Thanks Seestah, for forwarding me this interesting article about historic preservation in England...of Johnny Rotten graffiti.
At least, that's how it's being described. Front Man always gets the credit. And, of the images popping up for these charicatures, of course his weighs the most kilobytes. McClaren, the band's manager, is the smallest of the personnel I can find. No Cook and only a video glimpse of the conveniently labeled "Fatty Jones." Johhny saw himself as some kind of muppet. Eyes sly and at the same time more big-eye cute (this was the '70s after all) than anyone else's. Like Sid's:
Sid's is hilarious. Another muppet, but instead of being cuddly he's Harvey Pekar on a bad day. Or, subtract the nose-eyes-ears, and you find that the "charicature" was superimposed on an already existing graffitum: a medical illustration of Sid's undercarriage from directly beneath. That there's rock star taint at the bottom.
Some people say Sid didn't have much to live for, and after seeing this, I can see how you might think that, but don't discount the malevolent Front Man, upset about his new bassist's burgeoning popularity. Lydon walks in and sees that Sid is already being immortalized, because surely, the National Trust will someday turn this into a museum. Infuriated, he transformed Sid, drew himself as the lovable one, the other guys as jokes, and the manager like some wicked bird clutching money. See?
Most of the media interest in this focuses on the professor saying that these are as important as Tut's tomb or even the early Beatles tapes. They mention that the good Doctor believes the graffiti'd flat is eligible for formal recognition, complete with blue plaque, but neglect to mention that he considers the current DIY preservation may be best continued in the punk mode--no bleedin' sign.
On the other hand: an article in Antiquity, academic interest, the historic preservation community acknowledging and sometimes embracing a few monuments to protest movements. God Save the Queen, and National Trust Save the Sex Pistols. The Great Swindle continues.
All the more beautiful because the irony swings both ways. Anarchy, "I wanna destroy," eh? Not only did you not bring down the system, it is stronger than ever and amuses itself by treating your art as collectibles to buy. Coopted even more than imagined when you started doing business with McClaren and embraced Front Manhood, right Johnny?
