Antithesis
I want to start this Good Friday address by disclosing that except in the nature of my daily liquorice consumption, I don’t lead a life that could be in any way be construed as devout. And even still, I catch my self-wondering about how it must feel to be young and pious at the start of the Easter weekend. You bow in solemnity to commemorate God’s own son having nails driven through his extremities and left to die for the sins of man. Your friends, meanwhile, go to the Elephant and Wheelbarrow and distribute pints of cider through their bloodstream until they lose their voices screaming along to ‘Sex On Fire.’ All of which is just fine, but there is a little profundity in what seems achingly obvious: that popular celebration doesn’t just seem to undermine the event it aims to celebrate but is—in its excess and self-involvement—a kind of antithesis.
Trash Becomes Treasure
But you have to trust me, I’m not moralizing—I’m far too hungover—it’s just that this carousel of sanctity and perversity interests me because it happens in music all the time. Just a few days ago, in fact. it was reported that the Denmark street punk house that the Sex Pistols lived and recorded in during the mid 70s was protected by the UK heritage body Historic England. Historic England’s notes on the newly ‘Grade II’ designation made special reference to “the grafitti of John Lydon in the outbuilding to the rear…a rare example of the cultural phenomenon of Punk Rock, captured in the physical fabric of a building.” Fairly antithetic to a band who famously snarled “God save the queen/She ain't no human being/There is no future/In England's dreaming.” Although John Lydon did also say “I buy Country Life because I think it tastes the best” too. So not everything from the horse’s mouth was Punk Purity.
What Do You Mean?
Similarly when Justin Bieber appeared onstage as a carefully sculpted visage of Kurt Cobain in Seattle on March 9—predictable outrage ensued. But what’s interesting isn’t the appropriation—pop music leveraging off cultural phenomena is not exactly new. Again, it’s the antithesis. That Nirvana, a band that defined itself in opposition to the meticulous sterility of the mainstream would be celebrated in clinical arch-pop fashion: “stylist Karla Welch came out in defence of the outfits, arguing that if he was alive today, Cobain would have been totally fine with Biebs repping his merch.”
Bonfire of the Vanities
But sometimes, of course, people are especially resistant to this reversal. Enter Joe Corré, son of Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren—fashion pioneers and orchestrators of the Sex Pistols fame. On November 26 this year Corré plans to burn 5 million pounds worth of punk memorabilia in Camden and encourages others to do the same. Apparently the Punk London exhibition and the royally endorsed 40th Anniversary of Punk was too much, telling Cracked magazine: “punk has become like a fucking museum piece or a tribute act.” I agree with Corré but I’m not sure he’s being thorough enough. I once interviewed seminal Swedish punk band Refused, and naturally enough upon their reformation we talked about the museumification of punk, and basically ended up agreeing that where punk becomes truly placed under glass is in the mind, where it takes on a varnished purity of spirit that was never intended. Drummer David Sandström said: “I sort of like destroying pure things. I don’t see absolutes anywhere in the world.” So maybe to match the anti-authoritarian fervour, to truly embrace the destructive essence of punk, to keep it as filthy and impure as it intended, perhaps me and David Sandström and Joe Corré should let it sell out, applauding lightly as the Mayor of London supports a punk retrospective or Virgin Money release a Sex Pistols Anarchy in the UK branded credit card. That would be a thorough death.
True Annihilation
The Mayans were thorough. Their blood-drenched legends make your average Tarantino film look like a high school musical. Their path towards true and unambiguous annihilation is via antithesis. In one story, a family dispute between an unborn brother (?) and a regular, already born sister ends with Huitzilopochtl (the brother) reaching beyond Kill Bill grade levels of revenge. It runs like this: "And when Huitzilopotchl had killed [Coyolxauhqui's (the sister's) army]... he took from them their finery, their adornments, their destiny and made from them his own insignia." Now that's thorough. The sister didn't just lack a present, but was deprived of a history as well. Museumification of punk rock is what happens when people live in its history rather than in it's present. And ceremoniously burning this legacy will only help people invest even more in the past. Perhaps punk rock needs to sell out so we can all move on. Because lauding its sanctity and purity is - much like us drunks on Good Friday - precisely not what it was all about.
-Paul Cumming
Simile is a weekly series by Cool Accidents fave/regular Paul Cumming aka Wax Volcanic that unravels current moments in music and follows the threads to some strange and strangely familiar places.
