Youth

We’ve all been there. It was a time characterised by uncertainty and awkwardness. It was an existential period. Who am I? Who would I become? And daring to become who you are inside. Who would and should you be? Would one ever get into a position where it became natural to kiss a girl? Or a boy for that matter. What seemed so easy and natural to everyone else is often experienced as frightening and strange in this transitional period between childhood and youth. It wasn’t like I had any closets to come out of, but I would like to end up on the right shelf in life. It was now that I had to define who I was going to be for the rest of my life. What sporting interests would I be known for and what kind of music should define my taste and integrity. It is a difficult exercise to define yourself when you have butterflies in your stomach, pimples all over your face and are constantly horny.

Music was a great lifeline in my upbringing, but this was also a minefield. We didn’t have Spotify like we do today. We stood around record shops, looked through the entire alphabet, and picked out a record from a selection of thousands of musicians and bands we had never heard of. Then there was queuing along the counter and waiting for your turn. Eventually we were assigned earphones by a long-haired cool dude who put the vinyl record on the record player. We couldn’t pick out a single song. We listened to the whole record as the artist had put it together. These listening moments defined us. At least me. This was the music and artists I would listen to for the rest of my life. At least that’s how it felt then and there. Some of the music I got into this way was famous bands such as Led Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac, Chicago, and Pink Floyd. Pink Floyd had an enormous sound, but I almost found them to be too big. Who could follow in their path? Everyone liked Dark side of the moon, Animals and Wish you were here. So did I, but it felt as if I had inherited the sound from a previous generation.

Some very exciting bands appeared around 1976 such as Joe Strummer’s The Clash who played dystopian songs in a completely new way. They eventually became known as “The only band that matters”, thanks to CBS Records´ creative services department. Many of my friends bought the concept. I really liked this new wave in music, but never quite got to grips with the fact that The Clash, in addition to angry hard punk songs, also served funk and rockabilly, but worst of all reggae, dub and ska. This was considered dull music best suited for the weed gang. That’s why the right choice for me was Sex Pistols. A genuine punk band that didn´t give a damn what everyone else thought. They actually did the opposite of what everyone expected.

Singer Johnny Rotten, who later signed my Doc Martens, described the time the band was born in as follows: “Early Seventies Britain was a very depressing place. It was completely run-down, there was trash on the streets, total unemployment—just about everybody was on strike…if you came from the wrong side of the tracks…then you had no hope in hell and no career prospects at all. Out of that came…the Sex Pistols and then a whole bunch of copycat wankers after us.”

This was punk. I still love the feeling the Sex Pistols give me when I put on a vinyl record. It takes me back to a time that shaped me. In fact, they only released one album; Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols.  We played it so much we almost wore it out. There is also an album credited to the Sex Pistols called The Great Rock’n Roll Swindle. This is perhaps the funniest record of all time and seems more like a compilation of the leftovers in the studio after the band members had gone their separate ways.

There is almost nothing about me today that testifies that I was once a punk rocker, I honestly think no one saw it at the time either. I was and still am too straight to go all in.

A few years ago, I was in London and had decided to visit the grave of Sex Pistols’ legendary manager Malcolm McLaren at Highgate Cemetery, a few miles outside of London. I wanted to leave flowers and honour the man who was both the manager and the singer on one of my favourite songs from The Great Rock’n Roll Swindle. There are many famous people buried at Highgate, including Karl Marx and Douglas Adams to name a couple. I was there to visit Malcolm’s grave.

I didn’t buy flowers for Malcolm. I climbed over a fence on the way and stole flowers from a manicured garden. It felt right and was much more punk-like. More in Malcolm’s spirit. And right then and there I felt that I lived up to the ambitions I had when I was young, unsure, and trying to define myself.