OI! YOU LOOKIN’ AT ME? THE THIRD WAVE OF SKINHEADS
The third wave of skin’eads are here.
It was whilst working on a commission for the fashion forecasting company WGSN, stylestalking streetstyle at Blackpool’s annual Rebellion Punk Festival back in August 2010, that my Nikon began swerving towards the new breed of skin’eads from France, Spain, Scandinavia, Czech Republic, Poland and beyond. The appeal? A minefield of head-to-toe detail within the minimal looks, the almost OCD stripped-back-to-basics element.
There, a suedehead from Gdansk, long side-burns terminating at the lower jaw, total geezer dressed in a perfectly-proportioned navy, fly-fronted Crombie, accessorized with a red prefolded (and stitched on to card) pocket-square, stick-pinned in. There, a skin’ead from Madrid, wearing a recently re-launched Brutus plaid shirt, super-creased Sta-Prest trousers, red socks, shiny-shiny tasselled Loakes with nailed-on ‘blakies’ at heels, clicking along like a metronome, a military edge in the air. There, a father and son combo from Kastrup, working radioactive gingham under cool blue Harringtons, Trojan badges upon their braces. Docs, shined to perfection with a parade gloss. The aim? To look authentic, British.
And there? A gang off the first Euro out of Paris that day, a little giddy after the train north, but looking fresh after a whore’s wash at their Blackpool B&B, vibrant in vintage MA1 flight jackets, nicely-faded vintage Ben Shermans sourced from e-Bay, side-partings (creases) shaved down to zero, ready for a bottle of Becks, a dance, shag.
The skinternational third wave who attend regular skinstyle meets in the UK are largely razor-sharp and veer towards trad’, with some carrying that familiar aftershock to punk vibe, Oi!, driven by boot-to-the-bollocks rage. Speaking of which, over there… fresh off a National Express coach, a batch of UK skins from Derby, Sheffield, Coventry and Brum, working hard-boiled 80s: the occasional lad in a donkey jacket, his bird in corduroy, press-studs gleaming. Characters such as Ralph Orton, aka Ralph The Barber (Ex Sheffield-based band Expulsion) and Jedd Baker, aka Son of Oi! (of Birmingham’s teen-led Oi! band, No Quarter).
The majority of these young skin’eads are aligning themselves to former glories of the first and second waves of skindom, long before they were born, to become part of a continuing story, the next chapter of the British youth cult. The snapshot visions contrast sharply with the cartoony, joke shop element of so many of the OAP punks at Rebellion, coming across as ludicrous panto.
Relieved? Hell yeah! I’d become bored stiff of photographing self-promotional trendoids on the cobbles of Somerset House each and every London Fashion Week. Bored to death of documenting the peacocking H&M zombies at Graduate Fashion Week. Bored shitless of the attention-seeking fakes and flakes at tiresome vintage festivals and corporate art fairs, such as Frieze. As for the generic muppets making an exhibition of themselves in and around burned-out grotspots such as the capital’s Shoreditch, Hoxton and Brick Lane? I’d reached the stage of wanting a night-sighted rifle.
As a photographer, what I’ve been drawn to with the invasion of young, sharp, skin’eads at Rebellion and elsewhere over the last few years, is the meticulous attention to detail, the dedication of the sourcing, the ethnic and cultural diversity, the easy-camaraderie of the brotherhood and those voices, the often surprising use of language, turns of phrase. The passion with which so many archetypal skin’eads speak about Birmingham’s bi-annual Scorcher event and the various weekenders in Brighton, Margate, Isle of Wight – phenomenal.
Sure, within each gathering there’s an element of minidrama, full of moral dilemmas, scheming and intrigue, shifting alliances, pissed-up anger, hasty face-saving retreats. Blame it on the booze and Facebook shit-stirring. The hard core radiate a certain knowing and can turn sneery at the arrival of a space invading part-timer: the fashion student on a mission to research, dressed head-to-toe in Fred Perry mix ‘n’ match; the occasional ’plastic’ dragged up in Warrior / Relco clobber, white around the forehead, ears and neck after a recent crop; the loitering with intent fetishist off Gaydar and/or Rekon, quite possibly slavishly sporting sexually colour-coded laces (and perhaps a rear pocket hanky) stalking in a predatory way, hungry for a bit of ‘rough’ in bleachers.
The third wave have done their style homework, particularly the Swiss crew, such as DJs Yves Steinmann, Conquering Ruler, Dr. Fu Man Chu and Volcanic Heat. Good, decent fellas. Their regular Smart Lion events provide an example others might select to follow. The Swiss crowd aren’t just on buying missions to stock up on tonic suits and cherry brogues at Brighton’s Jump The Gun, to-die-for vintage at Birmingham’s Urban Village or a choice of hard-to-find ephemera at Bill ‘n’ Sarah McCawley’s Oi!Oi! The Shop in London’s Camden Stables. Nah, the skinternational crowd fly in to track down rare vinyl at regular skin’ events at the mecca of Margate’s West Coast Bar on King Street or in harsh pre-opening daylight before a Brian Kelson Scorcher night at The Irish Club in Digbeth or Ryde’s Black Sheep Cellar Bar on Union Street – anywhere they can get their mitts on minty mint condition 45s.
An evening at Sheffield’s Howard Hotel, seeing one band after another, or a night at a back-street Digbeth pub for a Pressure Drop or Kelson one-nighter, beats being a keyboard warrior or watching crap on telly.
The skin scene consists of lots of scenes, some of which are rarely documented, as access with a camera can be tricky. In the main, most are amiable and a right laugh, manic music played at max, floors slippery with spilled beer.
