Retromania: Reviewed and Reassessed - Part 1: Introduction and Prologue

Simon Reynolds: Retromania

Faber and Faber (2012) 

 

 

I. 

 

This year marks the 15th anniversary of Simon Reynolds's celebrated book on pop culture's addiction to its own recent past: Retromania. 

 

So that seems like a good excuse to dust off my trusty yellow paperback edition [a] and reread its 450-odd pages divided into three main sections - the first two given the Savilesque titles 'Now' and 'Then' and the third designated 'Tomorrow' which, I suppose, is now our present - reassessing its arguments as I go along.   

 

Let's begin, however, by discussing the book's front matter: an Introduction that poses the crucial question: "Could it be that the greatest danger to the future of our music culture is ... its past?" [ix]; followed by a Prologue which considers the concepts nostalgia and retro which are central to the study. 

 

 

II. 

 

I've always loved this opening sentence: "We live in a pop age gone loco for retro and crazy for commemoration." [ix] 

 

For whilst some younger readers might consider it inappropriate to casually use terms referring to mental health issues in such a jocular manner, I admire Reynolds's light-hearted writing style and do not believe for one moment that he's an ableist (though he does seem to also have a liking for the slang term lame, which is regrettable).

 

Like me, Reynolds belongs to another (perhaps less sensitive and politically less correct) generation; one that studied T. S. Eliot at school and so produces sentences such as "This is the way that pop ends, not with a BANG but with a box set ..." [ix] in an attempt to be amusing, not intellectually intimidating or elitist.

 

Still, we're here to discuss pop's loss of dynamic energy and temporal sluggishness, not Gen Z's wokeness and the shift in linguistic standards since 2011, so let's push on ...

 

It's hard not to agree with this:

 

"Instead of being the threshold to the future, the first ten years of the twenty-first century turned out to be [...] dominated by the 're-' prefix: revivals, reissues, remakes, re-enactments." [xi]

 

Or this:

 

"Too often with new young bands, beneath their taut skin and rosy cheeks you could detect the sagging grey flesh of old ideas." [xi]

 

And I suppose I understand (though don't quite share) Reynolds's (quasi-Nietzschean) anxiety about the "uses and abuses of the pop past" [xiii] and the way in which retro has become democratised and mainstream. For these days anyone can play with the past and dip into the historical dress-up box, whereas retro used to be the "preserve of aesthetes, connoisseurs and collectors" [xii], i.e., individuals who self-consciously expressed themselves "through pastiche and citation [...] combined with a sharp sense of irony" [xii-xiii].  

   

Reynolds is not quite saying that it's okay for wealthy, well-educated people to go in for period stylisation and antiquarianism, but unhealthy for the hoi polloi to be fascinated by the "fashions, fads, sounds and stars" [xiv] of their own youth, but he appears to regard retromania as a form of digital decadence leading us to the abyss. 

 

It feels, he says, "like we've reached some kind of tipping point" [xiv] and face cultural catastrophe; not just the end of pop music, but innovative new work in other areas too, such as theatre, film and fashion. Even toys and games and food fads are now retro: "But strangest of all is the demand for retro porn"

[xviii] [b].

 

Is that really so strange though? And is retro-consciousness really so wrong or harmful? 

 

I mentioned the almost Nietzschean feel to Reynolds's argument that pop music ought to be all about the present - that "the essence of pop is the exhortation to 'be here now', meaning both 'live like there's no tomorrow' and 'shed the shackles of yesterday'" [xix] - and this really does echo the German philosopher's insistence that history must serve the needs of life (with the latter understood to be creative, vigorous action in the present) [c]. 

 

Nietzsche's warning that an excess of historical knowledge can produce historisches Fieber and that this can paralyse individuals and cultures, is pretty much what Reynolds is warning of retromania. I suppose that this is why it's so vital that we have the capacity to forget. But in the era of YouTube - which he discusses in chapter 2 of his book - how can we ever do that? 

 

As Reynolds notes:   

 

"All the sound and imagery and information that used to cost money and physical effort to obtain is available for free [...] We've become victims of our ever-increasing capacity to store, organise, instantly access, and share vast amounts of cultural data." [xx-xxi]

 

 

I can't recall if Nietzsche blames any group of people in particular for the oversaturation of 19th century life with history - I think he holds the education system and German culture collectively responsible - but I do know Reynolds blames hipsters for inculcating retromania as the "dominant sensibility and creative paradigm" [xix] in the early 21st century: 

 

"The very people who you would once have expected to produce (as artists) or champion (as consumers) the non-traditional and the groundbreaking - that's the group who are most addicted to the past." [xix-xx]

 

 

After all, why be cutting-edge, when you can just press the replay button; why be a creator, when you can be a curator? "The avant-garde is now an arrière-garde" [xx] - for it's so much less demanding to fall back into the safety of the past than step forward into an unknown future.  

    

All this being said, Reynolds now adds an important qualification (and makes a necessary confession): 

 

"Retromania is not a straightforward denunciation of retro as a manifestation of cultural regression or decadence. How could it be, when I'm complicit myself [...] as a historian, as a reviewer of reissues, as a talking head in rock documentaries and as a sleeve note writer." [xxi]

 

Indeed, even as a music fan, he's complicit and as "addicted to retrospection as anybody" [xxii] - however, and this is why Reynolds can be characterised as a romantic optimist at heart - as much as he gives in to the "lure of the past", he pines (Mark Fisher-like) for "the future that's gone AWOL" [xxii]. 

