Dinner with Malcolm at L'Escargot

Malcolm McLaren enjoying a glass of wine in 1984 [1].

 

 

I.

L'Escargot is London's oldest - arguably finest and most famous - French restaurant [2].

 

Housed in a mid-18th century Georgian townhouse and located in the heart of Soho, L'Escargot was established by snail-loving Georges Gaudin, a painted sculpture of whom still sits astride a giant snail outside the restaurant to this day (see image below).

Ella Alexander - no relation - provides an excellent description in a review piece for Harper's Bazaar:

 

"If L'Escargot were a person, it would be a wealthy French dandy never seen without his cane, cravat or cigar. London's oldest restaurant is a bastion of Soho decadence, where red velvet, chandeliers and jacquard curtains still reign. It's as far from modern luxe as you can imagine, which is all part of its charm." [3]

 

Regrettably, I've only had the pleasure of dining there once - almost 40 years ago - when L'Escargot was owned by husband and wife team Nick Lander and Jancis Robinson, and managed by Elena Salvoni, widely recognised as one of the greatest maître d's of the time and known fondly by regulars as the Queen of Soho [4]. 

 

But it was a memorable night for me - not so much because of the food (mushroom soup followed by pheasant), but because of the company; for it was one of the few times I accompanied Malcolm McLaren for dinner and got to enjoy his unique genius in a more relaxed setting than the office on Denmark Street ...

 

 

 II.

 

Note: the following account is based on an entry in the Von Hell Diaries dated Tues 27 Nov 1984. 

 

Myself and Lee Ellen - the Charisma Records Press Officer - were supposed to be going for a quick bite to eat and then to the theatre. But whilst dropping off some new photos that required his approval, Malcolm insisted that we go for dinner with him and a friend who designed rubber jewellery in the shape of fish (and who, according to Malcolm, was in the IRA).

 

After a brief discussion, it was decided we'd go to L'Escargot ...

 

Malcolm was in a very buoyant and - even by his standards - exceedingly talkative mood; he was pleased with a film made for The South Bank Show that was soon to air on TV [5] and he was looking forward to escaping the muddy hole of London and starting a number of new film projects - such as Fashion Beast - in the US. 

 

Nothing was happening any more in London and any up and coming young rascal who wanted to do something radical, should, he said, relocate either to New York, Leningrad, or Australia. 

 

Other topics of conversation (by which I mean McLaren monologue) included: the history of the English music hall; famous Victorian scandals involving the British Royal Family; the influence of Jack Zipes on contemporary readings of the fairy tale; why fascism is an ever-present danger and England in the 1980s resembles Weimar Germany in the late 1920s.  

 

Malcolm was disappointed that I had to leave early - though it was nearly 1am - and told me I was a drongo for living way out west in Chiswick and should move to Bloomsbury as soon as possible. 

 

However, he did confess that whilst an art student he dated a great big fat bird who lived in Turnham Green (he also told me that at around this time he'd shot up the Spanish Embassy with a machine gun in order to protest the Franco regime, but I have my doubts about the veracity of this latter tale) [6].  

As Malcolm and Tom walked off into the Soho night, Lee Ellen and I got a taxi to Sloane Square. Walked her home and then made my way back to Chiswick. Bed at around 3am, but couldn't sleep as I felt sick - the sign, so they say, of a good evening. 

www.lescargot.co.uk

 

Notes

 

[1] Unfortunately, in an age before smart phones, no photos were taken on the night at L'Escargot that I reminisce about here. However, this image of McLaren - screenshot from The South Bank Show (see note 5 below) - was taken only a few weeks earlier in New York and he wore the same suit on the night I dined with him in Soho.

 

[2] L'Escargot, 48, Greek Steet, Soho, London W1. The restaurant is currently closed for refurbishment, but is due to re-open on 10 May 2023.

 

[3] Ella Alexander, 'L'Escargot, London: How London's oldest French restaurant kept its allure 90 years on', Harper's Bazarre (29 June 2017): click here. 

      It's easy to understand from Alexander's description why L'Escargot would be such a popular hangout for actors, artists, and fashionistas. And whilst I'm sure McLaren liked the place, I think he found the history of nearby Kettner's - founded in 1867 - far more exciting, and used to love telling stories of how the Prince of Wales would dine there with his mistress Lillie Langtry, whilst Oscar Wilde entertained young boys in the rooms above. It was in Kettner's that he also once encouraged me to smash a window.

