The Pistols’ manager Malcolm McLaren could have debuted his band at a place like New York’s grungy CBGBs, where they would have been welcomed by the type of rock fans and music writers already accustomed to punk acts like The Ramones, The Dead Boys, and other raw, edgy artists. But McLaren, a visual artist, clothing designer and boutique owner with scant music industry experience, always chose controversy over convention. His strategy was to book the Pistols into small clubs in the types of U.S. cities where he reckoned fans of traditional FM-radio rock were bound to dislike the profane, mocking punks. The more bottles, beer cans, bar food, and mucous hurled at the band, the better. The crucial figure in this scenario was McLaren’s pet Pistol John Simon Ritchie, a somewhat shy, polite boy who devolved into the stage menace known as Sid Vicious when he joined the group as a replacement bass player in early 1977 (it’s rumored he learned to play the instrument during one all-night practice marathon). Singer Johnny Rotten (John Lydon) was a sneering, flailing, wild-eyed frontman in the style of a performance artist. His bark was worse than his bite. Lead guitarist Steve Jones and drummer Paul Cook were competent musicians who wanted to be taken seriously. But it was the heroin-fueled, ready-to-rumble Sid that McLaren would count on to generate headlines and earn them all a place in rock history.
In John Savage’s excellent book England’s Dreaming: Anarchy, Sex Pistols, Punk Rock and Beyond, he explains: “The Sex Pistols were to swing through the Deep South that McLaren found so romantic in early 1975. There they would be playing to ‘real people’ in a situation that would ensure fresh confrontation.” In short, he wanted to shake people out of their long, monotonous classic-rock comas, and he had just the right cast of characters to carry out his mission.
Why McLaren chose Homestead, PA, as the place to unleash his Sex Pistols on U.S. soil is anybody’s guess. As a Pittsburgher, I assure you that our region, north of the Mason-Dixon line, is far from the Deep South and hardly the type of area too conservative to turn away a provocative act. (Wild-child Iggy played here in March 1977, with David Bowie in his backup band.) Maybe Pittsburgh’s industrial reputation pegged it as dull, out-of-step, and rife with blue-collar, shot-and-a-beer head-bangers. Or maybe McLaren found an open venue that fit his schedule and booked it, plain and simple. But, the venue he chose was anything but plain and simple. The Leona Theater, on the main drag of the bustling steel town, opened in 1925 as Stahl’s Million Dollar Theater. For generations it offered a grand setting for first run movies, vaudeville performances, early doo-wop and rock-n-roll revues, jazz concerts, folk and country performances, dance marathons, and boxing matches. In 1974 it was renamed the New Leona Concert Hall and became a popular venue for such up-and-coming artists as Elvis Costello, Blondie, Meatloaf, the aforementioned Iggy Pop, Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, and Patti Smith, who would be the last person to perform there — in July 1978 (Pittsburgh’s Iron City Houserockers opened for her). The rowdy Pistols and their fans might have done some damage to the place, but it would have made little difference at that time. Within a few years Homestead would be ranked as one of the most economically distressed cities in America, and the theater would be demolished.
But back to the tour. Plans began to go awry right from the start when authorities refused to issue visas to several band members with criminal records. This threatened to delay their departure from the U.K. Pittsburghers hoping to have the distinction of being the first Americans to witness the notorious Sex Pistols – on December 28, 1977 – started fearing the worst when concert promoter Danny Kresky Enterprises issued a second set of tickets stamped with December 29. Soon, the Leona Theater marquee was advertising a December 30 show.
In the end, the visa delay caused the Pistols to cancel the Pittsburgh concert and the following shows in Cleveland, Chicago, and Alexandria, Virginia. The two-week 1978 tour would kick off with a lackluster performance in Atlanta, and move on to Memphis, San Antonio, Baton Rouge, Tulsa, and Dallas (where Sid appeared on stage with the words “Gimme a fix” carved into his chest with a razor blade.) The entire tour was plagued by problems stemming from the band members’ infighting, their frustrations with an absentee McLaren, altercations with audiences, and Sid’s increasing drug use. They closed their tour at San Francisco’s Winterland Ballroom on January 14, with Johnny Rotten’s final words onstage as a Sex Pistol: “Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?” He quit the band the following day. After a tumultuous two-and-a-half-year run, The Pistols were now smoking guns; their impact as rock innovators and punk style icons would prove to be significant.
