Malcolm McLaren's funeral - Ripping it up
Yesterday was one and extraordinary day for the reason being it was the day of Malcolm McLaren's funeral.
The funeral procession was to make its way through Camden High Street, towards Kentish Town and then onto Highgate Cemetery. I wondered where would be the best place to go to soak up the vibe and I plumped for Camden what with it being the mecca worldwide for the strange and the unusual, well, before it got taken over by tourists and shiny glass fronted empires. But enough of that, it was a day to pay respects to the Byron of modern times who once fooled his school mates into meeting him at a rubbish tip where he had prepared a cardboard box so they could be his 'Box Gang'. Sounds like a punk band name to me, the early seeds of what was to come perhaps. I decided to wear the tits top as a mark of respect, or disrespect, and wasn't fully expecting the attention it would garner - I thought there would be loads of people sporting 'Sex' and 'Seditionary' garb but I didn't see anyone except for one. Poor show! Still, my early arrival outside Camden tube station enabled me to see the beginnings of a tame media scrum that were photographing a bunch of Camden punks, one notably bearing a fuller figured resemblance to Sid Vicious. I wasn't really sure what to do with myself but noticed that a few people were beginning to stand by the side of the road, just absorbing an atmosphere of what was yet to realise some sort of form. Some friends who work round the corner joined me on their lunch break and as they arrived a camera man asked me some questions about why I was there and referred me to his journalist colleague. They asked if I'd like to say a few words infront of a blooming big telly camera. I said yes and then asked them where they were from. Channel 4. However, I'm not sure if it got shown, the amount of bumbling and whiffling on I was doing likely saw to that. Still it was fun. Then, sure enough, other microphones started popping up, the BBC and Radio 5 Live. The BBC article is here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/8635771.stm. I felt quite privileged to be part of a little bit of history and to be quoted. All my reading up of Vivienne, Malcolm and punk started to come into my head snippet by snippet, I could have chatted all day about them.
The arrival of the cortege was running late and as the minutes rolled by, more people began to line the streets. Cameras were snapping, journalists were starting to gather their pace darting inbetween a mixed crowd of punks, rockabillies, mods and office workers with their digital dictaphones in hand. Then the expectation increased as the sound of horses clopped their way towards us. The black cars drove past, one with Vivienne Westwood wearing a 'Chaos' headband. Then a carriage pulled by two plumed black horses went by with the coffin that had 'Too Fast To Live Too Young To Die' stencilled on the sides surrounded by 'Cash From Chaos' T Shirts. It was a very moving sight and I could feel my eyes beginning to well up. Then a big green bus carrying a load of 'punks' (Ed Tudor Pole, John Cooper Clarke and Bob Geldof to name a few) bound for 'Nowhere' appeared, with 'The Daily Terror' emblazoned across the advertising panel and 'Malcolm Was Here' on the back. Then, as it went past Camden tube someone turned the music on really LOUDLY! It was Sic Vicious' 'My Way'! It went insane after that as the Camden punks clung to the back of the bus in the face of excited photographers. Some of the crowd joined in and followed the bus up the High Street and beyond - it was like a street party. A punk one! I decided to follow - it's not often you get to experience something like that, it was almost like liberation in someone else's death - the spirit of punk weedling its way through a part of North London. In addition to my tits top which was beginning to make passers by smile knowlingly at this stage, I was wearing the most humongous shoes with a heal, which made running after the bus, literally, quite hard! I was talking to a girl with pink hair who looked about 16 who was wearing a jacked with the Anarchy symbol on the back and we were trying to work out the best way to get to the cemetery as we'd eventually lost sight of the bus, except for when it was getting stuck in traffic intermittently. It was like following the pied piper to the party. Eventually, I lost sight of her too and saw a police officer who I thought I would ask directions from, thinking he wouldn't find the tits top 'challenging'. He said, "My young lady that's a very interesting top you are wearing." I smiled to him and said, "You're not going to arrest me are you?" and he said, "I might do!" whilst shaking his head in a knowing nonchalent fashion. I told him it was in honour of Malcolm, the name he was unaware of until I mentioned the Sex Pistols and he then asked if that really was a "real funeral"? He let me on my way with directions.
The sun was now beginning to beat down a bit and I felt tired, the top of my leather skirt tightening around my expanding abdomen with breaths of exhaustion. My feet were beginning to pinch too. I wondered what had made me follow that bus, I was only intending to pay my respects but I suppose it was the experience that I wanted to remember. As I hit Swains Lane I chatted to a woman who was heading for the cemetery and she told me that her dad was a big McLaren fan and had pictures of him all over the house when he died, so she felt she had to go to the cemetery. There weren't many people outside the cemetery so it felt like the right time to leave which is bizarre seeing as I'd followed the bus there. Still, I suppose it was some sort of pilgrimage that you have no real understanding of other than being caught up in the spirit of something quite special. I started to make my way through the entrance of Waterlow Park, where a man in a black suit asked me if he could go in to the cemetery, to which I answered that I was unsure. He seemed to know an awful lot about an awful lot of things and we chatted for a while. Then I started to head off again and then headed back with friend in tow. A nice smiley policeman told us that it would be best to go down the road by the Holly Village side to see the departing cortege, so we went down there and hung about outside the place that was featured in the Rock and Roll Swindle. The big green bus, minus its passengers went past and some of the Camden punks clung onto the back of it as if to hitch a lift. Then, a black car went by carrying Vivienne and Adam Ant who was wearing an unusual top hat with pictures of himself when he was younger stuffed into the headband. They acknowledged us which was nice.
It then came to an end and the most appropriate thing was to go for a drink to toast the man who encouraged us to "be a flamboyant failure rather than a benign success."