 

In other words, Reynolds still believes that mañana es otro día ... If only because, deep down, he feels that retro is ultimately "lame and shameful" [xxiii] - the kind of informal moralism that his readers have come to anticipate. 

  

 

III.

 

Does anyone else find it a little odd (and a little unnecessary) to follow an introduction with a prologue in a work of non-fiction? Still, I'm not complaining; if Mr Reynolds wishes to further set the scene, define terms, and provide a little more (political and philosophical) context to his study, then that's fine with me.

 

His brief history of nostalgia as word and concept - starting as a spatial-geographical condition (the ache of displacement) before becoming a temporal condition (the longing for a lost time) - is certainly appreciated [d] and Reynolds is right to remind his readers that nostalgia "hasn't always served the forces of conservatism" [xxvi]; that radical movements often dream too of restoring a golden age.

 

But let's get back to the world of pop and one of the key passages in the Prologue:

 

"In the second half of the twentieth century, nostalgia became steadily more and more bound up with popular culture [... and] is now thoroughly entwined with the consumer-entertainment complex: we feel pangs for the products of yesteryear, the novelties and distractions that filled up our youth. Eclipsing individual pursuits (like hobbies) or participatory local activities (like amateur sports), the mass media and pop culture take up an ever-increasing proportion of our mental lives." [xxix-xxx] 

Memory, in other words, is now colonised and exploited by capitalism as a resource and the past is mined (rather than idealised or revered) as a source of pleasure and profit. It's not just pop that eats itself, we too cannibalise and consume our own lives; the symbol of retromania is surely the ouroboros (the serpent which swallows its own tail). 

 

But where does the term retro come from? Reynolds dismisses the idea that it's a linguistic spin-off of the Space Age and its retro-rockets and suggests, rather, that it is merely a detached prefix. He also stresses that for most people it's something of a dirty word; too associated with "camp, irony and mere trendiness" [xxxii]. 

I'm not quite sure why these things are thought more negatively than "musty, mouldering old stuff" [xxxii], but guess Reynolds is probably right to say that they signify "a shallow, surface-oriented attunement to style, as opposed to a deep, passionate love of a music scene's essence" [xxxii]. 

 

But that's precisely why, despite sharing some concerns, I would choose retro pop over prog rock and prefer to hang out at 430 King's Road rather than Louis Balfour's Jazz Club. Ultimately, this means rejecting even the austere monarchy of the Sex Pistols' Never Mind the Bollocks and privileging The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle in all its anarchic eclecticism [e].  

 

I suppose what I'm admitting here is that I prefer fashion, ideas, images, and chaos over music (be it recorded and played on the radio or performed live by the actual musicians), whilst strongly suspecting that Reynolds loves music above all other art forms and, indeed, all other things [f]. Which is fine: but it's where he and I differ and one can't help wondering if, in fact, retro isn't a moral and cultural danger, but a valid aesthetic form of its own ...? 

 

Notes

 

[a] All page references given in the main text are to this edition. 

 

[b] See the post: 'On the Pleasure of Queer Nostalgia' (3 April 2015): click here. 

 

[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. See also Derrida's Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression, trans. Eric Prenowitz (The University of Chicago Press, 1995), a work cited by Reynolds - see the long footnote in bold on pp. 26-28.   

 

[d] I'm particularly grateful for the reference to Svetlana Boym's work on reflective nostalgia versus restorative nostalgia, in The Future of Nostalgia (Basic Books, 2002).  

 

[e] Reynolds makes much the same point I'm trying to make, but refers to the schism in the British folk scene between purists and those who are rather less militant in their asceticism; see pp. xxxiii-xxxv.    

 

[f] In an interview from way back in 2006, Reynolds attempts to explain why he has devoted so much of his time and energy to writing about music and taking music seriously (as opposed to literature or film). Partly, he says, it's because rock music was the most powerful cultural force when he was a teenager and partly it's because he believes music to be the most democratic art form. Also, there's something almost magical about music: 

      "It meshed with everything. It connected to politics, it connected to all the other arts [...] Music was [...] the thing that gave a bit extra to whatever you were doing and you wanted to have some connection to it. [...] Music was definitely both the centre of everything and what took you to other things and connected you to other things. [...] But, to me, music was the only thing really worth being excited about."

      See 'Simon Reynolds: interview by Wilson Neate', Part 1 of 2 (Feb 2006), in the online music magazine Perfect Sound Forever: click here.     

 

 

To read part 2 of this post on Retromania, please click here. 

 

To read part 3, click here. 

 

Parts 4 and 5 will follow in due course ...

Chillaxing with Danielle Mckinney (A Valentine's Day Post for Fatima)

Danielle Mckinney in her studio (2024) 

Photo: Danielle Mckinney / Marianne Boesky Gallery

 

I. 

 

According to an old friend, the French [1] isn't what it once was - but then, what is? 

 

Regardless of what anyone says, however, it's still a favourite haunt of mine: a place that maintains a bustling, vaguely bohemian atmosphere and much of its traditional charm; a place in which you can still strike up conversation with strangers and encounter interesting young women newly arrived from the Continent who are happy to discuss representations of the black female body in contemporary art ... 