Within a year of the breakup Johnny Rotten reverted back to John Lydon and formed Public Image Ltd. (PiL). He still tours with the band, has hosted or appeared as a guest on numerous TV shows, wrote two memoirs, and has become an eccentric celebrity of sorts. Steve Jones and Paul Cook have enjoyed decades of success in the music business, touring and recording with various artists.
But it’s Sid who will forever be the poster boy of punk, based on nothing more than bravado, a carefully crafted appearance, and the fact that he overdosed on heroin supplied by his own mother after allegedly killing Nancy Spungen with a hunting knife at the Chelsea Hotel in October 1978. He was 21. His druggy paramour was 20. Death…it’s a great career move.
Looking back, I think the Sex Pistols would have loved Homestead. They would have felt right at home in the midst of the encroaching urban decay so reminiscent of the London streets from whence they came…the same streets that spawned a generation of disenfranchised English kids who found an outlet and identity through punk music and fashion.
Here’s a look at The Pistols, in all their filth and fury. This footage was shot at Randy’s Rodeo in San Antonio, Texas, on January 8, 1978.
© Dana Spiardi, December 29, 2015
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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
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By the time the four Pistols – Johnny “Rotten” Lydon, Steve Jones, Paul Cook, and Glen Matlock – walked on stage they were cocked and loaded. They’d just released their first single, “Anarchy in the U.K.”, and were itching to carry out the song’s manifesto. Blasé host Bill Grundy antagonized them from the start: “They’re heroes!” he scoffed. “Not the nice clean Rolling Stones.” He then announced “They’re as drunk as I am,” and proceeded to provoke the lads by sneering at the £40,000 advance they’d just received from their record company, EMI.
Guitarist Steve Jones hurled the first obscenity: “We’ve f**kin’ spent it, ain’t we?” Next came orange-haired Johnny Rotten, who said “shit” under his breath. When Grundy forced him to repeat it, he spit it out loud and clear.
Grundy then turned his attention to the ladies on stage, there as fans and no doubt thrilled to be included in this historic media moment. When punk pioneer Siouxsie Sioux of the Banshees coyly told Grundy she’d always wanted to meet him, the schnockered host suggested they “meet afterwards.” This elicited the following exchange:
Jones: You dirty sod. You dirty old man.
Grundy: Well keep going, chief, keep going. Go on. You’ve got another five seconds. Say something outrageous.
Jones: You dirty bastard.
Grundy: Go on, again.
Jones: You dirty f**ker.
Grundy: What a clever boy.
Jones: What a f**king rotter.
Was Grundy goading the insolent boys as a ploy to boost ratings? Or was he really that drunk…or stupid?
Whatever the case, British viewers were outraged. Angry callers jammed the station’s phone lines for hours, while the press savored every minute. The Daily Mirror introduced the story with this now-famous headline: “The Filth and the Fury!” The phrase was so fitting that director Julien Temple used it 20 years later as the title of his Sex Pistols documentary.
The 3-minute interview from hell ended Grundy’s career and catapulted the band to international notoriety overnight. They went on to release just one album during their three-year run – “Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols” – now considered a groundbreaking assault on the bloated world of 1970s arena rock, as well as a pointed attack on Britain’s ruling class. Iggy Pop, The New York Dolls, and The Ramones may have laid the groundwork for what would become known as punk rock, but it was the Pistols – and, in particular, Sid Vicious, who joined in 1977 – that set the standard for punk attitude and style with their safety-pinned t-shirts, jackboots, dog collars, bondage trousers, and asylum haircuts. They spit on the audience, and the audience spit back. And the band loved very minute of it. Proudly unpolished as musicians, they nonetheless influenced countless acts, from The Clash to Nirvana.
Looking back on the most controversial live TV event in U.K. history, Malcolm McLaren told The Guardian in 2007, “As simple and harmless as it seems today, that interview was a pivotal moment that changed everything. Punk became the most important cultural phenomenon of the late 20th century. Its authenticity stands out against the karaoke ersatz culture of today, where everything and everyone is for sale. Punk’s influence on music, movies, art, design and fashion is no longer in doubt. It is used as the measurement for what is cool. And we all know you cannot sell anything today if it is not cool. The only problem is that punk is not, and never was, for sale.”