 

[4] Born in Clerkenwell, in 1920, to parents from Northern Italy, Elena Salvoni died in March 2016, aged 95. Having started work aged 14, at Café Bleu in Soho, she devoted her life to hospitality, ending her career at L'Etoile, also in Soho, where she continued to work even after her 90th birthday. 

      Readers who are interested can find a nice feature on Elena published in the Evening Standard (29 April 2010): click here.  

 

[5] See the recent post 'When Melvyn Met Malcolm (A Brief Reflection on The South Bank Show Episode 178)' - click here.

 

[6] Who knows, maybe it's true ... As Paul Gorman reminds us, McLaren attended several political rallies and demonstrations as an art student in the 1960s, protesting against the war in Vietnam, the apartheid regime in South Africa, etc. He was even arrested, aged 20, for burning the American flag outside the US Embassy on 4 July 1966. 

      See The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, (Constable, 2020), pp. 71-72. 

 

 

When Melvyn Met Malcolm (A Brief Reflection on The South Bank Show Episode 178)

Malcolm McLaren - Boy George - Adam Ant

The South Bank Show (S8/E9 - 1984)

 

The South Bank Show is a British television programme which treats high art and popular culture with equal respect. Conceived, written, and presented by Melvyn Bragg, it was originally produced by LWT and broadcast on ITV between 1978 and 2010 [1]. 

Of the many excellent episodes during this period - and there are over 730 to choose from - I suppose my favourite is the one broadcast on 2 December 1984 (S8/E9) [2], featuring Malcolm McLaren and filmed whilst the latter was recording Fans - his amusing attempt to fuse opera with R&B [3]. 

 

It's not just that the film provides an excellent insight into Malcolm's thinking, it also reveals how two of his protégés - Adam Ant and Boy George - really didn't understand his motivation, or quite get what the spirit of punk was really all about; namely, a desire not merely to question authority and challenge conventions, but destroy success (i.e., the very thing these ambitious, hard-working pop stars most wanted).   

 

When speaking about Malcolm, George, for example, says: 

 

"He's somebody who's capable of being absolutely brilliant. But for some reason, you know, he's someone who regards success as being anti what he believes in and he gets to a certain level then he wants to smash the wall down." 

 

Whilst Adam confesses (with the same disbelief at McLaren's anarcho-nihilism): 

"I don't understand all the anarchist stuff, with him. Obviously, that's a lot to do with his youth, or whatever. He likes to do things [...] and afterwards he just smashes it all to bits, he just destroys it." [4]

 

This, of course, is precisely the aspect of McLaren I most admired; the fact that, in his own words, he was not an empire builder ...

 

 

Notes

 

[1] A new version of the series began broadcasting on Sky Arts in May 2012. 

 

[2] As Paul Gorman reminds us, this episode was the brainchild of director Andy Harries and, crucially, it "conferred importance to McLaren's position in British cultural life". See The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, (Constable, 2020), pp. 555-56.

 

[3] Fans was McLaren's second studio album released on Charisma Records (1984). Although not an entirely convincing or successful experiment, the album did give rise to the astonishing single 'Madame Butterfly (Un bel dì vedremo)' and the steamy video that accompanied it, directed by the fashion photographer Terence Donovan: click here.

 

[4] Boy George and Adam Ant interviewed on The South Bank Show S8/E9 (1984): click here and go to 3:42 - 4:08. 

 

 

In Memory of Two Dead Artists: Malcolm McLaren and Pablo Picasso

Malcolm admiring Picasso's Woman with Yellow Hair (1931)

at the Guggenheim (c. 1984) [1]

 

 

Doubtless many well-known people have died on April 8th, but the only two who really interest me are Malcolm McLaren and Pablo Picasso; the former departing this life in 2010, aged 64, and the latter in 1973, aged 91.

 

McLaren had a tremendous knowledge of modern art and admired many painters, but I seem to remember him having a genuine penchant for Picasso; he and Vivienne Westwood famously using Picasso's Weeping Woman (1937) on a toga dress in their Nostalgia of Mud / Buffalo collection (A/W 1982-83).

 

I was surprised, therefore, when I discovered that his response upon first hearing of the Spanish artist's death was simply to say 'Oh good' [2].   

Nevertheless, when asked to pose for an official publicity shot at the Guggenheim ten years later, it was besides a Picasso that Malcolm chose to stand - not a work by Rothko, Warhol, or Francis Bacon ... 

 

Whether he had a particular liking for this 1931 portrait of Marie-Thérèse Walter, I don't know. But I find it hard to believe that the picture was chosen purely at random.   