RIP Malcolm.
The funeral procession was to make its way through Camden High Street, towards Kentish Town and then onto Highgate Cemetery. I wondered where would be the best place to go to soak up the vibe and I plumped for Camden what with it being the mecca worldwide for the strange and the unusual, well, before it got taken over by tourists and shiny glass fronted empires. But enough of that, it was a day to pay respects to the Byron of modern times who once fooled his school mates into meeting him at a rubbish tip where he had prepared a cardboard box so they could be his 'Box Gang'. Sounds like a punk band name to me, the early seeds of what was to come perhaps. I decided to wear the tits top as a mark of respect, or disrespect, and wasn't fully expecting the attention it would garner - I thought there would be loads of people sporting 'Sex' and 'Seditionary' garb but I didn't see anyone except for one. Poor show! Still, my early arrival outside Camden tube station enabled me to see the beginnings of a tame media scrum that were photographing a bunch of Camden punks, one notably bearing a fuller figured resemblance to Sid Vicious. I wasn't really sure what to do with myself but noticed that a few people were beginning to stand by the side of the road, just absorbing an atmosphere of what was yet to realise some sort of form. Some friends who work round the corner joined me on their lunch break and as they arrived a camera man asked me some questions about why I was there and referred me to his journalist colleague. They asked if I'd like to say a few words infront of a blooming big telly camera. I said yes and then asked them where they were from. Channel 4. However, I'm not sure if it got shown, the amount of bumbling and whiffling on I was doing likely saw to that. Still it was fun. Then, sure enough, other microphones started popping up, the BBC and Radio 5 Live. The BBC article is here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/8635771.stm. I felt quite privileged to be part of a little bit of history and to be quoted. All my reading up of Vivienne, Malcolm and punk started to come into my head snippet by snippet, I could have chatted all day about them.
The arrival of the cortege was running late and as the minutes rolled by, more people began to line the streets. Cameras were snapping, journalists were starting to gather their pace darting inbetween a mixed crowd of punks, rockabillies, mods and office workers with their digital dictaphones in hand. Then the expectation increased as the sound of horses clopped their way towards us. The black cars drove past, one with Vivienne Westwood wearing a 'Chaos' headband. Then a carriage pulled by two plumed black horses went by with the coffin that had 'Too Fast To Live Too Young To Die' stencilled on the sides surrounded by 'Cash From Chaos' T Shirts. It was a very moving sight and I could feel my eyes beginning to well up. Then a big green bus carrying a load of 'punks' (Ed Tudor Pole, John Cooper Clarke and Bob Geldof to name a few) bound for 'Nowhere' appeared, with 'The Daily Terror' emblazoned across the advertising panel and 'Malcolm Was Here' on the back. Then, as it went past Camden tube someone turned the music on really LOUDLY! It was Sic Vicious' 'My Way'! It went insane after that as the Camden punks clung to the back of the bus in the face of excited photographers. Some of the crowd joined in and followed the bus up the High Street and beyond - it was like a street party. A punk one! I decided to follow - it's not often you get to experience something like that, it was almost like liberation in someone else's death - the spirit of punk weedling its way through a part of North London. In addition to my tits top which was beginning to make passers by smile knowlingly at this stage, I was wearing the most humongous shoes with a heal, which made running after the bus, literally, quite hard! I was talking to a girl with pink hair who looked about 16 who was wearing a jacked with the Anarchy symbol on the back and we were trying to work out the best way to get to the cemetery as we'd eventually lost sight of the bus, except for when it was getting stuck in traffic intermittently. It was like following the pied piper to the party. Eventually, I lost sight of her too and saw a police officer who I thought I would ask directions from, thinking he wouldn't find the tits top 'challenging'. He said, "My young lady that's a very interesting top you are wearing." I smiled to him and said, "You're not going to arrest me are you?" and he said, "I might do!" whilst shaking his head in a knowing nonchalent fashion. I told him it was in honour of Malcolm, the name he was unaware of until I mentioned the Sex Pistols and he then asked if that really was a "real funeral"? He let me on my way with directions.
The sun was now beginning to beat down a bit and I felt tired, the top of my leather skirt tightening around my expanding abdomen with breaths of exhaustion. My feet were beginning to pinch too. I wondered what had made me follow that bus, I was only intending to pay my respects but I suppose it was the experience that I wanted to remember. As I hit Swains Lane I chatted to a woman who was heading for the cemetery and she told me that her dad was a big McLaren fan and had pictures of him all over the house when he died, so she felt she had to go to the cemetery. There weren't many people outside the cemetery so it felt like the right time to leave which is bizarre seeing as I'd followed the bus there. Still, I suppose it was some sort of pilgrimage that you have no real understanding of other than being caught up in the spirit of something quite special. I started to make my way through the entrance of Waterlow Park, where a man in a black suit asked me if he could go in to the cemetery, to which I answered that I was unsure. He seemed to know an awful lot about an awful lot of things and we chatted for a while. Then I started to head off again and then headed back with friend in tow. A nice smiley policeman told us that it would be best to go down the road by the Holly Village side to see the departing cortege, so we went down there and hung about outside the place that was featured in the Rock and Roll Swindle. The big green bus, minus its passengers went past and some of the Camden punks clung onto the back of it as if to hitch a lift. Then, a black car went by carrying Vivienne and Adam Ant who was wearing an unusual top hat with pictures of himself when he was younger stuffed into the headband. They acknowledged us which was nice.
It then came to an end and the most appropriate thing was to go for a drink to toast the man who encouraged us to "be a flamboyant failure rather than a benign success."
RIP Malcolm.