No, punk ideology is not for sale, but punk fashion is, and yer blogger’s not ashamed to admit that through the years she’s spent a pauper’s fortune on spiked bracelets, padlock pendants, zipper-embellished clothing, hair-spiking gels, skull rings, and black boots galore. Viva la punk!
Here’s the famous interview. In the front row, from left, are: Johnny Rotten (John Lydon), Steve Jones, Glen Matlock, Paul Cook, and Grundy. Standing in the back are members of the Bromley Contingent, a group of Pistols fans. Siouxsie Sioux is at the far right, sporting platinum hair.
Here are the Pistols debuting “Anarchy in the U.K.” on British TV:
Dana Spiardi, Dec 1, 2012
(The photo of the Pistols with straws is by Bob Gruen).
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When Joey and bandmates John Cummings and Douglas Colvin formed The Ramones in Forest Hills, Queens, in 1974 they came up with the novel approach of having each band member take the same surname. They got the Ramones idea from a pseudonym – Paul Ramon – that Paul McCartney used when the “Silver Beetles” were touring in 1960.
The original band members included Cummings (Johnny Ramone) on guitar, Colvin (Dee Dee Ramone) on bass, and Thomas Erdelyi (Tommy Ramone) on drums. Mark Bell took over on drums in 1978 and was christened Marky Ramone. Sadly, all four of the original members are deceased.
But Joey was the heart and soul of the band. Growing up, he was taunted and bullied for his long-hair and thin lanky 6’6″ frame, and suffered from numerous ailments, including OCD. You could say that rock-and-roll saved his life. He went on to create a whole new sound and define New York punk fashion with his black Schott Perfecto leather jacket, torn jeans, striped t-shirts, and sneakers.
Joey and his crew wrote lots of upbeat power-surge music that took rock back to the days when a song was fast (two minutes or less in length), fun and stripped of pretension. In other words, they were the perfect antidote for those suffering from the likes of art-rock arena monsters like Yes, Genesis, and Pink Floyd, play-it-safe bands like Styx, Kansas, and Reo Speedwagon, and bland California acts like The Eagles and Doobie Brothers. (For the record, yer blogger has never purchased a single record by any of the aforementioned groups.) And unlike the so-called rock royalty of the day, Joey and the boys had no interest in Ritz Carltons or Lear Jets. As you can see in this photo, they weren’t ashamed to transport their guitars in paper bags on the subway (well, even if the pic was staged, it proves their everyman street-style.)
Just take a look at the titles of Ramones songs and you get a sense of their wit and irreverence: “Beat on the Brat,” “Sheena is a Punk Rocker,” “Suzy is a Headbanger,” “Everytime I Eat Vegetables It Makes Me Think of You,” “The KKK Took My Baby Away,” “Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment,” and lots of other tunes about desires and observations we all can relate to. And they surely hold the record for writing more songs with the word “wanna” in the title than any other band: “I Wanna Be Sedated,” “Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue,” “I Don’t Wanna Walk Around with You,” “Now I Wanna Be a Good Boy,” “I Wanna Be Well,” and “I Don’t Wanna Go Down to the Basement.”
Through the years Joey kept busy with lots of non-Ramones projects. He took part in Steven Van Zandt’s Artists United Against Apartheid initiative in 1985, produced a 1999 album for Ronnie Spector, and headlined the 1996 Rock the Reservation festival in Tuba, Arizona. In 2001 he performed in a studio for the last time when he sang backup vocals on “One Nation Under,” a CD released by a Native American group called Blackfire.
In November 2003 New York City officials had the hipness to rename a block of East 2nd Street in the Bowery in Joey’s honor. It’s near the former CBGB club where the Ramones got their start in 1976. The sign that marks the site was stolen and replaced four times in 2003 alone, and holds the record for the most nicked street marker in NYC history. It now stands 20 feet above ground level – quite a stretch for even the most devout fan. Hey! Ho! Let’s Go!
Here’s a video of Joey singing the Louie Armstrong classic “Wonderful World.” He recorded this song in the last year of his life. Michael Pitt, who played Jimmy on HBO’s “Boardwalk Empire,” is the guy grooving on the couch with his gal.
© Dana Spiardi, April 15, 2015
The Joey candle featured in this post is available on Etsy from BerndtOfferings. Click here to purchase it.