 

Women such as Fatima, for example, whom I had the pleasure of meeting at the French a few nights ago, and who persuaded me that I should write a post on the African-American painter Danielle Mckinney, who, it seems, is the darling du jour of the artworld - though let me say at once I am not using this term to either denigrate her or dismiss her work, which, whilst not entirely to my tastes, is nevertheless deserving of critical attention, just as she is worthy of respect.  

 

 

II. 

 

Beginning her career within the visual arts as a photographer - for which she still has a passion - Mckinney has nevertheless really come into her own as a figurative painter, producing a series of canvases that are concerned with the inner experience of black womanhood and the way in which the complex interplay betweeen self-definition and external social construction produces cultural identity. 

 

In other words, Mckinney challenges the one-sided and simplistic idea that the latter is built solely upon appearance - skin tone, hair texture, body shape, etc. - and the perception of these traits by others. Black women are not just the racialised object of a male gaze, nor a fetishised figure within the white pornographic imagination; they are real beings and possess their own dreams, desires, and thoughts and needn't - as Du Bois would say - always look at themselves through the eyes of (judgemental) others. 

 

In a sense, Mckinney is demonstrating on canvas Toni Morrison's argument that the lives of black individuals - including black women - have depth and meaning and that black culture is its own  sovereign centre of knowledge and feeling. 

 

 

III.

 

Obviously, I'm a little ill at ease with the language of identity, self-hood, interiority, etc., and really don't want to go over a lot of old ground for the thousandth time. 

 

So probably best we just leave all that to one side and say something about the paintings themselves which depict black women in private moments; smoking, lounging, or reflecting quietly on things (i.e., reclaiming their time and agency) - what has been described as the politics of rest (contra the politics of resistance); something I'm sure Roland Barthes would approve of [2].  

  

What I think most interests me about the pictures - apart from their politics - is the fact that Mckinney has a thing for dark backgrounds and allows her figures to emerge from such [3], almost as if to suggest that Blackness is born of darkness and retains an element of such, much like an object always retains its mystery and potency thanks to the fact that is largely hidden and withdrawn and never obscenely exposed or transparent.   

 

Objects never give themselves away and the figures in Mckinney's paintings never give themselves away either (even if she and her critics insist on speaking about the pictures opening windows on to the black female soul). There's an intimacy about her canvases, but no spectacle and if there's symbolism and narrative what really appeals (to me at least) is the silence and stillness. They have presence and one enters into a relationship with them, but one needn't stare at them trying to extract their meaning or make the subjects speak either to us or for us. 

 

 

IV. 

 

And as for the lovely Fatima - my new friend from the French - she's a living example of the sort of strong and independent woman Mckinney loves to immortalise on canvas; one who emerged not from the bright blue sea like a Botticelli Venus, but from the blackness of a Soho night ...    

  

 

Notes

 

[1] The French House is a tiny bar and dining room at 49 Dean Street, Soho, London, long popular with artists, actors, and writers; no pints, no phones, no music, and almost no chance of a seat after six. Click here to visit their website. 

 

[2] I'm thinking here of Barthes's late concept of le Neutre; a refusal to participate in the world of militant activity and ideological posturing and a withdrawl from the arrogance and assumption of the world. Why be bullied into taking a stand or passing judgement when you can sit quietly by the window and look out at the birds in the garden, or go for a short nap? One of the many things we can learn from objects is the art of withdrawal and how to evade the paradigm. See Roland Barthes, The Neutral, trans. Rosalind E. Krauss and Denis Hollier (Columbia University Press, 2007).

 

[3] As one commentator notes, Mckinney had previously tried priming her canvases with white and brown, but nothing felt right until she hit on the idea of painting them black and allowing the figures to emerge as if from a photographic darkroom or an eternal twilight. See Veronica Esposito,'"Women are not usually seen to be resting": Danielle Mckinney's portraits of repose', in The Guardian (17 April 2024): click here.  

 

 

To read more about Mckinney and see a selection of her work and press interviews, etc., please visit the Marianne Boesky Gallery website: click here and/or the Galerie Max Hetzler website: click here. 

      

Alternatively, readers might like to check out Mckinney's Instagram page: @danielle_mckinney_

 

 

Granny Takes a Trip with Gorman & Bracewell

Poster for the Granny Takes a Trip book event at Foyles (11 Feb 2026) 

Photo of Paul Gorman live on stage taken by Melpomeni 

 

 

I. In Anticipation ...

  

Much anticipating this evening's event at Foyles on the Charing Cross Road: Paul Gorman in conversation with Michael Bracewell; i.e., two of the UK's most celebrated pop culture writers [1] under one roof - and all for the price of a tenner (which includes a glass of wine). 

 

Essentially, they'll be discussing the look of music and the sound of fashion in relation to Granny Takes a Trip; the groovy London boutique that was opened sixty years ago this month on King's Road, Chelsea, by Nigel Waymouth, his girlfriend Sheila Cohen, and John Pearse.

 

Gorman recently published his illuminating study of the shop as well as the cultural scene from which it emerged [2], so obviously he'll be there in part to promote (and sign) copies of this book, but I'm sure he'll be willing to discuss also McLaren and Westwood's store which opened nearby a few years later and for which Granny paved the way and provided a model (like McLaren and Westwood's shop, Granny Takes a Trip became famous for its changing façade, interior, and styles of fashion).    

