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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That’s right. When art director Robert Fraser and designers Jann Haworth and Sir Peter Blake began working with the band to conceptualize the cover art for “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” they told each Beatle to compile a list of people they admired. Their idea was to create life size cardboard models of these characters and place them in the background, as an “audience” behind the Pepper band. The affable Ringo forfeited his choices to the others, who settled on such diverse characters as Shirley Temple, Carl Jung, and Lenny Bruce. The ever sardonic John Lennon suggested two historical figures bound to cause controversy: Jesus Christ and Adolf Hitler. Excluding JC from the cover was a no-brainer: John’s 1966 “Beatles are bigger than Christ” remark had already caused enough of a brouhaha. But convincing him to forgo Hitler took some persuading. The designers went so far as to create and place a cardboard model of the Nazi leader on the set. A picture from a March 30, 1967, photo session clearly shows a non-uniformed Hitler standing to the right of hand-waving writer Stephen Crane. In fact, Der Führer remained in the final shot, unseen, hidden behind Tarzan actor Johnny Weissmuller, who stands directly behind Ringo.
What was John thinking? Sure, he loved black humor, but this clearly crossed the boundaries of satire. I guess the bigger question is: Why have so many British artists had a fascination with Hitler, with Nazi fashion and, in some cases, with fascist philosophy? It’s intrigued me for years. In this two-part article I’ll attempt to provide some insight — hopefully, without appearing to excuse, justify or make light of truly bad behavior.
Let’s start with the Nazi uniform itself – one of the Third Reich’s greatest works of propaganda. Its dashing look was designed to attract followers and instill fear in the enemy. It conveyed German power, pride, and superiority. Quite simply, it was a “bad ass” uniform. Perhaps that’s one reason so many British rock rebels have donned Nazi garb through the years. Or is there more to it than that? Were they merely mocking Hitler? According to journalist Nigel Farndale, in a column that appeared in the January 2005 issue of The Telegraph following the uproar over photos of Prince Harry in full Nazi regalia: “Dressing up as Nazis…belongs to a long British comedy tradition dating back to [British sitcoms] Dad’s Army, ‘Allo ‘Allo, and Fawlty Towers and, before them, to Charlie Chaplin.”
Oh, now I get it. Combine British tradition with mind-altering drugs and machismo posturing and you get stage-strutting rock stars sporting SS attire of all types. Led Zeppelin guitar god Jimmy Page Nazi-fied himself during at least one 1977 concert, wearing knee-high jack boots, black shirt and pants, a white scarf, sunglasses, and an SS officers cap, complete with the Nazi “death head” insignia. According to über-groupie Pamela Des Barres, who spent many a night with Page, his fetish extended beyond the stage; she said he liked to visit transvestite clubs dressed in full Nazi regalia.
Rolling Stones bad boy Keith Richards’ motto is “keep it dark,” and that philosophy applies to his fashion sense, as well. British blues singer Terry Reid described the guitarist’s attire following the wedding of Mick and Bianca Jagger in 1971: “By and by we could hear a clanking noise growing ever louder. It was coming down the corridor towards us. Clanking and rattling; very weird. All of a sudden it stopped right outside. The door swung open, and everyone did a double take. A man stood on the threshold. He was in full Nazi uniform. He seemed to be standing to attention, all SS tunic, with an Iron Cross or two dangling round his neck, and black jackboots. It was Keith.” Mr. Richards’ penchant for Nazi fashion began early: In 1965 he appeared with the Stones on the Ed Sullivan show, wearing a German Panzer Division tunic.
Even the less rebellious Mick Jagger, now Sir Mick, was once spotted wearing a swastika t-shirt. But former Rolling Stone Brian Jones went much further. He loved to play dress-up and probably thought he looked quite fetching in his form-fitting Nazi garb.
Supposedly, his then-girlfriend, Italian-German actress Anita Pallenberg, persuaded him to don the uniform in 1966 for the cover of Danish magazine Børge. It’s worth noting that Anita was just as scary as many Nazis. It was probably her idea to have him crush the doll with his foot.
In a January 1967 interview with music journalist Keith Altham, Brian defended himself, saying: “Really, I mean with all that long hair in a Nazi uniform, couldn’t people see that it was a satirical thing? How can anyone be offended when I’m on their side? I’m not a Nazi sympathizer.” Yet, sources say the long gone Jones slipped into his SS gear on more than one occasion. I can just picture him swooning over himself in the mirror.
But it was Who drummer Keith “the loon” Moon who played the Hitler role to the hilt, sometimes staying in character for days on end, according to his ex-wife Kim. He loved to visit pubs and restaurants decked out in full Nazi attire, often accompanied by sidekick Viv Stanshall of the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band. The two created quite a disturbance with their alcohol-charged “heil Hitlering” and boot heel-clicking. In an extraordinary display of bad taste, he even paraded around London’s Jewish neighborhoods in the get-up.
There’s no evidence that Moon embraced Nazi ideals — or any ideals, for that matter. Booze-related delirium turned him into a class clown gone berserk. He was convinced an Indian couple, a Mr. and Mrs. Singh, was living in his head, spurring his destructive behavior. Whether or not they commanded him to dress like Hitler, we’ll never know. He died from his excesses in 1978.