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Through the years, The Great and Powerful retailer has banned countless CDs on the basis of album art and song lyrics they deem distasteful or obscene. These include releases by Nirvana, Sheryl Crow, Prince, Marilyn Manson, The Goo Goo Dolls and Green Day. While profit-obsessed record company execs may take offense at Walmart’s music policing, the artists themselves probably couldn’t care less whether the world’s largest, most dehumanizing, morally righteous retail chain carries their wares — especially in the age of digital downloads. But there was one band that didn’t take kindly to a department store’s refusal to stock their record. And they sought revenge.
In the mid-1960s, a radically left-wing garage band called MC5 began making waves, both musically and politically, in their hometown of Detroit. They carried unloaded rifles onto the stage and ended performances with the lead singer falling dead from a fake sniper attack. According to guitarist Wayne Kramer, they played an 8-hour protest-driven set at the violence-filled 1968 Democratic National Convention when other musicians failed to show up. Controversy grew when band manager John Sinclair founded the White Panthers, a militant leftist organization of white people working to assist the Black Panthers. Soon afterwards he was jailed for marijuana possession.
In February 1969 the band released an album with a title that became a catch phrase: “Kick Out The Jams.” Kramer explained its meaning in an August 1970 interview with Disc & Echo magazine: “People said ‘oh wow, kick out the jams means break down restrictions,’ etc., and it made good copy, but when we wrote it we didn’t have that in mind. We first used the phrase when we were the house band at a ballroom in Detroit, and we played there every week with another band from the area. We got in the habit, being the sort of punks we are, of screaming at them to get off the stage, to kick out the jams, meaning stop jamming. We were saying it all the time and it became a sort of esoteric phrase.”
The album’s title song starts off with vocalist Rob Tyner shouting, “And right now… right now… right now it’s time to… kick out the jams, motherf**kers!” Outraged record label executives demanded the band remove the line. They refused.
Said Elektra Records founder Jac Holzman in his memoir, Follow the Music: The Life and High Times of Elektra Records in the Great Years of American Pop Culture, “We actually had ‘Kick Out The Jams’ in two versions, one with ‘motherf**ker,’ the other with ‘brothers and sisters.’ The single had ‘brothers and sisters.’ And with the album, stores could choose which version they preferred.
“Somehow, Hudson’s, the retailing gorilla of the heartland, got the wrong version and reacted with the fury of a Midwestern twister. They instantly cleansed their shelves of the record, which mightily pissed off the MC5, who took out an ad in the local underground paper, saying ‘F**K HUDSON’S,’ signed MC5, with a very visible Elektra logo, and sent me the bill! In retaliation, Hudson’s purged not only MC5 but every other Elektra album…I said to the MC5, ‘Hey, guys, you can’t do that.’ They said, ‘Jac, we thought you were part of the revolution.’ I said, ‘I’m only interested in your music.'” [The full text of MC5’s ad read: “Kick out the jams, motherf**ker! And kick in the door if the store won’t sell you the album on Elektra. F**k Hudson’s!”]
Despite the controversy, limited airplay, and poor reviews, “Kick Out the Jams” sold over 100,000 copies and spent a few weeks on the Billboard Hot 100. With its anti-establishment lyrics, rough, hard-driving rock sound, and live recording style, the album is now considered a landmark for its influence on the 1970s punk rock movement.
Nevertheless, on April 16, 1969, Elektra severed ties with MC5. The band later claimed that Holzman encouraged them to use the obscenity in the song to boost publicity. Atlantic Records quickly signed the group and released their two final albums. But by 1973 they were virtually washed-up due to problems with frequently shifting personnel.
Seven years later, punk band The Sex Pistols would top MC5 as record label outcasts. They have the distinction of being dumped by two major labels – EMI and A&M – within the course of 6 months. In fact, their drunken, destructive behavior forced A&M to drop the band within 6 days of signing a contract. Well, the third label proved to be the charm. Virgin Records released the singles that made the Pistols legends: “Anarchy in the U.K.” and “God Save the Queen.”
So here they are — the Motor City 5, better known as MC5 — performing a wild live rendition of “Kick Out the Jams,” one of the earliest punk anthems. Why are there no noisy electric guitar bands like this anymore…fronted by dancing amphetamine-fueled maniacs in tight white jeans? The band consisted of vocalist Rob Tyner, guitarists Wayne Kramer and Fred “Sonic” Smith (future husband of Patti Smith), bassist Michael Davis, and drummer Dennis Thompson.
© Dana Spiardi, April 16, 2014
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