 

At least I hope so, as it's the punk store at 430 King's Road rather than the hippie haven at 488 that really excites my interest.    

II. On Reflection ... 

 

Well, that was fun!

 

Gorman is an engaging speaker and it helps when the interlocutor is deeply knowledgeable of the subject being discussed. The event was also nicely staged and managed by the staff at Foyles, so kudos to them. 

If I had a time machine and could only make one return trip, I'd still use it to visit SEX in 1976 rather than Granny's in 1966, but, to be fair, the latter was a more culturally vital space than I previously realised (even if listed on the wrong side of the bed).    

Members of a receptive and fairly large audience produced one or two interesting observations and although I didn't ask at the time, I came away wondering whether a store such as Granny Takes a Trip or SEX would still be possible today ... 

 

Sadly, I doubt it. 

 

Although whether that's because socio-cultural conditions have changed, or we have fundamentally changed as a people - become less imaginative and less daring and more desirous of safe spaces in which to self-identify, rather than zones of indiscernibility in which to dress up so as to mess up and become-other - I'm not sure.

Time was, in the 1960s and '70s, when any suburban teenager could go up to London, stroll along the King's Road or cruise round Soho, and (momentarily at least) leave their mundane life behind; could visit magical boutiques and try on an outfit like Mr Benn and be transported into a fantasy adventure.  

 

Now the young go to Primark or spend the day in Westfield and talk about the importance of diversity and being themselves whilst all looking (to my eyes at least) exactly the same in their casual street wear (baggy, low-rise jeans, oversized hoodies, trainers, etc.); a look that is heavily influenced by social media trends rather than the politics of style.  

 

Notes

 

[1] Paul Gorman (b. 1959) is a writer it would be easy to envy, but whom I prefer to love and admire; particularly for his 2020 biography of McLaren, but also for his work in a variety of other areas as a brilliant curator and, indeed, pop cultural map-maker.  

      Michael Bracewell (b. 1958) is a writer with whose life and work I am far less familiar, but whose two collections of essays - England Is Mine: Pop Life in Albion From Wilde to Goldie (1997) and The Space Between: Selected Writings on Art (2012) - I plan on reading in the near future. 

 

[2] Paul Gorman, Granny Takes a Trip: High Fashion and High Times at the Wildest Rock 'n' Roll Boutique (White Rabbit Books, 2025). 

      The publisher's blurb reads: 

 "Granny Takes A Trip was more than just a shop and a fashion brand; it was the original rock and roll clothes boutique, the template for all that followed. What started as an odd retail venture/art installation in a depressed part of London known as World's End became an international byword for glam decadence in Manhattan and Hollywood, combining flamboyant style and all manner of countercultural activity ...

      Unfolding over a decade-and-a-half, this tumultuous story invokes a cast of often unique, sometimes entitled, unusually talented and troubled individuals on a collective mission to shake up austere, repressed, class-ridden Britain and white bread America." 

      The book can be ordered here.  

 

 

This post is for Paul and Charlie's dark-haired Angels: Maria, Meni, and Jennifer. 

 

 

Psychology 101 (Notes on Narcissistic Rumination, etc.)

 

 

'We are unknown to ourselves, we men of knowledge - and with good reason. 

For we have never sought to stick our tails in our mouths.'  

 

 

I. 

 

I've heard it said that self-reflection is crucial for personal growth and that personal growth is vital for enhancing self-awareness, thus creating a kind of positive psychological loop, which, for those content to sit with their tails in their mouths [1], is all fine and dandy. 

 

It is not, however, something that appeals to those of a Nietzschean bent who think more in terms of radical self-overcoming rather than bourgeois self-improvement and celebrate innocence and forgetfulness rather than indulge in narcissistic rumination. 

 

Clearly, there are a lot of terms to unpack here. But, without wishing to turn what was intended to be a bright and breezy post into a lengthy psychology lecture, let me offer some clarification ...

 

 

II. 

 

By self-overcoming (Selbstüberwindung), Nietzsche refers to a process via which an individual (or a people) might abandon what they are and enter into what Deleuze and Guattari describe as a becoming-other (devenir-autre), thereby distilling Nietzsche's psychological insights into a more radical ontological concept. This is not a one-time event, but a constant process or unfolding that aims for a new way of thinking and feeling, rather than a development of the same. 

      

Ultimately, of course, if you subscribe to a philosophy of difference, there is no originary or essential self to overcome in the traditional sense; instead, there is only a site where different forces (active or reactive) interact and becoming is the process by which these forces shift and mutate, breaking away from static identities and fixed categories. 

     

 

III. 

 

When Nietzsche writes in Zarathustra of innocence and forgetfulness - I think he uses the German terms Unschuld and Vergessen - he refers to the childlike state reached when an individual has fully stylised an ethical model of self beyond good and evil (i.e., fixed moral values). 

      

Innocence, as used here, is not a form of naivety or ignorance, but rather the ability to affirm life as is (what he terms an economy of the whole), without qualification. Forgetfulness, meanwhile, acts as a necessary (and active) capacity to absorb past experiences and not be weighed down by personal history or the spirit of gravity; to be free of ressentiment. 

 

When working in conjunction, innocence and forgetfulness allows, if you like, for a fresh start and to make an affirmation of life that is both joyful and playful.