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Unfortunately, I don't know the name of the photographer who took this picture, which was used as a publicity shot by Charisma Records, to whom McLaren was signed in the early-mid '80s.*   

 

[2] See Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 185. 

      Roberta Bayley recalls that it was the American fashion entrepreneur, designer, and journalist Gene Krell who broke the news of Picasso's death to McLaren. 

 

 

* Update: Paul Gorman kindly informs me the image is from S8/E9 of ITV's The South Bank Show on McLaren, which aired on 2 December 1984. For a post in which I reflect on this show, click here.   

 

   

Reflections on Andy Warhol's Ten Portraits of Jews of the Twentieth Century (1980)

Andy Warhol: Ten Portraits of Jews of the Twentieth Century (1980) 

Top row: Franz Kafka, Gertrude Stein, Martin Buber, Albert Einstein and Louis Brandeis

Bottom row: George Gershwin, the Marx Bros, Golda Meir, Sarah Bernhardt and Sigmund Freud

 

 

Warhol, one of my favourite 20th-century artists, was not Jewish and yet, for some reason, I often think of him as Jewish - or Jew-ish, to use a complex and at times controversial term [1].

 

I suppose it's partly because as the child of East European migrants, he would likely have been subject to the same kind of othering within American society during the 1930s, where, as one commentator notes, "cultural and social interactions were built around ethnic identities and tensions" [2]. 

 

This same commentator also claims that despite being Capatho-Rusyn and an orthodox Catholic, Warhol's "closest childhood friends were Jewish, and you can imagine him sharing their sense of being permanent outsiders within the American mix" [3].

 

And indeed, throughout his life and career, Warhol continued to form important relationships with Jews and was clearly sympathetic to anyone who is marked out as queer, different, or alien; "Warhol knew and cared more about alterity, and the difficult quest for cultural inclusion, than most other artists you could name" [4].   

 

So, it should be no surprise that in 1980 Warhol produced a series of ten silk-screened canvases (each 40" x 40") which celebrated some of the most important Jewish figures of the twentieth century.

 

What is surprising, perhaps, is the fact that this work was dismissed or condemned by the critics at the time [5] and remains still, in my view, undervalued - although there has, admittedly, been something of a critical reappraisal in recent years and Jewish art lovers continue to view the work with enthusiasm and pride. 

 

In sum: whilst it would be wrong to claim Warhol was an ardent philosemite - and it should be noted that the idea for the above work was not his, nor did he select the ten figures chosen (or even know who Martin Buber was) [6] - Warhol was certainly not guilty of Jewsploitation, nor jokey antisemitism (hang your head in shame for this last remark, Ken Johnson) [7].

 

I like the series: although if I were asked to compile a list of ten dead Jewish figures that I would like to see portraits of, it would certainly have to include Serge Gainsbourg, Malcolm McLaren and Jacques Derrida ...    

 

Notes

 

[1] See Aviya Kushner, 'What does it mean to be "Jew-ish"? How the term went from warm inside joke to national flashpoint', Forward, (28 December, 2022): click here.

 

[2-4] Blake Gopnik, 'Andy Warhol's Jewish Question', Artnet, (22 November, 2016): click here. 

 

[5] Writing in the New York Times, Hilton Kramer accused Warhol of exploiting his Jewish subjects "without showing the slightest grasp of their significance". The critical consensus was that the work was produced in the cynical knowledge it would fetch a high price from a wealthy Jewish collector.    

 

[6] The series was suggested to him by art dealer Ronald Feldman and the subjects of the portraits were subsequently chosen by Feldman after consultation with Susan Morgenstein, director of the art gallery of the Jewish Community Center of Greater Washington, where the work was first exhibited in March 1980. 

      The series was later exhibited at the Jewish Museum of New York (September 1980 to January 1981) and was first displayed in the UK at the National Portrait Gallery, London, between January and June 2006, where they were described thus by curator Paul Moorhouse in the booklet that accompanied the NPG exhibition:

 

"Magisterial in conception, they advance a new subtlety and sophistication in technical terms. One of their most compelling aspects is the way surface and image are held in a satisfying and fascinating dialogue, generating new depths of meaning and implication. [...] 

      The disjunction between sitter and surface is a visual device that unites the portraits, but the series has a conceptual unity also. Warhol's insistence that the subjects be deceased invests the series with an inescapable character of mortality. The faces of the dead appear as if behind a veneer of modernity. The tension sustained between photograph and abstraction focuses the issue of their celebrity. Probing the faultlines between the person and their manufactured, surface image, Warhol presents these individuals' fame as a complex metamorphosis. The real has been transformed into a glorious, poignant, other-worldly abstraction."