As a fella who was part of the first wave of skindom back in 1969, aged just eleven, I’m loving this new development in the ongoing skin’ead story, with DJs such as The JJs from Kent and Leo Mastropierro from Rome getting feet stomping the dancefloors. In terms of live action, CCTV eyes are on Expulsion’s enigmatic frontman. None of the ol’ Oi! fatsos can outflash Ralph The Barber.
Ralph Orton, aka Ralph The Barber 11am on a Saturday morning in Heeley, Sheffield, the night after Expulsion’s fourth gig and the day before the first studio recorded demo at Audacious Art Experiment with producer Ben Hunter. Lead singer Ralph Orton (aka Ralph The Barber) takes a glug of water from a pint glass, yawns and stretches. Gently, Cleo The Staff is on the receiving end of three soft strokes beside him on the sofa. Eye contact.
FUSED What do you think you should be asked as a first question?
ORTON I don’t really know. Maybe how I got into skin’ead. Just fire away.
FUSED So, Ralph, how did you get into skin’ead?
ORTON For me, skin’ead is about class pride. It’s about sticking together, not taking any shit. I like my ska, reggae and soul bands. I’lll always respect the roots to my culture. I also have punk roots as well – Clash, Sham 69. I like a dirty DIY sound, New York hardcore, too. Right now, Contra Records are really boosting the scene with bands like Control and Booze ‘n’ Glory. The Scottish Oi! band Control have great things to say, like human rights for psychopaths. UK82 Pink, Gimp Fist and Crashed Out are great bands as well.
(Pause)
So many punk and Oi! bands are just so old. They’re only headlining because they’re old. One of our songs, Get Out, is about bands from the 80s who are reforming just to play again, cash in. They were crap then and still are. Some bands are charging crazy admission prices.
(Pause)
British music needs to get up off its arse. It’s a shame the way this music is going at the minute, in Britain anyway. As for Radio 1, X-Factor… disgusting. Covers. It’s just eaten away at music. That girl who lobbed eggs at Simon Cowell… what a hero.
(Pause)
The idea of driving miles and paying through the nose to dance to some DJ is stupid to me. I’d rather see a band. DJs have no talent, they just press a few buttons. Taking Ketamine in some corner of a club, Dance has rotted peoples’ brains.
(Pause)
FUSED Your day job is working as a barber, right?
ORTON Yeah. I graft away and proud of that. A lot of crusty punks think they’re screwing the system by drawing dole, but they’re just screwing people who work. It’s one of those £4-a-cut barber shops. Just ‘round the corner. Fast. In, out. I messed around a lot at school, left without any GCSEs. I couldn’t wait to get out of school. Now I have a job means more weekends away.
(Pause)
At school I was ‘alternative’ – mod, skater kid, punk, skin’ead – cultures that fight back at those who put you down politically, socially. There’s more than one statement that these cultures make.
(Pause)
FUSED (Pointing towards weights beside the sofa.) Yours?
ORTON No, those are my house-mates. I do Thai Boxing. Thai Boxing is me stress-relieving rather than being sat at a computer after a day’s graft. Good for the mind, good for your body. Do it at Wicker Camp, local.
FUSED Wicker Camp? That’s produced boxers of a world champion level, hasn’t it?
(Ralph nods.)
It’s a real burst of adrenalin to perform. My approach is no fuss, pure impact. Yeah, I get nervous before I go on, but I just go for it. It’s a bit like I’m about to get into a scrap.
(Pause)
People think I’m a Cockney, think I’m a football hooligan, part of some firm. When I’m abroad, other skinheads buy me beers when they hear my voice. Instant hand on shoulder, people pleased to meet, a real sense of unity – kind of like a family thing.
(Pause)
I’ve never had a proper interview like this. It’s hard.
(Pause)
I’ve had some aggro because of the way I look. Me and Tony (Tony Warren, long-time Derby mate) have been beaten in so many times, hence the state of my teeth.
(Ralph gives a cartoony smile, neatly displaying a chipped front tooth.)
People do it because they think we’re racist, people do it because we’re not.
Our lyrics are quite patriotic. People are surprised. One of our songs is against an Islamic hate preacher, extradited last summer. Not against Islam, not against that religion or the culture of that religion, but against the preaching of hatred.
FUSED You’re aged twenty-one, in the twenty first century, but your personal styling is basically 80s. Minimal, always crisp. From your zerocrop to bleached double-denim Levi’s, customized with sew-on badges featuring bands such as The Business and 4-Skins, to Doctor Martens in cherry or black, emblazoned T-shirts, a tweed cap. In terms of your look, what’s the defining wardrobe essential?
ORTON Boots. DMs. It’s bald when a skin’ walks down the street in his gear, you can tell a lot about him already. Boots are the focus.
(Pause)
DMs have carried me through the good times, the bad times and’ll carry me through the future.
ON RALPH’S MIND
Texting someone to say that you are outside their house instead of knocking
Low Carb Healthy Recipes
Embarrassing photos 18+
Bare-Knuckle Gypsies
Drawing Cocks On The Local Paper
RIP Drummer Lee Rigby
Tongue punching your mom’s fart box
The England Flag
St George’s Day
Contra Records
Oi! Oi! Music! Webzine
Cameron… the worst prime minister in British history
Sikhs Against the EDL
Domino’s Pizza UK
Warrior Clothing
Rebellion Amsterdam
FACEBOOK FREE OF NAZI-FASCISM
Using Alan Partridge quotes in normal conversation