      

 

IV.

 

By narcissistic rumination I refer to an obsessive thought-cycle that locks the subject into a fixed state of neurosis and ultimately results in paralysis by analysis [2]. Narcissistic ruminators are thus those unfortunate individuals who spend a great deal of time and energy attempting to make sense of chaos; i.e., to find patterns or structures of meaning to which they are central. They love asking: Why me? [3]

 

Such individuals also love, à la Miss Haversham, recycling old conversations so that they might finally get others to admit their logical inconsistency and take ownership of their moral failings (there's nothing narcissistic ruminators enjoy more than making others feel miserable about themselves).   

     

 

V. 

 

And finally, re the idea that self-reflection can be dangerous - can lead to paralysis by analysis - let me admit that this needn't always be the case and that there are, I suppose, benefits to be had from knowing something about the self (even if it's only that the self is a convenient fiction rooted in grammar). 

 

However, it can become detrimental to wellbeing when the would-be self-knower falls into the black hole of narcissistic rumination; i.e., when they swallow their own tail and dwell on toxic negativity; when they become so obsessed on evaluating past events and collecting grievances that they become unable to act (or even smile) in the present. 

 

 

VI. 

 

In sum: Nietzscheans never ask why and rarely ruminate; they leave that to those who seek that highly suspect type of self-knowledge dreamed of by Platonists, Christians, Jungians, and other idealistic herd animals [4]. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See D. H. Lawrence, 'Him With His Tail in His Mouth', in Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Esssays, ed. Michael Herbert (Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 307-317. 

      In this short essay, written in 1925, Lawrence humorously attacks closed, self-referential styles of thinking and the obsession with interiority. With reference to the figure of the ouroboros, he also challenges the idea that the end is one with the beginning (i.e., that infinity is some kind of perfect cycle).

 

[2] Hamlet, of course, is the poster child for this idea of paralysis by analysis; a man whose 'powers of action have been eaten up by thought', as Hazlitt says in his landmark study Characters in Shakespeare's Plays (1817).   

 

[3] See the recent post 'Why Me Contra So What' (6 Feb 2026): click here. 

      Referring once more to literature, then Melville's Captain Ahab might be said to be the ultimate narcissistic ruminator. For he cannot view the loss of his leg as a random, natural event. Instead, he anthropomorphises the great white whale, convinced it acted with inscrutable malice specifically against him. He spends his life ruminating on this personal grievance, making himself the tragic centre of a cosmic drama. 

 

[4] Before I'm accused of being reductive by grouping Platonists, Christians, and Jungians together in this manner, let me indicate my awareness of the fact that these traditions have different understandings of the self and of what constitutes knowledge of the self, and different reasons for wanting to attain such knowledge. 

      However, all three traditions, it seems to me, consider the unexamined life to be a very bad thing - devoid of value, meaning, purpose, etc. - and each tradition suggests that failure to know the self will have negative consequences. I'm not adopting Thomas Gray's position here - ignorace is bliss - but I do think that innocence and forgetfulness, as discussed above, can make happy and free (inasmuch as anything can ever make us happy and free).  

 

 

Notes on a Psychodrama: A Guest Post by Ronald S. Foelles

Psychodramatists: 

Stephen Alexander and Simon Solomon

 

 

I. 

 

I have been following the recent (often acrimonious) exchange between Stephen Alexander and Simon Solomon in the comments section of Torpedo the Ark following the post titled 'Why Me Contra So What' (6 Feb 2026): click here.  

 

And whilst I have no wish to become embroiled in what is clearly a lovers' spat between the two as much as it is a philosophical debate, I thought it might be helpful to offer some objective third party observations.

 

Ultimately, what we see unfolding here is a textbook clash between a defender of secular reason (Alexander) and a defender of sacred wisdom (Solomon). What complicates matters somewhat is that Alexander understands reason from a Nietzschean perspective (as a gay science), whilst Solomon wishes to ground his faith in analytic psychology which he regards as a form of empiricism. 

 

 

II. 

 

Whilst Solomon appears the more learned of the two - dropping not one, not two, but four Ancient Greek terms for fate early into the discussion and providing a wealth of textual support for his arguments - I feel that Alexander nevertheless holds his ground and presents his case in a more concise and open manner (even if it is sometimes shot through with sarcasm as well as scepticism). 

 

Both men, it seems to me, are unnecessarily aggressive; although as they both graduated from the Philosophy Department at Warwick University in the 1990s, that is perhaps understandable. Whilst Alexander retains a veneer of calm and coolness, he still manages to weaponise such in order to antagonise the more hot-under-the-collar figure of Solomon. 

 

It's hard to say who is the most dismissive and condescending, but whilst Alexander is more mocking, Solomon is certainly more abusive and also more pedantic - in a debate of this kind, Simon, a spelling error really doesn't matter. 

 

Solomon also likes to pathologise his opponent; that is to say, instead of refuting Alexander's logic, he attempts to discredit it by suggesting it is a symptom of mental or emotional deficiency: You only think that way because you're a damaged individual! He doesn't want to win the argument, but shame his opponent and expose them as an inferior (and possibly a fraud).    

 

To be fair to Solomon, however, I think his defensiveness stems from a perceived threat to his identity founded upon the mysterious and imaginative sensibility of the poet. Thus, when Alexander reduces his compellingly empirical experiences to mere statistical inevitability, Solomon is offended at the core of his being. 