 

[7] See Ken Johnson's piece in The New York Times entitled 'Funny, You Don't Look Like a Subject for Warhol' (28 March 2008), in which he wrote: "What is remarkable about the paintings now, however, is how uninteresting they are. What once made them controversial - the hint of a jokey, unconscious anti-Semitism - has evaporated, leaving little more than bland, posterlike representations."  

 

 

Notes on Young Kim's 'A Year on Earth With Mr. Hell' (Part 1)

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Vivienne Westwood (A Personal Recollection)

Vivienne Westwood (1941-2022) [1]

 

 

I only met Vivienne Westwood once: on 14 June 1982, when I interviewed her at her studio at 25 Kingly Court, Soho, whilst working as an intern in the features dept at 19 magazine ... [2]

 

I wasn't particularly well-prepared. For whilst I had a rough idea of what questions I wished to ask, I only had a notepad and pencil to scribble down the answers, as the tape recorder I was promised by my editor wasn't provided. 

 

(Apparently, the fashion department had objected to my having arranged the interview without consulting them first and so my meeting with Westwood was to be an unofficial assignment ...)

 

Nevertheless, Vivienne - and that was how she told me to address her - was kind and friendly. Indeed, at times she even seemed a little flirtatious, telling me I had nice eyes and that she admired my enthusiasm. She was 40, but looked younger; I was 19 and a bit star-struck.

 

Softly-spoken, she had retained her East Midlands accent. Often, however, she seemed to be speaking as from a script, with many of her sentences beginning with the words Malcolm says ... indicating that she was still very much in love with him (or, at the very least, still smitten by his ideas). 

 

Asked why many of her new designs were so loose and baggy, she patiently explained that the prospect of clothes falling off was always very sexy. She also fed me lines about wanting to make the poor look rich and the rich look poor and how a man on a mountain top tapping two sticks together makes a much bigger noise than all our electronic music. 

 

When my ten minute time slot was over - she was doing several interviews that afternoon - she shook my hand and asked once more for my name, expressing her hope that we would meet again one day. Sadly, however, that never happened (by the time I got to know McLaren the following year, his personal and professional partnership with Westwood was rapidly disintegrating).

 

As for the article I wrote based on my short interview, that was never published - despite the fact that my editor thought highly of it. 

 

Again, I'm pretty sure the fashion department had a hand in this decision, although I was later told it was because I was an unpaid intern and didn't have membership of the NUJ. Either way, it was a pity because one of Vivienne's assistants had given me some fantastic photos to use with the piece (which I foolishly submitted along with the typed text and never saw again).  

      

If, in later years, Westwood became - like so many of the punk generation - increasingly irritating and irrelevant, the fact remains she was an astonishing and massively influential figure. It was always a joy to wear her clothes - I still have three of her suits hanging in my wardrobe - and always a thrill to walk through the door at 430 King's Road, even long after it had ceased to be the centre of events. 

 

And speaking of the Worlds End store ... With Westwood's passing coming just six months after that of Jordan's and twelve years after Malcolm's, it is time now, I think - without wanting to sound too Audenesque - to finally stop the spinning hands on the giant 13-hour clock and shut up shop ... [3]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Screenshot from the BBC News Channel announcing the death of Vivienne Westwood (29 Dec 2022) The image is very much how she looked when I met her in June 1982 and may well have been taken in at her studio around this date.

[2] This recollection is based on entries in The Von Hell Diaries (Volume 3: 1982). 

[3] I suppose that decision will be up to Andreas Kronthaler, who I suspect will almost certainly wish to continue the Westwood brand, over which he has exercised creative control for many years.       

 

No Hugging, No Learning (Torpedo the Ark 10th Anniversary Post)

 

 

I. 

 

This post - post number 1977 - marks the 10th anniversary of Torpedo the Ark [1] and, fear not, there's no Elvis, Beatles or Rolling Stones putting in an appearance here [2]. Instead, I'd like to offer a few remarks on one of Larry David's guiding principles: No hugging, no learning ...

 

Over the past decade, this motto - pinned to the wall above my desk - is something I've always endeavoured to live up to whilst assembling posts for Torpedo the Ark: for if no hugging, no learning worked for Seinfeld during 180 episodes spread over nine seasons, why shouldn't it also help ensure that this blog maintains an edge ...?

 

 

II. 