And then there’s Motörhead frontman Lemmy Kilmister. With his mutton chops and saggy mole-ridden face, he would never be considered a man of vanity (I mean, it would take a dermatologist exactly 2 minutes to remove those marble-sized moles). Yet, when it comes to clothing and accessories, he values “the look” as much as any performer.
Says Lemmy, “From the beginning of time, the bad guys always had the best uniforms. Napoleon, the Confederates, the Nazis. They all had killer uniforms. I mean, the SS uniform is f…king brilliant! They were the rock stars of that time.” Hmmm. Despite the fact that he collects Nazi memorabilia, has an Iron Cross encrusted on his bass guitar, and frequently dons a Nazi cap (for which he was almost arrested in Germany, which forbids the wearing of Third Reich items), he maintains that he is “anti-communism, fascism, any extreme.” He says he collects Nazi paraphernalia as “a safety valve to stop that form of government ever existing again.” Okay, whatever. It’s still tasteless. I would bet my life that American rednecks do not display confederate flags as a “safety valve” against slavery ever existing again.
In the mid-1970s, Third Reich symbols became part of the uniform of the burgeoning punk rock movement. You can put some of the blame on designer and Sex Pistols manager Malcolm McLaren. Imagine, a bar mitzvahed boy who spent 6 years in a private Jewish school churning out Nazi-inspired fashion! His Jewish grandmother told him, “to be bad is good, and to be good is boring.” He and his partner, now-Dame Vivienne Westwood, sold items such as swastika-embellished clothing, SS handkerchiefs, and Gestapo buddy rings in their shop called Sex. Westwood said they aimed to de-mystify the swastika. That subtle concept was lost on the likes of headline-grabbing Sex Pistols Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious, who loved Nazi gear.
Most disturbingly, the Pistols released two tasteless songs that referenced an infamous Nazi concentration camp: “Belsen is a Gas,” and “Holidays in the Sun” (I don’t wanna holiday in the sun / I wanna go to the new Belsen / I wanna see some history). In a January 25, 2005, article for The Telegraph, journalist Nigel Farndale asked former Pistols guitarist Steve Jones to explain the band’s thinking with regards to Nazi imagery. Jones replied, “We weren’t finking [he means thinking] at all. It just seemed like a good way of shocking people and having a laugh.” Seriously, who laughs at songs about concentration camps?
Punk rocker Siouxsie Sioux of The Banshees sums up the Nazi fascination this way: “It was an anti-mums and dads thing. We hated older people always harping on about Hitler – we showed him – and that smug pride. It was a way of watching someone like that go completely red-faced.” She goes on: “The culture around then, it was Monty Python, Basil Fawlty, Freddie Starr, The Producers’ Springtime For Hitler…And you know what? I have to be honest, but I do like the Nazi uniform. I shouldn’t say it, but I think it’s a very good-looking uniform…It’s almost like you feel like saying, ‘Aw, come on. Nazis — they’re brilliant.’ Political correctness becomes imprisoning. It’s very…what’s the word? It’s being very Nazi! It’s ironic, but this PC-ness is so f..cking fascist.” Now there’s a pretty convoluted take on freedom of expression.
Joy Division was another Nazi-conscious punk rock group from that era. The band’s name sprang from a 1955 novella called House of Dolls, by Holocaust survivor Yehiel De-Nur. (He used his prisoner number – Ka-tzetnik 135633 – in his pen name.) In his book he refers to concentration camp “Joy Divisions” (a fictitious name for actual camp brothels), in which Jewish women were kept as sex slaves for Nazi officers, guards, and favored prisoners. Supposedly, the band members’ fathers fought in World War II, and they wanted a name that referenced the audacity of the Holocaust. I fail to see the point. Furthermore, the band’s “An Ideal for Living” LP featured a drawing of a Hitler Youth member on the cover! Joy Division incited even more controversy when they renamed themselves “New Order,” a concept that was featured in Hitler’s Mein Kampf. Yet, band members maintained that they never had Nazi sympathies.
I do need to point out another type of punk rock that clearly was anti-Semitic, performed by neo-Nazis and white supremacist “skinheads” who proudly publicized their fascist fanaticism. These bands are so obscure and disgusting that their names aren’t worth mentioning. Even Jello Biafra, a man with the gall to name his punk band The Dead Kennedys, deplored these haters, penning a song with the title, ”Nazi Punks F..k Off!” The Nazi skinhead punks were giving the so-called mainstream punks a bad name. Imagine that.
In part two we’ll take a look at three British A-listers who never donned Third Reich symbols, but – more disturbingly – voiced some mighty shocking views at the height of their fame.
The image below is a painting by the late artist Guy Peellaert, from Rock Dreams, the book he co-published with rock journalist Nik Cohn. It presents a series of fantasy pictures of popular rock bands and artists – often portrayed at their imaginary worst. This depiction of the Rolling Stones was probably inspired by Brian Jones’s Nazi portrait. It is NOT meant to imply that the Stones were Third Reich followers or pedophiles. As offensive as it is, I’m including it because it’s such a powerful statement of how one artist perceived rebellion and decadence run amok.
“Heil, Heil, Rock-n-Roll. What’s With Brit Rockers and the Third Reich. Part Two. Click here.
© Dana Spiardi, Aug 19, 2013
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