 

The odd thing is that whilst neither seems particularly fond of the other, their familiarity suggests they are long-term friends. 

 

 

III. 

 

Were I to move from my role as unofficial moderator to unofficial adjudicator and choose between the two - in terms not so much of their ideas, but their writing style and public persona - I'd probably have to favour the somewhat mercurial figure of Alexander.

 

For the latter writes with a lot less seriousness and doesn't sermonise in an ex-cathedra manner like Solomon; there's more sunlight and fresh air in Alexander's texts and less metaphysical solemnity. His use of slang and colloquialism can be a little wearisome at times - when he tries a little too hard to be the cheeky chappie - but, again, I prefer his playful irony to Solomon's haughtiness.          

 

Thanks to short, pithy sentences, it's easy to follow Alexander's arguments. Solomon's construction of a complex textual labyrinth, on the other hand, can leave one feeling a little lost and confused (although, to be fair, Solomon does produce some very powerful and very beautiful turns of phrase). 

 

Just as there are times when one wants to tell Alexander to knock off the performative game and be serious, so too are there times when one wishes one could tell Solomon that the fate of the world's soul isn't always hanging in the balance and he isn't the appointed guardian of ineffable mystery.

 

If he isn't careful, Solomon is, ironically, in danger of something Jung often warned about: inflation, i.e., over-identification with an archetype; in this case that of the Sage or Poet-Priest. 

 

He should thus be grateful to Alexander, for the latter occupies the role of his shadow; i.e. the one who obliges him to confront those parts of himself he has repressed in order to construct an ideal (if somewhat monstrous) post-Romantic persona.  

 

Prince, Oh Prince of Darkness: Notes on the Case of Peter Mandelson

Lord Peter Mandelson 

(The Prince of Darkness) 

 

'He who knows not that the Prince of Darkness is also the King of Light, knows nothing ...'  

 

 

I. 

 

The Prince of Darkness is a term used in John Milton's epic poem Paradise Lost (1667) [1], referring to Satan as the embodiment of evil. 

 

It is an English translation of the Latin phrase princeps tenebrarum, which occurs in the Gospel of Nicodemus (aka the Acts of Pilate), thought to have been written in the 4th or 5th century. 

 

It is, in my view, by far the loveliest of Satan's titles - much nicer than Lord of the Flies - one which makes the Devil sound like a true gentleman [2], whereas Beelzebub suggests some sort of exalted dustman.

 

The Prince of Darkness, however, is also one of the nicknames given to the Labour Party politician, lobbyist and diplomat, Peter Mandelson, who - as many readers will know - is back in the headlines at the moment ...

 

 

II. 

 

Mandelson's long (and hugely successful) career has famously been marked by controversy, which resulted in his twice resigning from the Cabinet and recently being dismissed as British Ambassador to the United States, after a scandal emerged concerning his friendship with Jeffrey Epstein, an American financier and convicted child sex offender who died, in somewhat fishy circumstances, whilst in his prison cell, in 2019 [3].    

 

To be honest, before this latest scandal I knew very little about Mandelson (and cared even less). But now, knowing a bit more, I find I'm increasingly sympathetic; I certainly prefer him to Starmer, whether or not he passed on sensitive government information to Epstein and whether or not he's a corrupt moral monster of some sort.     

 

In fact, for me there's something a bit Wildean about Mandelson, as well as something diabolical. For like Wilde, Mandelson is outrageously reckless in the face of danger and forever flirting with scandal (behaviour driven, I'm told by a friend of mine who knows about this sort of thing, by a combination of psychological factors, including arrogance, hubris, and a belief in his own exceptionality).  

 

 

III.

 

Of course, I'm by no means the first to feel this way about Mandelson (to be taken in by his seductive charm, if you like).  

 

Way back in 2001, the innovation expert and social policy consultant Charles Leadbeater wrote a piece in The Guardian on his friend Mandelson, whom, he said, was an inspired political visionary who enriches British public life.   

 

Mandelson, Leadbeater continued, could think outside the box and had the "stamina, professionalism and attention to detail" [4] to push through significant change: "He made things happen when many around him simply talked. He was not afraid to take on fights when more cautious and calculating souls cowered." [5] 

 

Conceding that Mandelson has certain character flaws - including vanity and arrogance - Leadbeater points out that this is true of most politicians. And so, what if he likes the high life and his head is too easily turned by the rich and famous - at least he isn't boring and he dares to be different:

 

"That is why I like and support Peter Mandelson. In a political class marked by its limited imagination, Peter had the capacity not just to think big, but to deliver as well. He dared to stand up and stand out. Now he has been hammered back into place. The Oscar Wilde of modern politics, he embraced the establishment and challenged convention in the same movement. Those who were unsettled by his daring are the ones celebrating this weekend." [6]

 

That is a paragraph which is both uncannily resonant and extraordinarily pertinent to the present discussion of the Mandelson case.   

 

 

IV.  

 

In closing, I would like to refer readers to a spoof piece in The Daily Mash informing us that as well as losing his government post and stepping down from the House of Lords, Mandelson "will no longer be referred to as the Prince of Darkness or enjoy the benefits of the title [...] because he is a terrible representative of Satanism and the hellish underworld" [7].  