 

To me, the first half of this phrase means avoiding the fall into lazy and cynical sentimentality in which one attempts to manipulate the stereotyped set of ideas and feelings which make us monstrous rather than human - or, rather, monstrously all too human [3].

 

Like D. H. Lawrence, I suspect that most expressions of emotion are counterfeit and more often than not betray our social conditioning and idealism, rather than arising spontaneously from the body:

 

"Today, many people live and die without having had any real feelings - though they have had a 'rich emotional life' apparently, having showed strong mental feeling. But it is all counterfeit." [4]

 

Today, when someone starts twittering on about their feelings or the importance of emotional growth, you should tell them to shut the fuck up. 

 

Likewise, when some idiot comes in for a hug - never a good idea, as this scene from Curb Your Enthusiasm makes clear [5] - best to push them away or, at the very least, step back and politely decline their embrace.     

 

 

III.

 

As for the second part of the Davidian phrase - no learning - I don't think this means stay stupid; rather, just as the first part of the phrase challenges the idea of emotional growth, this challenges the idea of moral progress; i.e., the belief that man is advancing as a species; becoming ever more enlightened and ever closer to reaching the Promised Land. 

 

At any rate, Torpedo the Ark has never attempted to give moral lessons, pass judgements, or improve its readership. There's plenty to think about and, hopefully, amuse on the blog - and lots of little images to look at - but, to paraphrase something Malcolm McLaren once told an infuriated tutor at art school: There's nothing to learn! [6]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Torpedo the Ark was set up by Maria Thanassa, who has continued to oversee the technical aspects and daily management of the blog. The first post - Reflections on the Loss of UR6 - was published on 24 November 2012. 

      I am sometimes accused of being an anti-dentite on the basis of this poem, but, actually, that couldn't be further from the truth. If anything, having an attractive young female dentist veers one in the direction of odontophilia (a fetish that includes a surprisingly wide-range of passions).

      And so, whilst my tastes are not as singular as those of Sadean libertine Boniface, I cannot deny a certain frisson of excitement everytime one is in the chair, mouth wide open, and submitting to an intimate oral examination or violent surgical procedure. Hopefully, I expressed an element of this perverse eroticism in this post, based on an actual incident, but inspired by a reading of Georges Bataille.       

[2] Punk rockers will know that I'm alluding to the track '1977' by the Clash, which featured as the B-side to their first single, 'White Riot', released on CBS Records in March 1977. Click here to play.  

 

[3] Punk rockers will also know I'm thinking here of the Dead Kennedys track 'Your Emotions', found on their debut studio album, Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables, (Cherry Red Records, 1980). Click here to play and listen out for the marvellous line: "Your scars only show when someone talks to you."

 

[4] See D. H. Lawrence's late essay, A Propos of "Lady Chatterley's Lover", which can be found in Lady Chatterley's Lover and A Propos of 'Lady Chatterley's Lover', ed. Michael Squires, (Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 311.

 

[5] This is a scene from the second episode of season four of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Entitled 'Vehicular Fellatio', it first aired on HBO in September 2009 and was written by Larry David, dir. by Alec Berg. The irritating character of Dean Weinstock is played by Wayne Federman. There are, as one might imagine, several other scenes in Curb that concern the consequences of inappropriate hugging; see, for example, this scene in episode 8 of season 6 ('The N-Word') and this scene in episode 10 of season 11 ('The Mormon Advantage'). 

 

[6] According to fellow art student Fred Vermorel, when a tutor snapped at Malcolm: 'You think you know everything', he was left speechless when the latter replied: 'There's nothing to know!' Arguably, this is going further even than Socrates. See Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, (Constable, 2020), p. 53, where I read of this incident.  

      

Why Johnny's Rottenness is the Third Thing

Messrs. Rotten, Dury & Hell 

Photo credits: Chris Morphet / Gie Knaeps / Roberta Bayley

 

 

There's a little poem by D. H. Lawrence which opens:

Water is H2O, hydrogen two parts, oxygen one, 

but there is also a third thing, that makes it water 

and nobody knows what it is. [1]

 

I'm not sure that a molecular physicist would agree with that, but I'm quite happy as a philosopher to accept that's the case; that whilst the chemical formula for water, H2O, might tell us that each of its molecules contains two hydrogen and one oxygen atom, that's not telling us much and certainly isn't telling us everything. 

 

When it comes to water, in whatever state we encounter it - as a running liquid, a frozen solid, or a steamy vapour - there is always something magical and mysterious; it's thingness is greater than the sum of its material parts.    

 

 

II.

