phrase turning Japanese - but as I say above, that's only an issue if you wish to continue valuing the ideals of originality; an ideal which, even in the West, was a relatively recent invention (as Reynolds well knows) [g]
  
"In some ways, pop music could be said to have held out against the onset of postmodernism the longest [...] the first decade of the twenty-first century is truly when the tide decisively turned Japanese. The cycles of recycling have a senseless quality, uncoupled from History [h] or a social reality beyond music [...] culture can be played for laughs [...] But it's the kind of slightly hysterical mirth that could easily turn to tears." [179]
 
Hopefully, Mr Reynolds can dry his eyes in time for Part Two of Retromania - 'Then' - which I will discuss in part 3 of this post ... 
 
 
Notes
 
[a] The history of the Clash can be bookended by two events: signing to CBS in January 1977 and being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in March 2003. They were always the only band that mattered - to the music industry! 
      Reynold's writes of the band's meek compliance and recalls seeing Mick Jones going up on stage at the award ceremony and looking like a "stoop-shouldered clerk shuffling to the podium to receive his retirement gift for forty-five years' loyal service to the firm" [10]. Ouch!
 
[b] Reynolds later expands on this line of thought: "History is a form of editing reality; for a historical account to work it requires a filter, otherwise the sheer sludge of information silts up the narrative flow." [28]
 
[c] See Nietzsche's essay 'On the uses and disadvantages of history for life', in Untimely Meditations, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp. 57-123. 
 
[d] Of course, it could be argued that the sprawling, over-documented, and often repetitive nature of the book is itself an ironic reflection of the indiscriminate chaos of the digital era that Reynold's describes.  
 
[e] Of course, I'm not suggesting Reynolds is a crypto-fascist, but, at the time of writing Retromania, he does display a conservative (almost reactionary) desire for affective realness and is clearly contemptuous of what Bob Harris famously called mock rock (with reference to the New York Dolls) in 1973. He also cites Oswald Spengler's Decline of the West (1918) and revives that hoary old dichotomy of culture versus civilisation (see page 170). 
      Ultimately, his rhetoric in Retromania is histrionic - and that's his term - because he treats the end of musical innovation as a cultural catastrophe and defends the idea that a people must move forward into the future - must progress - in order to remain healthy. 
      I'm told by someone who knows, that Reynolds explicitly frames his 2024 book Futuromania as a corrective to the cultural pessimism of Retromania and posits the idea that if you only find new ears with which to listen you can hear tomorrow's music today.   
 
[f] Of course, box sets aren't meant to be listened to; they are made for "ownership and display, as testaments to elevated taste and knowledge" [161] and monuments to the past. 
 
[g] Traditionally, there was no shame in copying and in fact copying the great masters was seen as crucial to the creative process. The modern concept of originality emerged primarily during the late 18th century, driven by the Romantic movement which championed individual genius and self-expression over imitation. 
      What surprises me is that Reynolds knows this, but still can't quite get over his "old modernist-minded post-punk" [173] prejudice - still remains a Romantic at heart who thinks it a sign of moral weakness or vital deficiency to not want to resist influence and produce original work; to find their own voice. "Not only has the anxiety of influence faded away," write Reynolds, "so has sense of shame about being derivative." [178]       
 
[h] Note the capitalisation of the term history - how very Hegelian! For most of us, history is simply a common noun referring to a chronological record of random events. But those who speak of History imagine the rational unfolding of Geist toward a specific goal. 
 
 
Part 3 of this post can be read by clicking here
 
 

7 Feb 2026

If You Want to Change the World, Start By Making Your Own Fucking Bed!

Yoko Ono, John Lennon, and Maria de Soledade Alves 
Amsterdam Hilton Hotel (25 March 1969)
Photo by Charles Ley 
 
 
I. 
 
Although there are things that one might admire about John Lennon and his wife Yoko Ono, I can't say I'm a fan. Indeed, if pushed, I would have to admit that any trace of affection is blotted out by a good deal of animosity and suspicion. 
 
