The man who popularised hip-hop in the UK was a red headed white man. The fact that he also created the most incendiary and exciting band my generation will ever know is what made him one of popular culture's most remarkable figures.
Malcolm McLaren, who has died at the age of 64, was born to a war deserter and the granddaughter of a Jewish diamond dealer, the year after the Second World War ended. Raised largely by his maternal grandmother in Stoke Newington, London, he left home at 17, with his grandmother's sage advice burning in his ears: 'Being bad is good, being good is boring'.
McLaren was always a man without portfolio. He designed clothes but wasn't a fashion designer. He ran shops but was not a retailer. He made records but was no musician. If he had a job title, it would have been 'professional agitator'.
His expulsion from several art colleges laid a path of provocation and agitation that would last his entire career. Attracted by outsiders (the Parisian situationists in particular), Malcolm's shops catered, initially, to teddy boys, then glam rock transvestites, fetish gear enthusiasts and would-be punks. By the time a shy, paranoid John Lydon was introduced to two young thieves and one of his employees, he had already flirted with band management, unsuccessfully handling the latter days of the New York Dolls.
But to McLaren, rock music had nothing to do with hit singles and airplay. He regarded a band in just the same way that he regarded fabrics or shops - as tools. They all had their individual powers and they could all be manipulated to deliver an impact, to provoke thought, promote action and upset the status quo. They all had the ability to agitate.
It would be overly romantic to suggest Malcolm McLaren knew exactly how culturally inflammable the Sex Pistols would become. But he certainly saw where their enormous potential lay. It wasn't necessary for them to re-invent the rock format; it was enough that they were awkward, belligerent, angry, and sufficiently contrary to upset the business and the establishment. That Lydon (by then, Rotten) proved to be as confrontational as Malcolm, and a superb lyricist to boot, was one of those stunning coincidences one only really finds in rock music.
In fact, there is plenty of evidence that McLaren was quickly terrified by the Pistols rise to infamy and felt control rapidly slipping from his hands.
But getting what you wish for is always scary (not to mention the threat of actual violence) and it was probably at this point that he realised he could actually be a successful agitator.
The Pistols could never have lasted, and McLaren and Lydon were too alike in philosophy and character to have any longevity as partners.
After one breathtaking studio album ('Never Mind The Bollocks') they split, two short years after their birth, and for a while Malcolm lost his way, recording with Ronnie Biggs and releasing a patchwork, revisionist Pistols movie ('The Great Rock & Roll Swindle').
Had it all ended there, Malcolm's reputation as an arch art manipulator would have been assured. But before long he was closely involved in successfully resurrecting the dormant career of Adam Ant - giving him the tribal, pirate concept, before sacking him, stealing his band, and creating a new group - Bow Wow Wow! It is rarely noted that BWW anticipated the current download controversy by encouraging home taping as a means of acquiring free music. A source of agitation to the same music industry the Pistols had annoyed with some aplomb a few years before.
Malcolm McLaren had an almost supernatural ability to spot potential. In 1983 hip-hop culture (rapping, break dancing and scratching) was a niche, underground phenomenon, almost exclusively followed by black teenagers. What mainstream media overlooked, McLaren saw as clearly as he saw the anarchic appeal of punk rock. Thus inspired, he released 'Duck Rock' which opened up the sound and feel of New York's projects to a white British audience. It even spawned two top ten singles and still sounds fresh and tremendous right now.
Hip-hop exploded to become arguably the most popular music genre on the planet - it would be unfair and incorrect to credit McLaren alone for this - and Malcolm moved on.
While his later work was certainly not as significant as Sex Pistols or 'Duck Rock', it was no less intriguing. 'Fans' took the unlikely step of combining electronic pop with opera, and 'Waltz Darling' was the only album based on the Voguing craze to make any kind of creative statement.
A constant and diverse output followed, including a much loved soundtrack to a British Airways advertisement, and notably, an ambitious, flawed, but ultimately enjoyable musical movie for Channel 4 called 'The Ghosts of Oxford Street', featuring Sinead O’Connor and The Happy Mondays. More recently McLaren took to guesting on various reality TV shows (resigning from one before the cameras rolled; ever the provocateur).
Showing up in Big Brother may seem a long, long way from the 100 Club Punk Festival, but had mesothelioma not ended his life, it seems entirely likely that Malcolm McLaren would have shocked, surprised, excited and infuriated the world many times again. And that's no more than we'd expect from the world's most accomplished, professional agitator.
Magnus Shaw, 2010
