Malcolm McClaren the man who invented Punk amongst other things was a friend
and we did a few speaking engagements together.
I loved listening to his story.
Like me Malcolm had been to art school, in his case to be a painter.
In his first class the teacher, a gruff Yorkshireman, told the
students that none of them would ever amount to anything because all the great works
had been done.
This idea had a profound effect on Malcolm who decided if he couldn’t hope for
a career of success he would devote his efforts towards one of spectacular failure.
When he finished art school he opened a store called “Let It Rock” in London’s Kings
Road with his girlfriend at the time, the fashion designer Vivienne Westwood.
Initially “Let It Rock” was only open for one hour a day around 5pm.
Inside was an old Wurlitzer jukebox and every night at opening the same man would
come to try to buy it. Malcolm refused to sell. But the man kept coming until Malcolm
amused by his persistence gave in and sold to him.
The buyer was Charles Saatchi who became one of the most successful men in art and
advertising.
“Let It Rock” also went on to become very successful, particularly with the London
Teddy boy crowd.
At that point Malcolm and Vivienne decided to close it down. They changed the name
and everything else and the shop, re-opened, was even more outrageous.
The new store “Too Fast To Live, Too Young To Die” was another success.

The duo changed the place again, renaming it “Sex”. In its last incarnation inside the
store was a mud- pit, which the clients fell into, while Malcolm sat watching the
proceedings in a rubber suit.
It became a hit with the Hollywood crowd at which point Malcolm decided to walk away
from the store for good.
Wondering what to do next, he was approached by a band that asked him to manage
them.
He thought they were so atrocious he couldn’t resist the challenge.
He created the Sex pistols.
Malcolm was a genuine creative spirit.
No middle ground for him. In pursuing spectacular failure he was simply exhibiting the
courage of the artist to avoid the safe places where the mediocre live, to aim for the
extraordinary, the splendid, and if you fail, well at least you weren’t boring.
At sea, at night, the stars shine with an intensity rarely seen on land.
Occasionally, amongst them there’s the streak of a falling star.
It might be fleeting as it crashes, but it’s bloody brilliant.

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