Heroes of the Style Vortex: Wilko Johnson

I’ve often thought what a brilliant idea it would be if once a musician died their work was then removed from sale, simply to stop all those annoying people who didn’t give a damn about them when they were alive suddenly jumping on their bandwagon the moment they hear about their death. Like all the hipsters who suddenly decided they liked Johnny Cash, for example, having previously ignored him as a boring old man whose fans were alcoholic wife beaters. Plus, pretentious people like me would then have extra bragging rights for owning said recordings based on their merit rather than due to having fallen under the spell of the PR-constructed myth swiftly built up around said deceased star by their record company in a ghoulish way to add to the existing boost in sales.

Which is why I thought it would be a good idea to write this piece about the legendary Wilko Johnson now because, whilst he was diagnosed with terminal cancer over a year ago and was not expected to survive 2013, he happily remains with us at the time of writing. He perhaps personifies the idea that cool isn’t just about how you look; it’s also about your deeds, your actions and how you carry yourself: there was his early influence on punk rock as the guitarist and songwriter for Dr Feelgood, bringing a driving, simple-sounding yet deceptively complex rhythmic style back to British music at a time when it was largely obsessed with twenty minute organ solos and songs about goblins. 

There were his songs, concise and punchy R&B numbers that captured the essence of life on the Essex Delta. There was his menacing glare, used to great effect when onstage with the Feelgoods, which he later admitted was a trick he’d learned during his short tenure as a teacher that he realised would work just as well on a rock audience as a class of schoolchildren and was also employed by him in his role as the mute executioner in Game of Thrones.

Or there was his sartorial style: as simple yet effective as his music. He found something that worked for him and stuck with it to the extent that it’s very difficult to find a photo of him where he’s not wearing his trademark black shirt and suit. No photos of him wearing flares and an enormous kipper tie in the ‘70s or then making an ill-advised foray into punk fashion and pushing a safety pin through his nose. No embarrassing attempt to pass himself off as a young man once firmly entrenched in middle age. Which is to say, it’s seemingly impossible to find a photo where he’s not looking cool. And how many people can you say that about?

Also, whilst he’s in the relatively small group of bald rock stars, he’s in the even smaller group of people who accepted it with dignity. No combover or expensive toupee for him. Once he realised it was going he got rid of it swiftly, proven by the fact that it’s also impossible to find photos showing him on the road to baldness: he either has a full head of hair or a shaven skull.

Wilko Johnson appears to have a personal philosophy that he’s applied to every aspect of his life: just keep things simple and you’ll never go out of date. For despite the fact that the world of fashion and music are constantly buffeted around on the whims and vagaries of fashion there are some things in those worlds that are eternal: simple and effective music will always work (and the success of the White Stripes seemed to suggest it will always keep on returning to popularity) and well-cut black suits will always be cool. True, there’s also a lot to be said for taking risks but they can backfire more often than they succeed. So Wilko Johnson has to be saluted for being that most rare of creatures: a middle aged rock star with not a single skeleton in his stylistic closet.