One day in 1975, t-shirt designer and aspiring rock manager Bernard Rhodes spotted the orange-haired Lydon walking down London’s once-fashionable King’s Road, wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt that he had altered by ripping holes through the eyes of the band members and writing the words “I Hate” above the group’s name. It was a statement on the world of bloated, overly-produced arena bands that had taken all of the originality and spontaneity out of rock-n-roll. The next thing you know, self-styled impresario Malcolm McLaren is asking John Lydon to front a punk rock band called The Sex Pistols. And suddenly a scrawny boy from a North London ghetto becomes Johnny Rotten, a name coined by fellow Pistol Steve Jones, who, upon seeing Lydon’s decayed teeth, exclaimed “You’re rotten, you are.”

As leader of what was arguably the most unruly, controversial, and short-lived punk band in history, he co-wrote two of rock’s most acerbic songs: “Anarchy in the U.K.” and “God Save the Queen” (God save the queen / the fascist regime / God save the Queen / she ain’t no human being.)

His sneering voice and damn-the-audience attitude made him the perfect frontman for a band considered so disruptive on stage that many of their gigs ended up being cancelled. His physical appearance was downright menacing, particularly his famous wide-eyed stare – a result of a long and difficult battle with spinal meningitis that kept him hospitalized for an entire year as a child. Regular extractions of spinal fluid produced headaches, nausea, hallucinations, and vision problems. In later years, Lydon said the ordeal was “the first step that put me on the road to Rotten.”

From his three years as a Pistol through his 35-year stint as frontman for Public Image Ltd, he’s enjoyed a long reign as one of rock’s most outspoken figures – quick to criticize governments, the wealthy, the record industry, fellow musicians, the rock press, and conformists of all stripes. He’s shocked TV viewers on several occasions, starting with his use of the word shit on a live British television talk show in 1976, and more recently by calling TV viewers f**king c**nts on a live broadcast of the British reality show I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here.

His distrust of the entertainment industry is admirable in an era when the bestowing of medals and lifetime achievement awards is little more than an excuse for celebrities to doll up and sit in velvet seats at lavish affairs. (I mean, if hotel-destroying sex-orgy kings like Led Zeppelin can hang out with Obama in the White House, is there no rebel integrity left?) Well, I’m happy to inform you that when the Sex Pistols were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006, John Lydon and the band refused to attend the ceremony or acknowledge the induction.

Likewise, when Buckingham Palace offered to award John an MBE (Member of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire) for his services to the British music industry, he turned that down, too. Imagine, being chosen for such an honor, after all the naughty things he said about Her Majesty!  Once, as a panelist on a conspiracy-themed TV show episode that explored the topic of whether Princess Diana’s death was a conspiracy, he said, “If the Royal Family was going to assassinate someone, they would have gotten rid of me a long time ago.”

Yet, Johnny’s softened a bit — just a tiny bit – although he’d be loath to admit it. Some actually see him as a type of senior statesman – a reminder of an era that now seems tame compared to the past several decades of gangsta rap murders and crotch-grabbing/twerking gimmicks.

In fact, when his old nemesis Margaret Thatcher died in April of 2013, Mr. Lydon proclaimed that those celebrating the death of The Iron Lady were “loathsome.” “I’m not going to dance on her grave,” he said. “I was her enemy in life but I will not be her enemy in death.”

Why, the corporate-hating rocker even appeared in an advertising campaign for “Country Life,” a popular brand of butter, on British television. Hmm…shilling for a food company? Well, it’s butter after all — not Bentley.

So, that brings us to a 40-year-old question: was Johnny really rotten on Pink Floyd?

In 2005 he told a Sunday Times interviewer, “I never hated Pink Floyd. I was having a laugh. How could you hate Pink Floyd? That’s like saying, ‘Kill the fluffy bunnies.’ If you’re going to make me a monster, at least give me something really worth rebelling against. I’ve run into [Floyd member] David Gilmour several times over the years, and he thinks it’s hilarious. He’s a great bloke.” He even told The Guardian in 2010 that he actually loved “Dark Side of the Moon.” Oh, that Johnny…he’s full of surprises.

I nearly accomplished a bucket-list goal back in 2105 when I purchased a ticket to see John and Public Image Ltd. perform a November 12 gig in Pittsburgh. But my dog Jersey (named in honor of you-know-who) committed an act of masochism in true punk style when he ripped open his leg while running through the woods late in the afternoon. So, I spent the night at the emergency vet clinic with a sick dog instead of seeing mad dog Johnny in action.

Mr. Lydon, you can be a disgusting, arrogant, big-mouth sod, but that’s exactly why I love you. You came along at just the right time. Unfortunately, your music didn’t manage to drown out the mellow monotony of The Eagles, the horrible dreck called disco, or the soulless Kansas/Styx/Boston pablum that was quickly devouring our planet by 1976, but you and your fellow punks gave us a great reprieve from the antics of jet-setting cash cows…and reminded us that rock-and-roll should never take itself too seriously.

Heeere’s Johnny — singing “Anarchy in the U.K.” Featured in the clip are pre-Sid Vicious bassist Glen Matlock, guitarist Steve Jones, and drummer Paul Cook.