 

I am reminded of this whenever I hear it suggested that Johnny Rotten's style and stage persona was simply constructed from elements of Ian Dury and Richard Hell [2].

 

Obviously, there is some truth in this. But there is also a third thing, that makes Rotten unique and, in my view, so much greater than his influences and inspirations. 

 

And nobody knows what it is ...

 

 

Notes

 

[1] D. H. Lawrence, 'The third thing', The Poems, Vol. I, ed. Christopher Pollnitz, (Cambridge University Press, 2013), p. 447.  

 

[2] Even in 2019 Marky Ramone was still claiming that the Sex Pistols were mere imitators and that Rotten had stolen Richard Hell's entire look and act: click here. But, actually, it was Malcolm who was captivated by Richard Hell and the whole New York punk scene, far more than Rotten ever was, as Paul Gorman indicates in his biography The Life & Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020); see chapter 16, pp. 241-42. 

      Readers might also find my post on the difference between 'Pretty Vacant' (by the Sex Pistols) and 'Blank Generation' (by Richard Hell and the Voidoids) of interest: click here.    

      As for Ian Dury, it's regrettable that he seemed to resent Rotten and claimed that the latter had stolen his look - right down to the razor blade and safety pin earring - and copied his hunched over style of holding the microphone on stage. He might have been a wee bit more grateful for the fact that it was punk that enabled him to finally achieve success and a number of top ten singles.       

From the Office of Malcolm McLaren

 

I. 

 

Whilst rummaging through a box of what I call treasures and others label junk, I came across some stolen stationery from Malcolm McLaren's first floor office at 25 Denmark Street ...

 

This included a few sheets of headed paper with the names of the two limited companies which McLaren traded under post-Glitterbest [1]; Tour D'Eiffel Productions and Moulin Rouge.     

 

The latter incorporates the figure of a can-can dancer into its logo, whilst the former includes a comic character who appears to have been taken from a saucy postcard. 

 

Both speak of McLaren's Francophilia, or, more precisely, his long fascination with the French capital; something I've discussed in an earlier post published on Torpedo the Ark [2]. And they also tell us something of his playful spirit and joie de vivre.  

 

 

II. 

 

According to biographer Paul Gorman, McLaren was working out of the office on Tin Pan Alley from the early spring of 1980 until moving full-time to LA in 1985 [3]. 

 

This was an incredibly creative period in which McLaren not only managed Bow Wow Wow, oversaw Worlds End and Nostalgia of Mud, but developed his own solo career as a recording artist - releasing Duck Rock in 1983 and Fans the following year.

 

I first went to the office on 30 March, 1983, having been invited to call up by Nick Egan [4] the day before (I was attempting to arrange a six-week work attachment as part of a degree course on critical theory, art and media):

 

 

Finally met Carrolle [5]: she looked great dressed in a McLaren-Westwood outfit with a big death or glory belt buckle holding things together; reddish-purple hair; multiple earrings. Very friendly; an East End girl. 

      Malcolm wasn't there, but the two black Americans hanging around were, apparently, the World's Famous Supreme Team [6] - so that was kind of amusing.

      Admired the large 'Zulus on a Time Bomb' [7] poster on the wall - next to a map of the world and some old movie posters, including one for the Elvis Presley film Love Me Tender [8].   

      Nick Egan arrived - he also looked great; very tall, slim, punky blonde hair, wearing striped trousers, a big jumper and a Buffalo-style sheepskin coat. He introduced me to a photographer, Neil Matthews, and gave me some names and numbers to call. This included Lee Ellen, the press officer at Charisma Records, who he was sure could find me something to do (unfortunately, he and Malcolm couldn't help directly, as they were going to be in New York).

      Even though Malcolm wasn't there in person - he had something wrong with his ear - it was clear everything revolved around him; Malcolm says ... Malcolm wants ... Malcolm needs, etc. That's understandable, as he's the star of the show, but it does reduce everyone else to the status of a satellite. 

      Left the office feeling happy. Went for a coffee on Old Compton Street. [9]   

 

Fourteen months later, however, and everything was rapidly coming to an end; the roof had fallen in at Charisma Records - literally and metaphorically, Tony Stratton-Smith having sold the company to Richard Branson - and McLaren had relocated to Hollywood, leaving me and Carrolle to close the office at 25 Denmark Street once last time ...

Carrolle starts her new job tomorrow. I went over to help her shut up shop so to speak; took us several hours to take down shelves and pack everything away - books, posters, papers ... etc.

