London Calling

The year is 2012 and in case we’d forgotten it’s plastered over pens, cushions, shampoo bottles, camera cases, and the rest of the crappy Olympics ‘official products’ that will be lining our bins by the time they start playing Christmas songs on the radio (late August?). This celebrated time of great sportsmanship has provided an opportunity for us Britons to really showcase the nuances of excellence within our dear nation to the rest of the big, wide world. And the tip of the iceberg in this wonderful exhibition? The ceremonial costumes.  Deep purple (to reflect our rich monarchical history no doubt) and with little hats not unlike that of Kate Middleton or an air hostess, these costumes are what one would call ‘really smart’. Being British of course, we’ve had to add something a tiny bit eccentric, and that addition is (of course) the zip. These zips, according to the official people (whoever they are) are to reference something evidently as equal to our heritage as the Queen - punk.

As it has now been verified that punk is Very Important to Britain, it seems odd that for the last three days all I’ve heard on Radio 1 has been Wiley’s new track Heatwave (in which the female singer seems to be deluded enough to think that ‘party’ rhymes with ‘body’ – so much so that she repeats it incessantly) perfectly complemented by the delightful tones of Mr. Sheeran (which leave me wanting to hit myself repeatedly round the head with a rock rather than endure any more). Known overseas for being a bit different and not quite elegant, we are now fuelled by the same easy-dance tunes, the same let’s-all-be-tanned attitude; our popular culture is nondescript and we’re more bothered about how much Coleen weighs than the NHS reforms. Where’s punk gone now?

Not long ago BBC4 showed ‘Punk Britannia’; a three-part series looking back over the movement. A 56-year-old John Lydon sat on a sofa and talked, all bleached spiked hair and diamond jumper, and it was sad. Uncontroversial on Question Time, it seems that the man synonymous with punk, Johnny Rotten, has grown up and become reasonable and decent, those traits valued by the British traditionalists against whom Johnny and the Sex Pistols were protesting with their public swearing and rowdy gigs. Britain has changed since punk, and attempts to re-create it in its raw form would be futile and clichéd. The presence of age on punk heroes is flicking the harsh overhead light on something almost idealistic in springing from disillusionment. If the punk greats are old, is punk old? 

What we need in music is for people to give a damn, but to be spontaneous about it. Modern technology is fabulous and all, but we don’t always need layers of synth hiding or making up for a decent melody, and we definitely don’t need auto-tune to make the pitchy note-perfect. There’s still nothing better than being sat in a café or a greasy-floored venue somewhere listening to a local band playing guitar and singing, not yet permeated by the expectations of the wider music industry. Arctic Monkeys’ and The Strokes’ debut albums are still their best, whatever NME claims. Punk harnessed youth and determination, and there’s no rule to say we all need to be 21^st-century sophisticated now (unless you’re the Vaccines: in which case, you really could do with a bit more substance). A modern version does exist in bars and small festivals all over the country. As we are constantly reminded, the internet means that any band can put their stuff online for all to hear; it’s merely a case of finding the good stuff. The good stuff includes bands like Kagoule and The Creeping Ivies: very different from each other, these bands would not be classed as punk and yet both reap the influence of the movement while maintaining a clear sense of individuality and freaking good music.

Unfortunately, back in Olympics Britain, it’s apparent commercialism has won out. Johnny Rotten appeared in a Country Life butter ad and the anti-establishment message of punk is now being referenced in an event glorifying that establishment. It’s almost surprising that the Jubilee wasn’t as naively commemorated with a Sex Pistols-inspired mug (2 for £9.99 from all good retailers!).

The Creeping Ivies - Ghost Train

Kagoule - Monarchy

KLH