 

Continuing in the same satirical manner, the article quotes a spokesman who confirms that Mandelson has "disgraced the good name of the Devil" [8] by fawning over Epstein, rather than fulfilling his public duty of challenging God's authority and leading others into temptation. Thus, from now on Mandelson will no longer be able to possess souls, "shapeshift, or control the dead" [9].  

 

Notes

 

[1] See Book 10, line 383: click here to read online (The John Milton Reading Room).   

 

[2] See Shakespeare's King Lear (1606), Act III, scene IV, line 151: "The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman." Click here to read online (Folger Shakespeare Library). 

 

[3] Mandelson's friendship with Epstein, which had been publicly known about for some years, spanned at least from 2002 to 2011 (i.e., it had continued even after Epstein's 2008 conviction in Florida for soliciting prostitution from a minor).

 

[4-6] Charles Leadbeater, 'My friend the political visionary', in The Guardian (28 Jan 2001): click here.  

 

[7-9] See the article 'Peter Mandelson stripped of Prince of Darkness title', in The Daily Mash (6 Feb 2026): click here.  

 

Musical bonus: Bow Wow Wow performing their 1981 single 'Prince of Darkness' on German TV: click here to watch on YouTube (80s Rec.)

 

 

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.   

 

 

Why Me Contra So What

 

 

Even if receiving the most dire news from a doctor, the one question I would hope never to ask is: Why me?

 

For no question is more metaphysically naïve and egocentric than this request not only for meaning, but for a coherent narrative that unfolds in relation specifically to one's self. This may be all too human, but it's all too shameful for a philosopher.

For a philosopher should know better than attempt to explain, justify and integrate a random event into a personal life story, or start asking crypto-theological questions of the universe.

 

And even if the question is more rhetorical than anything else - a venting of natural emotion - it should still never pass the lips of a philosopher; i.e., one who always remains stoical, always refuses to take things tragically, and always favours the Warholian response when given terrible news: So what? [1]        

   

 

Notes

 

[1] See The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B & Back Again), (Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1975), in which he writes:   

      "Sometimes people let the same problem make them miserable for years when they could just say, 'So what.' That's one of my favorite things to say. 'So what.'  [...] I don’t know how I made it through all the years before I learned how to do that trick. It took a long time for me to learn it, but once you do, you never forget." (Ch. 7)

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. 

God Save Joe Orton

Joe Orton anachronistically wearing a 

Seditionaries Prick Up Your Ears T-shirt

in a photo by George Elam (1967) 

 

'The kind of people who always go on about whether a thing is in good taste 

invariably have very bad taste.'

 

 

I. 

 

Remembered primarily as a playwright who came to a sticky end at the hands of his lover, Joe Orton was a gay, working class English writer who, in a brief but brilliant public career lasting from 1964 until his murder in 1967, outraged and amused audiences with his scandalous black comedies, characterised by a mix of cynicism and sauciness [1].  

 

 

II. 

 

After leaving school, Orton got a job as an office junior whilst also developing an interest in the performing arts, joing a number of am-dram societies in his home town of Leicester. He obviously showed promise, as, in November 1950, he was offered a scholarship at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, which he took up the following spring.   

 

It was at RADA that Orton met Kenneth Halliwell, seven years his senior, and they formed a strong romantic relationship, moving into a West Hampstead flat together (shared with two other students). 

 

After graduating, they collaborated on a number of novels. However, as these failed to set the literary world alight (or even find a publisher), Orton and Halliwell decided it might be best to write separately, scraping by as best they could on benefits and monies earned from part-time jobs, whilst amusing themselves with various pranks; such as removing books from their local library in order to modify them (i.e., deface the covers with comically surreal images and additional text), before returning them to the shelves [2].   

 

They were eventually nicked by the police and charged with larceny and damage to property deemed to be wilfully malicious in nature. After pleading guilty at Old Street magistrates (in May 1962), each received a six-month custodial sentence (and a £2 fine). Interestingly, whilst Halliwell hated being in jail and attempted suicide, Orton seemed to enjoy himself and find inspiration. His career as a powerful and subversive writer arguably has its origins in his time behind bars and shortly after his release he wrote Entertaining Mr Sloane [3]. 

 

 

III.

 

The unduly harsh nature of the prison sentence, which Orton suspected was due to the fact that he and Halliwell were queers, brought home to him the fact that corrupt priggishness and hypocrisy still exercised its power and authority in the UK, even after the Chatterley Trial: 

 

"It affected my attitude towards society. Before I had been vaguely conscious of something rotten somewhere, prison crystallised this. The old whore society really lifted up her skirts and the stench was pretty foul." [4]

 

Orton's next performed work was Loot (1965); a dark two-act work that satirises social and religious attitudes to death, as well as the integrity of the police. It opened to severe criticism, but, after numerous edits and rewrites, a London production in the autumn of 1966 received rave reviews, several awards, and established Orton's reputation. He was even able to sell the film rights for £25,000 (that's over half-a-million nicker in today's money and was a record figure at the time).     

 

 

IV. 

 

Orton's final play, What the Butler Saw, was a clever modern farce that he completed writing in July 1967, one month before his death [5]. It opened at the Queen's Theatre, London, on 5 March 1969 and was met with a hostile audience reaction; boos and cries of rubbish were heard coming from the balcony and some people walked out, protesting the play's raunchy character and obvious contempt for authority.

