Interiors: The amazing abode of Dickie Lowe

Witty companion, workaholic, optimist, stoic, computer-phobe, special occasion facilitator, raconteur, moralist, compulsive green thumb, avid theatre and concertgoer, roof gardener, summer pudding-maker, painter, rememberer of birthdays, punster, voracious reader, film maker, museumolic, snappy dresser, sequiner, harpsichord player, party giver, flower arranger, supplier of bon mots, delightful travel companion, regular sender of postcards (sometimes 6 at a time) for 43 expatriate years…and much, much more.

Richard “Dickie” Lowe – who died earlier this year aged 67 – was a smashing bloke, as the words above from Alexandra and Leigh Copeland’s Melbourne Age obituary attest.

I encountered Lowe on but a handful of occasions; he never failed to charm and delight.

Although he had lived in the UK since the late 60s, Lowe’s Larrikin spirit was undimmed to the last. His singularity was made manifest in the magnificent decor of his central London apartment, which communicated an interest in and knowledge of Egyptian art, miniature Australian landscapes, postcards, bric-a-brac and curios of all varieties, and has now been documented by photographer Peter Waldman.

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Sleevenotes: GRIS-gris, DR JOHN the night tripper

Sleevenotes for Gris Gris, Dr John The Night Tripper

“To you whom I may communicate with shortly through the smoke of Deaux-Deaux the rattlesnake whose forked tongue hisses pig Latin in silk and satin da-zaw-ig-day, may the gilded splinters of Auntie Andre spew forth in your path to light and guide your way through the bayous of life.”

For prime poetic mumbo-jumbo, look no further than the back cover text of Dr John’s debut LP Gris-Gris.

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‘Because of the economic crisis, people are trying to consume as fast as possible. Ideas are dead; there aren’t any to express the mood. Fashion is irrelevant’: Malcolm McLaren + SEX, November 1975

//Sex assistant Jordan, Gallery International, Vol 1, no 4.//

It’s unlikely that cities will shake or nations start to rock under the impact of Malcolm McLaren’s sexual revolution. A few people might die though.

Malcolm McLaren, at 30, is a mixture of entrepreneurial cultist, sexual evangelist, businessman, artist, fetishist and political philosopher; a psychotic visionary in the ephemeral subculture of the fashion world.

David May, Gallery International Vol 1 no 4.

In November 1975 – by which time his charges the Sex Pistols had just embarked on live performances – Malcolm McLaren was interviewed by journalist David May at 430 King’s Road, then in full bloom as radical retail venture SEX.

Continue reading ‘Because of the economic crisis, people are trying to consume as fast as possible. Ideas are dead; there aren’t any to express the mood. Fashion is irrelevant’: Malcolm McLaren + SEX, November 1975