And here’s Mr. Rotten singing one of my favorite punk numbers with his band Public Image Ltd. (PiL), in 1978:

By Dana Spiardi, Jan 31, 2014

Gold Medal Winner: There was no ’70s fashion-meister more daring or more original than David Bowie. “I’ve always felt bemused at being called the chameleon of rock,” he once said. “Doesn’t a chameleon exert tremendous energy to become indistinguishable from its environment?” Born David Jones in 1947, this rare bird began as an Edwardian-styled pop bohemian, kicking around in a number of ’60s bands. He hit his stride in the ’70s, using outrageous outfits and facial art to morph from one otherworldly persona to another. His characters included Ziggy Stardust, Jean Genie, Halloween Jack, and Alladin Sane (a lad insane). With his flame-red shag, glittered face and platform boots, he ushered in a style known as Glam Rock. His influence was so widespread that even the boys in my hick-town were wearing platform shoes and satin shirts in 1974! After he’d taken the spidery, space alien look as far as he could, he revamped himself in 1976 as the classy Thin White Duke, in white shirt, black trousers, and vest. “I re-invented my image so many times that I’m in denial that I was originally an overweight Korean woman,” Mr. Bowie once quipped during a spoof on “Late Night with Conan O’Brien.” At age 65, David remains in a class by himself, with his beautiful wife, Somali-born model Iman, as his perfect fashion accessory.

Silver Medal Winner: In the 1970s, Bryan Ferry was the leader of Roxy Music, a sleek, artsy band that never broke big in America. Pity, because if it had, Bryan Ferry pinups would have adorned the walls of many a tasteful female rocker. “Secretly, I wanted to look like Jimi Hendrix, but I could never quite pull it off,” he once said. He needn’t have tried. Mr. Ferry was totally unique among the flamboyant lads of the day. A natural fashion plate, he brought subtle sophistication to the world of rock. He’s sometimes called The Electric Lounge Lizard, but that moniker makes a mockery of this ultra-refined fellow. At age of 66 he remains the epitome of British finesse – a connoisseur of fine art, haute design and beautiful woman. “Other bands wanted to wreck hotel rooms, Roxy Music wanted to redecorate them,” he once said.

Bronze Medal Winner: Okay, you’ll probably wonder why I chose Sex Pistol Sid Vicious (born John Simon Ritchie) as a style icon. The drug-addled man-child who presumably stabbed his lover Nancy Spungen to death and overdosed on heroin a few months later might be considered a sore sight for the eyes. But style-wise, he made his smudgy mark on a decade populated by glam rockers in eyeliner and feathered boas, polyester-clad disco-hoppers, golden-haired arena gods, and hairy hippies left over from the ’60s. With his ripped, safety-pinned shirts, asylum haircut, and swastika t-shirts favored by so many Brit rockers hellbent on shocking the bourgeoisie, he became the eternal poster boy for the punk movement. And he made it look so effortless. Often performing bare-chested under a leather jacket, sporting nothing more than a sneer, a padlock necklace, a bass guitar he could barely play, steel-toed boots for kicking hecklers, and the occasional message (I need a fix) self-carved into his skin with a razor blade, he was an up-yours anarchist, managing to offend nearly everyone in the Pistols’ audience and usually walking offstage covered in mucous hurled at him by so-called fans. Said street artist Shepard Fairey, who created many illustrations of the rocker, “He became one of the most recognized figures of a movement … He was almost beautifully self-destructive.” In an era of often pretentious, over-produced music, Sid, his bandmate Johnny Rotten (John Lydon), Pistols’ manager Malcom McLaren, and other outsiders waged war against the music establishment, seeking a return to the original mission of rock-n-roll: play loud, fast, balls-to-the-wall music guaranteed to antagonize authority figures. The sounds and styles created by these rebels ended up influencing a whole generation of kids who felt alienated from mainstream society. At last, everyday oddballs and geeks could stand out in the scene without having to spend a fortune on clothing or fret over how to coordinate a wardrobe. I was, and continue to be, among that crowd, proudly wearing (on a near-daily basis) the studded black leather bracelet I bought at the height of punk mania.

And now a special thank you to British designer Vivienne Westwood, who helped create the punk/new wave look of the ’70s. “I was messianic about punk, seeing if one could put a spoke in the system in some way,” she once said. Many U.K. punks bought their gear at “Let it Rock” (later known as “Sex”), the King’s Road boutique that Vivienne operated with her partner McLaren. A shrewd businesswoman, she has evolved to serve new generations of style mavens. She was awarded an Order of the British Empire (OBE) by Queen Elizabeth at Buckingham Palace in 1992, and was named Dame Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (DBE) in 2006. But lest you think the titled Ms. Westwood has become a conformist conservative, I must point out that she admits to having worn no undies on the day she received the OBE. A true punk to the end!

Feel free to vote for your own favorite ’70s scene-stealer in the comment box below. Click here to see Part One of the Style Icon Competition, The ’60s.

Yes, David, there’s life on mars.

© Dana Spiardi, August 10, 2012

Main photo of David Bowie in black jumpsuit with white lines: by Masayoshi Sukita