Mostly, that's due to Malcolm Mclaren having taught my generation to never trust a hippie - particularly those who are working in the arts and music business. For when you look beneath the long hair and countercultural bullshit, you soon uncover a crucial (and hypocritical) disconnect betweeen the utopian vision we are asked to imagine and their own lavish lifestyles, often involving enormous wealth and celebrity.
 
 
II. 
 
That was certainly the case with John & Yoko [1] and, for me, no photo brings this home better than the one reproduced above showing the honeymooning couple waiting for a housekeeper to change the sheets on their bed at the Amsterdam Hilton Hotel, so that they can continue with their Bed-in for Peace protest [2] against the evils of war, injustice, and capitalist exploitation.      
 
The photo, by Charles Ley, was originally published in the Daily Mirror (26 Mar 1969) with the headline 'Beatle John and Yoko are forced out of their £20-a-day bed by Maria, the hotel maid', and went on (in mocking tones) to explain how a Portuguese maid, named Maria de Soledade Alves, had interrupted Day Two of the revolutionary happening held in a flower-scented presidential suite, in order to change the bed linen [3].
 
After watching her complete her duties - and without lifting a finger to help - the 28-year-old Beatle and his 34-year-old wife hopped happily back into bed and continued their protest. 
 
 
III. 
 
When Johnny Rotten was asked why he didn't want to accompany the Sex Pistols to Brazil and perform with the Great Train Robber Ronnie Biggs [4], he explained that he disliked the romanticised narrative surrounding the whole affair and particularly objected to the fact that the train driver, 57-year-old Jack Mills, was seriously injured during the robbery: That could have been my father.
 
And that's pretty much how I feel when I look at this photo: That could have been my mother [5] - obliged to make the bed in front of two long-haired, hippie layabouts and laughing members of the press.  
 
 
Notes
 
[1] By the time of Lennon's death in 1980, his estate was valued at approximately $200 million (that's closer to $800 million in today's money). This fortune was largely amassed from music royalties, but Yoko - who came from a wealthy Japanese banking family - had also made some astute investments in NYC real estate and modern art.   
 
[2] In 1969, John & Yoko staged a unique form of protest called the Bed-ins for Peace, which, as the name indicates, involved staying in bed all day, growing your hair, and giving interviews to the world's media. 
      They held two week-long protests; the first at the Hilton Hotel in Amsterdam and the second at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal, during which they invited several famous friends to drop by, including the Beat poet Allen Ginsberg and psychedelic psychologist Timothy Leary. It was here, on 1 June 1969, that they also recorded the song 'Give Peace a Chance'.   
      The events were filmed, of course, and readers who wish to learn more might like to watch the documentary Bed Peace (1969), starring John Lennon & Yoko Ono, and shared on YouTube: click here
 
[3] Readers who wish to read the article in the Daily Mirror in full, can find it reproduced on the website Vintage Everyday: click here
      When asked later whether he and Yoko were irritated by the fact that the press, for the most part, didn't take the Bed-in seriously, Lennon replied that he wasn't; that in fact he and Yoko didn't want to be taken seriously. Fifty years after the event, Yoko Ono stood by the central message being preached, but conceded that it was naive to think you could change the world from the comfort of one's bed. 
 
[4] See the post 'And God Save Ronald Biggs' (5 Jan 2026): click here.  
 
[5] My mother wasn't Portuguese, but she did work, briefly and part-time, at a Trust House Forte hotel, where she had the exhausting job of making the beds in the morning.   
 
 

5 Feb 2026

And God Save Ronald Biggs

Jamie Reid promotional poster for the Sex Pistols' single 
'No One is Innocent' (Virgin Records, 1978)
 
Ronnie Rotten - he never sang for Scotland Yard, but he burst his lungs for the Sex Pistols ...
 
  
I. 
 
If you want to understand the Sex Pistols, then it probably helps to conceive of them more as an adolescent criminal gang, led by former art student Malcolm McLaren, who peddled anarchy and fetish fashion from their hideout on the King's Road, rather than simply a punk rock band fronted by Johnny Rotten [1]
 
Instead of chasing chart success and pop stardom, the idea was to generate cash from chaos, aestheticise evil, and celebrate the outlaw à la Jean Genet [2] who recognised in the ruthlessness and cunning of murderers and thieves a sunken beauty.  
 