 

There is, finally, one more work I would like to mention; Up Against It - an unproduced film script written in 1967 for the Beatles, who were then at the height of their fame. 

 

After submitting the script to their manager, Brian Epstein, it was returned to Orton following a long period of silence and without comment. It's anarchic, sexually explicit, and subversive tone was deemed too potentially damaging to the Beatles' carefully managed public image and inappropriate for a mainstream movie audience [6]. 

 

In fact, the dark and chaotic script might have better suited Malcolm McLaren's Sex Pistols ...

 

 

V.   

 

It's not wrong to consider Orton a defining figure (and diarist) of London in the 1960s; his work and lifestyle embodied the rebellious and sexually liberated spirit of the counterculture during that era. 

 

But, having said that, I can't help thinking of him as more of a trickster-punk than a peace-loving hippie - even if he did have a Beatles song played at his funeral. And Malcolm McLaren was a great admirer, considering Orton an inspiration for the punk aesthetic that he and Vivienne Westwood had created in their shop at 430 King's Road.   

 

Thus it is that Orton's name appears on the right side (literally and figuratively) of the 'You're Gonna Wake Up' manifesto (1974). And thus it is that, in 1979, McLaren and Westwood produced the 'Prick Up Your Ears' shirt for Seditionaries, which comes with a quotation taken from Orton's diary (I write in more detail about this shirt in a post that can be accessed by clicking here). 

 

As Paul Gorman notes, for McLaren, Orton was a "remorseless cultural provocateur" [7] and a kindred spirit; someone who drew inspiration (as he did) from the gutter and delighted in the prospect of fucking the rich up the arse.    

  

 

Notes

 

[1] The comparison with Oscar Wilde is often made and it's not an unreasonable comparison to make; both used wit to expose the moral hypocrisies of their respective societies, often focusing on the absurdity of authority. Writing in the more permissive 1960s, rather than the Victorian 1890s, allowed Orton to be more explicitly transgressive than Wilde, though I'm not sure he was more anarchic or provocative.

      For a critical essay on this pair of queer iconoclasts, see John Bull, 'What the butler did see: Joe Orton and Oscar Wilde', in Francesca Coppa (ed.), Joe Orton: A Casebook (Routledge, 2002), pp. 45-60. 

 

[2] In their defence, Orton and Halliwell were protesting what they regarded as an appalling selection of books; endless shelves of rubbish, as they put it. See Ilsa Colsell's Malicious Damage: the Defaced Library Books of Kenneth Halliwell and Joe Orton (Donlon Books, 2013). 

      And see also the excellent article by Jonathan Jones titled 'Joe Orton's defaced library books and the death of rebellious art', in The Guardian (14 Oct 2011): click here. Jones argues that their amusing (if somewhat juvenile) defacement of library books was "a glorious rejection of the austerity and ordinariness that still set the British tone in 1962" and anticipated the manner in which the Sex Pistols scandalised a moribund nation in the following decade.  

      Amusingly, the book covers Orton and Halliwell vandalised have since become a valued part of the Islington Local History Centre collection and some are exhibited in the Islington Museum (i.e., they have been recuperated by the Spectacle). A collection of the book covers is also available online at the Joe Orton Gallery: click here.  

 

[3] Joe Orton (1964) as quoted on joeorton.org: click here. 

 

[4] The three-act play Entertaining Mr Sloane premiered at the New Arts Theatre (London) on 6 May 1964, produced by Michael Codron. Reviews ranged from praise to outrage, with one critic for The Times declaring that it made his blood boil more than any other British play in the last decade. The play was transferred to Wyndham's Theatre in the West End at the end of June and then to the Queen's Theatre in October, and Orton was hailed as a promising new talent. 

 

[5] On 9 August 1967, Halliwell bludgeoned 34-year-old Orton to death at their home in Islington with multiple hammer blows to the head. Halliwell then killed himself with an overdose of Nembutal. It seems likely that Orton had wanted to terminate their relationship (albeit not in such a literal fashion). 

 

[6] The screenplay was filled with what was termed outlaw sexuality and it should be recalled that homosexuality had only (partially) been decriminalised in July of 1967. Paul McCartney would later admit that the Beatles didn't wish to do the film because it was gay and they were not.  

      Interestingly, in 1979, John Lydon initiated a High Court case against Malcolm McLaren and his management company, Glitterbest. While the primary goal was to reclaim misappropriated royalties and the rights to the Sex Pistols name, Rotten also wanted to make clear his objection to the salacious and immoral elements contained in the script upon which the film that eventually became The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (1980) had been based. Arguing that the script portrayed him and other members of the band in a defamatory and harmful light, Rotten also made it clear that he had no wish to be associated with infamous figures including Jack the Ripper, Myra Hindley and Great Train Robber Ronnie Biggs. Nor, indeed, did he approve of any scenes involving extreme sexual and violent content. 

 

[7] Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 426.  

  

 

To read a sister post to this one - God Save Jean Genet (2 Feb 2026) - please click here. 

 

Bonus video: a short clip of Joe Orton being interviewed on The Eamon Andrews Show (ABC Weekend TV, 23 April, 1967): click here. A decade later, Andrews' co-presenter on the Thames TV show Today, Bill Grundy, would interview the Sex Pistols, who weren't prepared to play along in such a charming manner as Orton.