Ooh, those young kids and their crazy fashion. Or actually, is it quite so crazy?
Think Fifties and images of Natalie Wood and James Dean will crop up. The white tee with leather jacket is a look much respected today but think back and it was shocking, revolutionary. The tremors running through Peyton Place were measured via the ripples on the blancmange.
The James Dean look moved onto a certain Mr Presley, and daughters were locked away from the aggressive lothario whose songs referenced the tough nuts of the jailhouse and how the kids rocked. Mr Presley evolved, rock'n'roll became the youth culture and the many artists cemented the new generation of society. And let's not forget our own Cliff Richard; he may be the butt of many jokes but he was very cool to kids left of the pond. And the next time you watch Summer Holiday check the wardrobe, its damn good!
Newsflash, The Beatles arrived. Sharp suits and polished shoes brought the kids back to Savile Row – well, the Burton suit – and suddenly, if not emulating one of the Fab Four, it was being cocky to Miss Moneypenny. This was of course if you were clean cut and wanting to be respected by the parents – go on and be the bad kid, the black sheep, and gyrate the hips and unhinge the jaws like Mick Jagger. Rock'n'roll was growing, the cutesy cute of Californian surfers was far too twee and alien to the grey shores of the English Riviera. The Who and The Kinks, The Small Faces and Procol Harum sounded of the streets, of the Kings Rd. Granny went on a trip and she was joined on the ride. Chelsea girls and Chelsea boots strutted down Carnaby.
Hold on – a certain festival was soon to occur with a soundtrack of Hendrix and Joplin, and love was to be felt. Placating the parents was now no longer a concern; being the black sheep was too square, let's just be in love! Daisy chains, in all varieties, even the once respectable Beatles were in love; weed saturated afghan coats and beads, shaggy hair and experimental guitar riffs abounded. It laid the path for Ziggy and Bolan, creatives that were challenging then and still are now. Roxy Music took us to Virginia Plain and we flew to Rio, discovered life on mars and rode the white swan with glittered eyes and an androgynous wardrobe.
We shall here try to forget the tartan army of the Bay City Rollers, or the beaming smiles of the Osmonds (however, what a tune was ‘Crazy Horses’). Teenagers were experimental like never before, beautiful and glamorous, prepping themselves for the truest onslaught of shock and disturbance.
Malcolm McLaren came back from New York, enlisted the raw talents of angry musicians and punk broke forth. Inspired by The Ramones and the New York origins of punk, London beat the drum loudest and angriest. The Sex Pistols had the kids swapping the glitter for safety pins, makeup for hair gel and colour for black. It was a scene to change youth culture like nothing before. Punk to post punk, the new wave was just as loud and its creativity was in abundance. The aesthetic may have calmed, well in England anyway but the music maintained a strong, youthful voice.
New York saw the rise of Talking Heads, B-52s and Klaus Nomi to mention a few, whose music matched their amazing aesthetic to an extent of otherworldly dimensions. None more so than dearest Nomi, whose talent is much missed since his all too young death from that dreadful disease which saw the loss of too many creatives who gave so much in their shortened years.
The eighties saw various styles and scenes amongst the kids. John Hughes' view was polite but fun and in its own way subversive. Two Tone was sending people in droves to the mirror in the bathroom as they sent a message to their dearest Rudy. Bowery was kicking up a storm in Soho, him with his fellow gender benders blitzing through the capital and making everything all Kinky and Gerlinky. No one was fading to grey as the chameleons found their karma. Bowery too followed McLaren across the ocean and joined the equally outrageous Alig.
The club kids of Club 2000 partied in the limelight of lorries driving through the streets of the city, never losing a piece of their costume, though I'm sure many brain cells were lost from the excessive amount of drugs coursing through their painted and corseted bodies.
The more accessible scene of the Haçienda had kids all over the country flocking to Manchester to party happily, ecstasy aided, till the wee hours, acid smiles to match the ones on their faces. Manchester became the music powerhouse under the wing of Factory Records. Youth had never been so financially viable.
The 90s saw the loss of colour and glamour to youth culture. The lad and ladette scene turned a scornful eye on the flamboyant and wielded a nasty tongue which flicked acid, such a shame as it drew heavily on the early sound of the 60's. Soon came the Noughties and a re-emergence of the beautiful happened. New Rave hosted by Boombox, the Studio 54 of the Noughties and golly, the characters returned. The streets of London were awash with the bizarre and beautiful; it became alive because freedom returned. London Fashion Week hadn't been so popular since the debut of Westwood and Bodymap on its catwalks.
And it has not boomed since. A short moment of ponies stepping to a canter beat was enjoyed but it wasn't maintained. The catwalks lost their splendour, the streets held no sashaying aesthetes and M.I.A. joined forces with Timbaland. Youth ingenuity has slowed to a deathly plod, It’s the few now who remain and maintain the powder and patches of the 20th/21st century.
It had been diminishing over the years but has now been relegated to a novelty rather than a wonderment to behold and experience. It’s a fruit pastille when it was the gateaux. The return of conformity has rung the death peel of the once amazing kid.
Walk the streets of the east and see a bevvy of the acne monsters spouting vile words at the few who choose to embrace the glitter of Bowie. Hear them scoff at the ones whose adoration of the new romantics borders on imitation and watch their fingers point like weapons at those who will never forget the genius of dear Leigh.
The kids are no longer crazy, in their mad clothing and listening to alternative beats. With desperate hoping I shall wait to see if it will awaken and we shall be treated to a sight of the bizarre beauties that only the young can concoct.
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