Thus, for example, one of the earliest shirts sold at SEX featured the leather mask of the notorious Cambridge Rapist. And so it was that when Rotten was thrown overboard for collaborating with the record companies so as to establish a long-term, professional career in music, he was replaced not by some hopeless teen wannabe, but by Great Train Robber and fugitive Ronnie Biggs ... [3]  
 
 
II. 
 
Biggs, who had daringly escaped from Wandsworth Prison fifteen months into his thirty year sentence, was still wanted by the British authorities, but had immunity from extradition, having fathered a child in Brazil, where he had been living since 1970.
 
He and the two remaining Sex Pistols - Paul Cook and Steve Jones - got on well, writing and recording a new track together, entitled 'No One is Innocent' [4], which was released as a single on 30 June 1978, coupled with Sid's unique version of 'My Way'. Despite a (predictable) BBC ban, it reached number 7 in the UK Singles Chart [5]. Biggs also recorded a version of 'Belsen Was a Gas', which was included on the The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle soundtrack (1979) [6]
 
I know many people - including fans of the band - were either perplexed or pissed-off by McLaren's decision to replace Rotten with Biggs as the new singer with the Sex Pistols [8], but I tend to agree with Jamie Reid that it was a brilliant (and necessary) move which demonstrated an idea crucial to the pluralistic politics of The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle, namely, that anyone can be a Sex Pistol [9].
 
 
III.
 
In February 1978, McLaren joined Cook and Jones in Brazil. Filmmaker Julien Temple was also there to shoot the scenes with Biggs for the Swindle, including an expensive riverboat sequence to promote the new song, which had been recorded at a local 16-track studio with overdubs later added back in London at Wessex Studios, by audio engineer Bill Price. 
 
The thing is - and I think this is something even those who dismiss the track as simply a cynical attempt to stir controversy and grab headlines will admit - it does sound like a Sex Pistols track; even without Rotten on vocals. Thanks to Jones's distinctive guitar and Cook's solid work as always on drums, it has typical swagger and a huge amount of energy. 
 
And for those who, like me, appreciate the absurd anarchy of the Swindle rather than the austere monarchy of Never Mind the Bollocks, it's a fantastic single. 
 
To play 'No One is Innocent' (audio only) click here
 
To play (with official video using footage from The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (1980)), click here.
 
 
Sex Pistols (sans Rotten and Vicious): 
Jones / Rowland / McLaren / Cook /Biggs (1978)
 
      
Notes
 
[1] I think it's important to acknowledge that the key figure in the band was never really Rotten; it was Steve Jones, a semi-professional tea leaf with more than a dozen criminal convictions; someone described by Glen Matlock as resembling a character from a book by Jean Genet. 
 
[2] See the post 'God Save Jean Genet' (2 Feb 2026), in which the French writer is considered in relation to the Sex Pistols: click here
 
[3] Whilst I cannot go into too much detail here, I thought readers who are unfamiliar with the name and the robbery with which Biggs is forever associated, might appreciate a few lines of explanation ...
      Ronald Biggs was a petty criminal from South London who helped plan and carry out the Great Train Robbery on 8 August 1963 (his 34th birthday). Whilst in The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (1980) he is portrayed as the legendary mastermind behind the robbery, he actually had a very minor role. 
      The gang got away with £2.6 million (equivalent to around £70 million today), so a considerable sum of money then as now and the holding up of a Royal Mail train travelling from Glasgow to London was an enormous story in the British press, dominating headlines for weeks afterwards and remaining in the cultural imagination ever since. For some people it still remains the crime of the century and, despite what happened to the train's driver, Jack Mills, the robbers are often regarded as folk heroes who got one over the authorities. For even though Biggs and eleven other gang members were arrested just three weeks after the robbery and received long prison sentences, most of the money was never recovered.
      Biggs subsequently became notorious for his escape from prison in July 1965, living thereafter as a fugitive in foreign exile (and with a new identity) for thirty-six years. The money - as it always does - soon ran out (mostly on legal fees and other expenses relating to his exile, although £40,000 also went on plastic surgery), so Biggs was obliged to do whatever he could to secure and income - including the selling of his soul for punk.  
      In 2001, feeling increasingly homesick - telling friends that he longed to walk into an English boozer once more and order a pint -  he announced to The Sun newspaper that he would be willing to return to the UK. Still having twenty-eight years of his sentence left to serve, he was aware that he would be detained upon arrival in Britain and spend time in prison: which he did. However, due to his health rapidly declining, he was (eventually) released on compassionate grounds in August 2009 (two days before his 80th birthday and having served a third of his original sentence). 
      Biggs died in a North London nursing home on 18 December 2013. His body was cremated at Golders Green Crematorium on 3 January 2014. The coffin was covered with the flags of the UK and Brazil (and a Charlton Athletic scarf). An honour guard of British Hells Angels escorted his hearse to the crematorium.
 