      Although Carrolle was upset, she laughed when she heard from Malcolm on the phone, complaining about an old biddy who had been appointed as his secretary at Columbia Pictures and who was driving him up the wall. Whilst I'm sure Malcolm will have fun in LA, I suspect he'll miss London. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if he returned sooner rather than later. The latter might be a muddy hole, as he says, but he's very much a Londoner at heart [10].

      Carrolle let me have the large map of the world off the wall as a souvenir. I also grabbed a copy of the Bow Wow Wow single 'Louis Quatorze' that was lying around. Left the office feeling sad: in many ways it really is the end of an era. [11]    

Notes

 

[1] Glitterbest - the Sex Pistols era management, publishing and production company founded by McLaren and his lawyer, Stephen Fisher, as co-director - went into receivership in February 1979, after Johnny Rotten successfully took legal action against the company.

[2] See 'Notes on Malcolm McLaren's Paris' (21 May 2020): click here. 

 

[3] See Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, (Constable, 2020), p. 451.

      Whilst Gorman mentions that McLaren was trading from 25 Denmark Street as Moulin Rouge Ltd, he says nothing of Tour D'Eiffel Productions Ltd. It would be interesting to know which company was registered first and how they differed (if they differed at all).    

 

[4] Nick Egan is a visual design artist and film director who collaborated with McLaren on many projects during the period we are discussing here. Probably he came up with the letterhead designs shown here.        

 

[5] Carrolle was Malcolm's PA and office manager at 25 Denmark Street. We had corrresponded prior to this first meeting.

 

[6] The World's Famous Supreme Team was an American hip hop duo consisting of Sedivine the Mastermind and Just Allah the Superstar. They found international fame when McLaren enlisted them for his 1982 single 'Buffalo Gals' and then featured samples from their radio show on Duck Rock (1983).

 

[7] 'Zulus on a Time Bomb' was the B-side of McLaren's second single 'Soweto', released in February 1983 from the album Duck Rock (Charisma Records, 1983), written by Trevor Horn and Malcolm McLaren.

 

[8] Love Me Tender was Elvis's first film; dir. Robert D. Webb (1956), starring Richard Egan and Debra Paget. It was named after the smash hit single of the same title (which Presley performs in the film, along with three other songs). 

 

[9] Entry from the Von Hell Diaries dated Wednesday 30 March 1983. 

   

[10] Indeed, even McLaren's vision of Paris was one shaped by London. As he says in the song 'Walking with Satie': "I first saw Paris in Soho when I was thirteen". This track can be found on the 1994 album entitled Paris. 

      McLaren would also explain to Louise Neri that he was fascinated by the ways in which England influenced French culture and history. See Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, p. 433. 

 

[11] Entry from the Von Hell Diaries dated Monday 13 May 1985.

 

 

Loony Tunes

Clockwise from top left: 

Haywire Mac / Napoleon XIV / Jaz Coleman / Siouxsie Sioux

 

 

There are almost as many songs about being mad or going insane as there are about falling in love; so many in fact, that attempting to compile a full and definitive list of such would probably drive you crazy. This, therefore, is simply a short post in which I discuss a few of my favourite songs on the subject. 

 

I'm not saying they're the best four songs ever recorded to do with madness, but they are the ones that have most struck a chord with me. Note that they're arranged by release date and not in order of preference.

 

 

'Aint We Crazy?' by Harry McClintock (aka Haywire Mac) (Victor, 1928): click here to play.

 

"Ain't we crazy, ain't we crazy / This is the way we pass the time away  

Ain't we crazy, ain't we crazy / We're going to sing this song all night today."

 

Malcolm McLaren dedicated his 1983 album Duck Rock to Haywire Mac and insisted that I get hold of Hallelujah! I'm a Bum, (Rounder Records, 1981), a remastered compilation of some of McClintock's greatest songs - including 'Ain't We Crazy?' and 'The Big Rock Candy Mountain', for which he is probably best remembered today [1].

 

'Ain't We Crazy?' is a type of nonsense song, in which the singer is the kind of anti-Socratic hero whom Roland Barthes celebrates; i.e., a figure who abolishes within himself all fear of being branded a madman via an amusing disregard for that old spectre: logical contradiction [2]:

 

It was midnight on the ocean, not a streetcar was in sight 

And the sun was shining brightly, for it rained all day that night 

'Twas a summer night in winter, and the rain was snowing fast

And a barefoot boy with shoes on stood a-sitting in the grass.

 

Such a man, as Barthes says, would be the mockery of our society, which subscribes to a psychology of consistency and says firmly that you can't have your cake and eat it. 

