Today, I decided to do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time: head to the Weston Park Museum in Sheffield to see one of my favourite artists’, Pete McKee’s, most recent exhibition. From the minute you step into the room, you are instantly transported back in time into the world of childhood as experienced by Pete McKee. The Boy with a Leg Named Brian is so much more than just an exhibition; it is a tenderly curated time capsule that palpably conjures the essence of the 1970s world in which McKee came of age, with humour, warmth, and McKee’s unmistakable sincerity. The exhibition’s name fondly originates from a childhood memory of a pair of hand-me-down jeans from a relative named Brian, who had sewn his name onto a patch on the leg.
At the centre of Pete McKee’s art is a poignant reminder of the precious moments that touch us all, including the loss of our loved ones. Most moving are his recollections of his mother, whom he lost to cancer at the age of seven.
McKee’s art not only captures but also celebrates the fleeting nature of their time together, holding onto moments of her life with profound compassion and love. I was particularly touched by the painting of McKee in bed with his mother whilst his father worked nights; it’s something we can all relate to.
In his work, Mckee relives those tender moments with her while creating new stories, working to fill the gap left by disappearing memories. These stunning works are not only a testament to his mother but also an inquiry into how the temporary nature of memory informs us, both as individuals and within the context of our families.
McKee’s show is an ode to the past, his artworks, prints, and sculptures reinterpreting the mundane details that informed his childhood. It is about the electric spark of Space Invaders and the euphoric discovery of new worlds through music and fashion, making the exhibition at once deeply personal and powerfully universal. One can’t help but praise the humble polyvinyl orange ball, appropriately described as “a device for the emancipation of the working class.”
Fashion threads its way throughout the pages of McKee’s memoir, as colourful as strands of twine. He demonstrates this clearly when he writes, “It’s one thing comparing album covers and group photographs for what people wear. It’s another being able to buy what they wear.” With humour, McKee describes how he created his own style out of borrowed cardigans and cheap copies and the sacrifices he made to be able to buy his first good suit. These anecdotes highlight the imagination and aspiration that fuelled the flame of youth culture.
It is clear in the words, “Want to tell the world what you’re about without making it a song and dance about it?Put a button badge on your lapel.” McKee’s depiction of the Siouxsie-inspired button badges, as well as the Northern Soul “Keep the Faith” badges, perfectly encapsulates the thrilling intersection of music and fashion at the essence of the search for identity.
Concert life is starkly conveyed in the line: “Nights at The Limit were huge.” and “There are those who saw The Sex Pistols at Manchester’s Lesser Free Trade Hall and others who were at Leeds to see The Who. We had The League at The Limit.” McKee’s painting summons the hot, colourful atmosphere of nights out for music, where your shoes are glued to bar carpets in the steam and precious hours are wasted waiting for grim toilets, but you can’t help but grin ironically and say, “But by ‘eck did we have a good time.”
Jarvis Cocker of Sheffields Pulp adorns a wall. McKee also pays tribute to The Leadmill and the late Martin Bedford, a beloved and respected figure in Sheffield’s music scene highlighting the club’s essential role in the city’s musical heritage. In this memoir, he notes, “We grew up overnight, and outsiders began to take us seriously.”
A touching moment in the show is McKee’s musical dedication to the human experience of love and relationships. He speaks for us truthfully:
“There is no purer expression of love than making someone a mixtape.”
This is just what describes the close, personal contacts that music allows us to share with others.
What is most evident in Boy with a Leg Named Brian is how it immerses you in the noisy turmoil of big, working-class families muddling through on tight budgets. Growing up on a council estate in the North, times were tough, but we were tougher. It captures all those fleeting, formative moments that defined our working-class childhoods, and it takes you right back there. The exhibition is alive with the spirit of an era in which money and technology were in short supply, but resourcefulness and adaptability were high. From the glow of Alpine pop tops, the memories of pub window taps hoping for some loose coinage from our dads or granddads, to the warm soundtracks of ’70s pop, McKee’s vision powerfully speaks to the shared nostalgia of an entire generation.
Guests are not just encouraged to look; they are invited to experience the period themselves through interactive elements, such as the Cartoon Workshop area and augmented reality components, which all really bring McKee’s cartoons to life. The rocking horse ride is fully functional, and the young children enjoy it.
Nostalgia, I sometimes find, is commonly tinged with sadness. Still, with McKee’s exhibition, laughter is infused in those formative moments, recalling the wit and humour that informed our own childhoods. It’s an exhibition that will tickle your funny bone, bring you smile after smile, and even induce one or two teardrops. The Boy with a Leg Named Brian is a must-see experience.
This unmissable exhibition is open at Weston Park Museum in Sheffield until November 2, 2025. Entry is free, but a suggested donation of £5 supports the museum. For more details, visit the Sheffield Museums website.
As part of the exhibition, Pete has teamed up with the Leadmill for one iconic Bank Holiday Sunday only, turning back the clocks to the glory days with ‘Youth Club Disco’, Tickets are on sale here:Club Nights | The Leadmill McKee says of the night:
“I wanted to create a club night that celebrated the glorious period in history when a multitude of subcultures rubbed shoulders with each other – a period that made watching Top of the Pops worthwhile just to grab a precious few minutes of seeing your heroes perform their hits. This was a time when a trip to the Youth Club was a great opportunity to style yourself like your heroes, whether that was The Jam, The Pistols, Neuman, The Smiths, The Specials, The Cure, Dexy’s, or the plethora of many great bands that came with very individual dress codes. Back then, never the twain should meet, but now we can appreciate a banger when we hear one, no matter the genre. I want this event to be a great excuse to get dressed in your best tucker, have a dance and relive those glory days.“
