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B A R N Z L E Y
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WO R D S BY G R E G K F O L E Y - F C K N Y H . C OM | @ F U C K I N Y E H
P H O T O G R A P H Y -
Which subculture is your main point of reference?
The first thing I ever got into was The Mighty World of
Marvel – shitty black and white reprints of the Marvel comics.
There was an advert on TV around 1972 with The Thing and
the Fantastic Four. Then as I got a bit older, I’d watch Top of
the Pops or stay up late and watch bands on The Old Grey
Whistle Test.
Then, almost overnight, punk rock happened. You hear
that quote about the first time Elvis performed on the TV, how
it was like the whole world was black and white and suddenly
everything was colour. Punk really was like that. I knew what
I wanted to do. It wasn’t a job or a career. I wanted to dye my
hair a different colour, stick safety pins in my uniform, pogo
and listen to punk rock.
And what do you think about punk’s connection to fashion?
The thing with punk was you didn’t have to go out and buy
loads of branded, expensive clothing. You could do it yourself.
All you needed were safety pins and a bit of paint. It only
lasted a few years and then it became boring, but it was a
lesson; it taught me about reggae, ska, rockabilly, blues. I
discovered music. I discovered dressing up.
Years later, when I was working for i-D, I started cutting
all my clothes up and stitching them back together, going out
to The Wag. People would come up to me like, “Ah wow, can
you make a pair for me? Are you into fashion then?” And it
was like, “...What are you talking about?” I thought fashion
was for old ladies. It was just an extension of punk rock. Do it
yourself. That’s what brands are. Nailing your colours to the
mast. This is what I am.
I do a lot of interviews myself, and so many people I’ve
interviewed, I’d ask them why they got into music, and
they’d say, “Because I was into clothes.” You’d go out and buy
whatever was new, get stupidly excited over a mohair jumper
or something, and then there’d be a group of you standing
around in a ghost town with no jobs. So eventually you’d
say, “Well, let’s get a band together.” “But we don’t play any
instruments.” “...It never stopped the Sex Pistols.”
If you were a poor, working-class guy, it was the one thing
you could do. And then you could broadcast. It was never a
career choice. Nobody had big aspirations. You did it because
you liked the idea, and before that, because you liked dressing
up. And now I make clothes because I like music.
The early days of hip-hop really seemed to capture that
idea; clothing as a mark of your clique.
Yeah, and I was involved with a few of those groups,
International Stüssy Tribe and all that. All it really was was a
bunch of people hanging out who wore the same clothes, you
know? For me, hip-hop was 1982, shortly after I arrived in
London, but it didn’t really happen for another few years. It
was easy to wear, easy to do. And when you look at the Beastie
Boys when they arrived, they totally nailed it. But you’d go
out to clubs and there’d be all these guys with long black
Yohji Yamamoto coats, Shakespearean haircuts and pointy
boots saying, “What are you guys wearing? You’re a mess. In
the future everyone’s going to look like this.” And it never
happened. In the future, everyone looked like the Beastie
Boys. Now everybody wears sneakers. Everybody wears
T-shirts. That’s what really happened.
It feels like London’s been a real focal point for the creation
of new cultures and movements. Would you agree?
It’s true, but Manchester’s always run alongside those
movements, with a slightly different take on things. London
had the Pistols; they had Buzzcocks. Visage; Joy Division. Rave
clubs; Haçienda, Happy Mondays; Stone Roses.
But London was the place for me because it was punk rock’s
epicentre. When I first came to London it was just crazy: one
night it would be Siouxsie and the Banshees, the next night it
was The Cramps. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I suppose
it was the equivalent of fashion now. Everyone was walking
around in Seditionaries clothing with blonde spiky hair and
leather jackets. To me, it’s just a matter of perception. It looks
amazing. Seeing somebody walking around in those clothes
back then was like seeing somebody from Mars. It took me
about three seconds to decide that I wanted to be a punk. It
took me a few hours to actually be one. That’s how fast it was.
A lot of these movements quickly grew beyond their
original meanings. How much do you think these
descendent fashions relate to the original movements?
It’s a big point in this whole subculture discussion.
History’s written by the winners, and people rewrite their
own histories to make themselves seem cool. Maybe the
subcultures of the 50s and the 60s that I grew up learning
about, maybe what I know is a lie. The only people who really
know what happened are the people who saw it. I’m sure a lot
of what we hear is true, but I’m also sure that mixed in with
the reality is a lot of bullshit. It’s down to people to figure out
what really happened, if you’re really interested.
And where do you see things moving from here?
I’d like to think, considering the precarious social climate
we’re living in, if I could design a new movement it would
incorporate all these new elements; fucking off record labels
and creating your own vinyl and artifacts, but at the heart,
something close to the original punk rock. A massive ‘fuck
you’ to the authorities. I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to
take it anymore. Something as important as what punk felt
like to me. Come back with something that really strikes at the
heart of the establishment.
There are glimpses of it in places, but I’m not quite seeing
it right now. Music and culture are quickly taken over by the
aristocracy. Look at Mumford & Sons. It’s quite easy to be a
quality band when your parents can afford all the equipment.
But the Sex Pistols had all the best equipment too. It was all
nicked. I don’t know if anyone has the commitment to hang
around Hammersmith Apollo and steal all of Coldplay’s
equipment but, yes, I’m encouraging kleptomania in the
youth. Firstly, that’s how kids should be doing it. Secondly, we
might not have to listen to so much Coldplay.
omewhere between fashion designer, music enthusiast, style curator and cultural icon, Simon ‘Barnzley’ Armitage
is less about who he is than what he’s done. Starting out in London’s 70s punk scene, Lord Barnzley has been
present in pretty much every significant cultural movement of the last four decades, from punk rock and rave
to hip-hop and what would eventually come to be known as streetwear. In recent years, he has been head designer of
London menswear label Child of the Jago, and heads up his two brands Crossed Swords and Thunders (debuting its first
collection at Jacket Required this season), running operations from the eponymous Thunders shop — a store whose
eclectic mix of music, culture and spirit reflects the character of the man himself.
S
“Nailing your colours
to the mast.
This is what I am.”