 

 

'They're Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!', single by Napoleon XIV (Warner Bros. Records, 1966): click here to play.

 

"They're coming to take me away, ha-ha! / They're coming to take me away, ho-ho, hee-hee, ha-ha! 

To the funny farm / Where life is beautiful all the time ..."

 

Written and performed by Jerry Samuels (aka Napoleon XIV), this curious record was an instant smash in the US and UK and I loved to sing it to amuse myself and entertain friends as a child [3].

 

However, I very much doubt it would be made, released, or played today, living as we are in an era that is far more sensitive to issues surrounding mental health. Indeed, even at the time several radio stations stopped playing the song in response to complaints about its content. Predictably, the BBC also refused to play the record.  

The joke reveal at the end of the song is that it is not a departed lover who has caused the song's narrator to lose his mind, but a runaway dog ... 

 

 

'Happy House', by Siouxsie and the Banshees, single release from the album Kaleidoscope (Polydor, 1980): click here to play.

 

"This is the happy house / We're happy here in the happy house [...] 

It's safe and calm if you sing along ..." 

 

I was never a big Banshees fan, but I used to love to hear this song on the radio back in the day and as it was a Top 20 hit - peaking at number 17 in the UK Singles Chart - one heard it fairly often.    

 

I assumed at the time that the title was a synonym for an insane asylum - like funny farm, or loony bin - but later read in an interview with Siouxsie - who wrote the song with Steve Severin [4] - that, actually, it refers to a conventional family setting; to home, sweet home and the madness that unfolds therein beneath the veneer of normality and domestic bliss. 

 

It's interesting to note that the follow-up single, 'Christine' (released in May 1980 and also taken from Kaleidoscope), again dealt with the theme of madness; the lyrics being inspired by the story of a woman who reportedly had 22 different (often conflicting) personalities [5] - which explains why she is referred to in the song as a banana split lady (i.e., it has nothing to do with her having a sweet tooth).

 

 

'Madness', by Killing Joke, track 6 on the album What's THIS For ...! (E. G. / Polydor Records, 1981): click here to play the 2005 digitally remastered version.  

 

"This is madness / This is madness / This is madness / This is madness / This is madness ..." 

 

This track, despite the title, isn't actually about madness in general, but, rather, about Christianity as a very specific form of religious mania; the product of sick minds in which there is a need to believe in a dead God and life itself is interpreted as a sin. 

 

It is, if I'm honest, quite a challenging listen and will appeal only to a few. But then, as Nietzsche might say, to appreciate this track, the listener must be honest to the point of hardness so as to be able to endure the seriousness and intensity of Jaz Coleman's passion [6].

 

Th-th-th-th-that's all folks! [7]

Notes

 

[1] One of the very earliest posts on Torpedo the Ark - 5 May 2013 - was on Haywire Mac and his hobo vision of an earthly paradise (i.e., the Big Rock Candy Mountain): click here. 

 

[2] See Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text, trans. Richard Miller, (Hill and Wang, 1998), p. 3.

 

[3] The song was re-released in 1973, when I was ten-years-old, and that's probably when I remember it from - not 1966, when I was still singing nursery rhymes. However, I was a fan of at least one pop song released in that year; 'Yellow Submarine' by the Beatles.

 

[4] Guitarist John McGeoch (previously of Magazine) and drummer Budgie (previously of the Slits) also play no small part in creating the distinctive and atmospheric (post-punk) sound that makes this track so unforgettable.

 

[5] Christine Sizemore (née Costner) was an American woman who, in the 1950s, was diagnosed with what was then termed multiple personality disorder, but which is now known as dissociative identity disorder. Her case was depicted in the book The Three Faces of Eve (1957), written by her psychiatrists, Corbett H. Thigpen and Hervey M. Cleckley. The film of the that name, directed by Nunally Johnson and starring Joanne Woodward, was based on this work. Readers interested in hearing the track 'Christine', by Siouxsie and the Banshees, can click here. 

 

[6] I'm paraphrasing from Nietzsche's Preface to The Anti-Christ (1888).

 

[7] I have borrowed this closing phrase and title for the post from the animated short film series produced by Warner Bros. between the years 1930 and 1969, starring Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, et al. 

      Readers might be interested to know that the famous Loony Tunes theme was actually based on a crazy-sounding love song written in 1937 by Cliff Friend and Dave Franklin entitled 'The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down': click here for the version by the American jazz pianist and bandleader Eddy Duchin, with Lew Sherwood on vocals. And for an additional treat, courtesy of Larry David, click here.