[4] Before Virgin vetoed the idea, the track was originally to be called 'Cosh the Driver', tastelessly referencing the fact that during the robbery the driver of the intercepted train, Jack Mills, was blugeoned with an iron bar. Mills never fully recovered from his serious head injuries - nor overcome the trauma of what he had experienced - although he died of an unrelated cause (leukaemia), in 1970. 
      The 12" single - which I bought along with the 7" - came with a different sleeve, featuring a still from The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (dir. Julien Temple, 1980) in which the American actor Henry Rowland (dressed as Nazi on the run Martin Bormann; a role he had played in a number of Russ Meyer movies) is shown playing bass alongside Jones on guitar, Cook on drums, and Biggs on lead vocals. It also came with a different title: 'The Biggest Blow - A Punk Prayer by Ronnie Biggs' (Virgin Records, 1979).  
 
[5] The single was not released in the US and failed to chart in other overseas territories. 
 
[6] Readers might be surprised to learn that this was not Biggs's first outing as a recording artist. For Biggs, an avid jazz fan, had previously collaborated in 1974 with three musicians to make a musical narrative of his life entitled Mailbag Blues. The album was finally released in 2004 (whatmusic.com) and is "a fusion of experimental jazz, blues and funk, with echoes of Brazilian styles such as tropicalia and bossa nova" and although Biggs doesn't actually sing on the record, he is credited as inspiration and storyteller. See Alex Bellos, 'Ronnie Biggs: the album', in The Guardian (1 Sept 2004): click here. To listen to the title track - 'Mailbag Blues' - please click here
      Biggs also had a post-Pistols recording career; in 1991, he provided vocals for the songs 'Police on My Back' and 'Carnival in Rio' by German punk band Die Toten Hosen, and two years later Biggs sang on three tracks for the album Bajo Otra Bandera by Argentinian punk band Pilsen. You can find some of these songs on YouTube, but, frankly, I'd not bother.
 
[7] McLaren's original plan was for the group - including Rotten - to fly down to Rio de Janeiro after the final US show in San Francisco, so that they could be filmed performing with Biggs. Paul Gorman writes: "The combination of the UK's most wanted felon cavorting with the world's most hated group amid the favelas during Carnival was too good an opportunity to let pass, McLaren believed." 
      But Rotten wanted nothing to do with the idea and his refusal to comply with McLaren's latest scheme effectively brought the curtain down on his career as a Sex Pistol. Interestingly, Gorman is sympathetic to the singer here: 
      "With justification, Lydon viewed Biggs as a charmless nerk rather than an anti-hero deserving of glorification, not least since the train driver in Biggs's gang crime had suffered severe brain damage from injuries inflicted upon him during the raid."
      See Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), pp. 386 and 388. 
 
[8] Jamie Reid would later explain:
      "'One of the things we were aware of was the need never to remain still, never to become stagnant. After three or four records have come out there begins to be a typical punk fan, who identifies with the band the way fans always do. When Rotten left and we put in Ronnie Biggs, they couldn't understand. It seemed a good idea to us.'"
      Quoted by Paul Gorman in The Life and Times of Malcolm Mclaren, p. 402.