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.

Thoughts on Trendy Clothing Brands – Religion, All Saints and the Kooples – and Why I Love One, am Indifferent To Another and Hate the Third

So, three brands, all with superficial similarities… Kind of trendy-ish, sort of East London/Shoreditch (except the Kooples, which I think may be French). But in the same way that I love Def Leppard but can’t stand any other hair metal (apart from Livin’ on a Prayer of course but, come on, we’ll take that as read), I somehow find that I really like one of them, hate another and am indifferent to the third. But there must be reasons. So I shall try to find out why.

The one I love is Religion. Why? Everything just fits so well! I don’t need to get stuff custom made when their stuff fits me so perfectly. It’s almost like they design it with me in mind. I’m proud to say I have three leather jackets from there, and the arms even taper towards the hand like my actual arms do. How did they even know that? I also got the best pair of jeans I’ve ever had from there. Once again, perfect. And don’t even get me started on the t-shirts.

The funny thing is that I first discovered them in New York, in the legendary Century 21, which, in case you don’t know, is kind of like a cool version of TK Maxx, in that it largely seems to sell discounted stuff from previous seasons but actually has a good range rather than row after row of polo shirts. So then I went through the slightly odd routine of going from London to New York and buying clothes from a company down the road from where I live and taking them back to London. I’ve got t-shirts with more air miles than me. But I suppose they keep it cool by only having a few outlets (even if one of them is in John Lewis or somewhere).

Then there’s All Saints. Now, I’ve been into their shops perhaps twenty or thirty times but never, ever bought anything. Why? Not sure. I kind of like it and though it’s quite expensive it’s not more so than Religion. But it’s as if, say, their leather jackets never quite get it right. Or their suits can’t quite decide if they want to be trendy or formal. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I could make up a decent look from their clothes but… I don’t know…

And then there’s the Kooples. I mean, first of all there’s the name. What’s all that about? How’s it even pronounced, for a start? Is it meant to be a northern pronunciation of ‘couples’ that they’re struggled to render phonetically or is it meant to rhyme with scruples (the way everyone I know pronounces it)? It just doesn’t make sense.

Then there’s the desperately-trying-to-be-cool air about them, trying to portray themselves as edgy but doing so by having huge ads on seemingly every bus in London.  And don’t even get me started on the Pete Doherty collaboration. I mean, really? Pete Doherty? The only people who think he’s cool are people who were fourteen when the Libertines came out and swore that they were inspired by them to become beatnik jazz poets but now all work in offices. I know that for me there’s nothing more reassuring when I buy clothes than knowing

they came about through a totally natural collaboration between two kindred spirits, and certainly not because one of said kindred spirits was a crackhead who urgently needed money to avoid getting a kneecapping from the enforcers of a shady Eastern European drug lord.

Then there are the annoyingly smug adverts. You know, the ones full of annoying trendies with implausible names like Nast and Bambi, who presumably reflect their target audience, which is to say dopey and gullible trustafarians happy to blow their parents’ money on a pair of y-fronts that cost £80. I have obviously never seen their business plan, but I reckon it went something like this: ‘1. Make some clothes. 2. Sell them to idiots in Dalston for ten times what they cost to make. 3. That’s it.’

A Brief Treatise on the Lengh of Shirt Sleeves

Apparently, Anne Boleyn had an extra finger on each hand and in order to hide the fact started a fashion for wearing shirt sleeves that were so long that they covered the fingers. To me, that sounds highly impractical and potentially downright messy but, hey, she was Queen so could, I suppose, get away with it. Still, it’s interesting to think that she went from having one finger more than most people to having one head less than most people, so I suppose it all balances out.

Nonetheless, am I the only person in this day and age to think that shirt sleeves are a bit too long? Based on the fact that a few shirts I have from different shops fit perfectly well around the body yet somehow seem to be a bit long in the sleeve leads me to wonder if I have arms that are too short, but I somehow don’t think it’s that. Or at least I hope not. I don’t tend to wear shirts very often but when I did I almost always rolled them up to my forearms as I found the sleeves got in the way. They get stuck on your watch, or they obscure your watch meaning you have to unbutton them anyway. And the buttons or cufflinks clatter against the keyboard when you’re typing. But whilst I never had my sleeves at their full length, I would obviously never dream of wearing short sleeved shirts; whilst I suppose they’re acceptable on holiday, short sleeved work-type shirts are clearly the work of the Devil and should only be worn by IT technicians who live with their mum. Moss from the IT Crowd being the prime example.

All the same, I reckon there’s potential for meeting in the middle here, so I’ve invented a new shirt. Why not just have one where the sleeves go about halfway down the forearm? That way they’d be out of the way when you’re typing or washing your hands yet they’d still be long enough to keep most of your arms warm. Personally I think it’s an excellent idea and not at all like those creepy half length trousers that some fashion houses were trying to promote a few years back; they would only lead to cold ankles, whilst my new shirts are entirely practical. Perhaps the only example of a development of style that actually makes sense rather than just being something created on a whim by a coked-up fashion designer. If anything, they’d be a good way of showing that pretty much everyone these days has the standard number of fingers. I think, as a society, we have to consider that a form of progress, and how many other fashion innovations can you say truly show off our successful development as a species?