Steve Strange taught me that life could be big, bold and blousy
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Version 0 of 1. The recent death of the poster boy for the New Romantic movement, Steve Strange, was a reminder to those of us that lived far from the epicentre of that scene at the Blitz nightclub in London – in my case 600km or so from a major capital city in regional Australia – that regular folk owed a lot to Steve and his ilk. Let’s face it. If it wasn’t for the New Romantics, most of us who breezed through the 80s wouldn’t have those horrible photos that mums everywhere love to display in prime lounge room position, ensuring any new love interest brought home to meet the parents is guaranteed to see right through any cool act we’ve been putting on. Related: Steve Strange 1959-2015: an appreciation You know the photo: the massive hair, an overly blousy pirate shirt all held together with some sort of cummerbund fashioned out of a tablecloth, matched with a multi-pleat pantaloon. If you’re lucky enough, there might even be a home movie capturing some daggy side-to-side step dance with hands poised for a deep click of the fingers – oh so stylish, but really it made us look like we were busting for the loo. At the time, we thought we were wonderful. And so we should have done.I was probably too young to appreciate Steve’s turn in Visage’s Fade To Grey when it was all the rage. All I remember was that eerie video that scared me in the same way watching Doctor Who did. It was the second wave of the New Romantics – the Boy Georges and Adam and the Ants – that turned this Aussie teenybopper into a walking, talking hair and clothing explosion. They made me believe contemporary music was an inclusive place for all sorts. For people who dressed however they liked – be that androgynous beauty or pirate – and who danced with abandon. I was unaware how subversive this might have seemed to more conservative folk at the time. Blissfully ignorant in fact. Later I learned the New Romantics were derided at the time by critics who thought they borrowed heavily from earlier innovators like Bowie. Musos said the movement was more about style than substance. Dress-up music, they said. But as I age, these arguments about validity and authenticity seem less important. Now that most pop music borrows as much from last week as it does from 25 years ago, bashing the New Romantics seems redundant. Think of the sheer joy this freedom of expression gave the average 80s plain Joe or Jane. So, it was lovely to be reminded of that time, even though it was inspired by a sad event. People told stories on radio of making their own clothes by ripping up and tying any old thing together (one even said she made a clubbing outfit out of her mum’s curtains). And we remembered what it felt like to act as big and as blousy and as confronting as possible. We can cringe all we like looking back, but the New Romantic years were a whole lot of fun. Those of us who partook in our own small ways probably haven’t been quite as flamboyant since. Wouldn’t it be nice to be that big and bold again? |