Let's All Argue About Punk Rock

Our column Let's All Argue aims to bring you all the moronic, lazy churnalism you need in your life, without any of the disheartening real-ness.

This week: Punk Rock! It's the anniversary of the time the Sex Pistols first bought Preparation H and John Lydon threatened to have a cake fight with the Queen, so that's obviously pretty big news. This week, we hear from: people's punk poet Billy Bragg, the Wilson Cordless Shaver Company, Camden Market postcard punk Vivian Smack, and musical genealogist Dr. Bryan Cakes.

Punk Is Alive and Well and Living in Ed Sheeran
by people's punk poet Billy Bragg

If you think punk's dead, you just ain't plugged in enough, sonny. Believe me—right now, we're in the midst of the greatest punk movement since punk. If only the London media elite would climb down from their ivory towers and start writing about what's really going on, rather than harping on about some nonexistent golden age, then we might get the fires of revolution burning in this country once again.

Jamie T was the jump-off. He was like the Sex Pistols of what you might call "punk two", or "punk2" or "punk-punk." He showed us that a ska beat and talking about the people at the end of your road could be a political act. That paved the way for Frank Turner, who was definitely The Clash of the piece—less primal, but more politically savvy. Frank really told you what was happening on your streets. Homelessness. Drugs. War. People lying. People trying. People devil-dancing at White power pow-wows. All of that sort of stuff. And, like The Clash, he's massively influenced by non-racism. It's so nice to see a band come out and say: "we are not racists" these days, 'cos most of them are, y'know. Honestly, you should hear what The Vaccines say about their Pakistani houseboy.

You may not have heard of Ed Sheeran yet, but you soon will. Ed's got a message, which is: Look at yourselves. He's not going to impose value judgements on that message. He's not gonna be like: look at yourselves, and… He's simply saying: Look at yourselves. Ed's a fucking card like that. Whether you're a teenage prostitute or not, 2012 will be the year punk breaks all over again.

A Press Release from the Wilson Cordless Shaver Company
Is Cordless Shaving the New Punk Rock?
For further details, please contact press officer Drake Charone.

As punk rock 'n' roll approaches its 35th birthday, our press is once again filled with images of original punks: Johnny Rotten, Joe Strummer, John Lydon and other famous faces who made Cool Britannia swing, many of whom have since been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame.

Now, many are asking: Is cordless shaving the new punk rock? Consider the evidence. For years, men have let wet-shaving chain them to their mirrors and sinks. But now, focus groups are raving about the Cordishave's ability to let them shave wherever. If that's not like the original punks, with their thirst for independence and wild "on the road" antics, then you can jump up and down in front of me and spit at my face.

Whether you're rocking out to Lenny or just getting angsty at home with Alanis, punk rock can be yours with the Cordishave 900 with Motion Control.

If Punk Was Dead, Why Would We Hang Around Camden Market Every Day?
by Camden Market postcard punk Vivian Smack

Punk never died. People just got weak, didn't they? Weak and venal for mammon; breadheads the lot. The sad truth is that there are only a few folks left now who, like me, haven't sold out. The tourists come along, they get their photo taken with me (that's two quid, and if anyone tries to trick me and get one for free, I fucking chase em up the road till they give it me). Then I give them a few flyers. Every time someone trades a flyer for a free drink in Waxy's, I make a quid. You could say that's pretty hard graft, right, but you only need one party of Argentinian students to come along, each grab a flyer, hit Waxy's for their free drinks, then I'm in the literal fucking pound seats: that's about nine quid right there.

There are saps in office jobs with their white picket fences who'd take over an hour to earn that sort of money. Well I made it in the flick of a wrist – ten seconds. You work that out as an hourly rate, and tell me it's not worth it. What's more, I've got my freedom. That's worth more than anything. For instance, sometimes I just say "fuck it" and fuck off to McDonald's for a couple of hours in the middle of the day—no one's checking up on me (though obviously if I can't get the flyers out, I won't get re-commissioned the next day: the flyer trade is rough like that, it's very real-world).

Punk's Not Dead, It's Just No One Can Find it
by music genealogist Dr Bryan Cakes

As a musical geneaologist, I am often asked who are the true inheritors of the spirit of punk. According to my painstaking calculations, I am now in a position to reveal that a small glass vial containing l'esprit de '77 was passed down from Joy Division through Adam Ant, to Bow Wow Wow, who palmed it off onto The Housemartins, who in turn gave it to Jesus Jones, who carried it right through the mid-90s before giving it to Travis, who farted it into the guy from Starsailor's mouth, who vomited it all over Toploader, before it was swept up for health and safety reasons by Turin Brakes. "The Brakes," as they are known by their fans, have clung doggedly to it ever since, so the ultimate locus at the present point, I'd suggest, is Olly and Gale's shared house in Balham. I'm told they use it to freshen the air in their toilet.

Previously – Let's All Argue About the Brit Awards