The Sex Pistols

by Annzaunt

Nothing like a good episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer to make me start thinking about The Sex Pistols. (About now, you're probably saying, "Yeah, right.")

But if you think about it, the similarities are striking albeit set in very different contexts. The kids on Buffy are freaks, outsiders who only find themselves empowered after dark when killing mosters. During the day, they're just five nerds who can't fit in. The Sex Pistols were also misfits, but rather than remain confined within the darkness of the British class system, the Pistols demanded to be heard; they were angry outsiders who wouldn't go away--at least not until they collapsed.

A recent episode is particularly relevant. Here's the scene: Spike, that Billy Idol look-alike, the British uber-vampire, has come back to Sunnydale, though not at all his usual violent self. No, Spike has been jilted by his undead soulmate, Drusilla, and is moping about, trying to find a way to get her back. I'll spare you the details (which involve a love spell), except to say that by the end of the show, Spike's macho self-confidence has returned in full, renewed by some regenerative violence. Our last view of Spike shows him driving out of Sunnydale, enthusiastically singing along with Sid Vicious's "My Way," which is blaring from the stereo--a perfect way both to finish out this episode and to create a dialogue between a piece of 90s popular culture and the Sex Pistols, one of the great examples of rebellion.
Even though it's been just over 20 years since the Sex Pistols's swan song American tour, the band continues to be a vital part of the cultural landscape, and the parallels between Sid and Spike are not casual. Spike is the immortal, a stylish vampire paradoxically both attractive and terrifying because of his violence. And he does resemble Billy Idol, a staple in England's early punk movement. Although Sid Vicious wasn't a vampire, he has been repeatedly been compared to a different monster: Frankenstein. Such a comparison is not entirely unfitting given his tall, emaciated body, his pale skin, his love of black clothes and the heavy biker boots. And, of course, there is the notion of "Sid Vicious" (aka John Simon Richie) as a construct, a publicity draw created by Malcolm McLaren, who finds, like any good creator, that he has made something he cannot control. (I'm not sure, however, that the Drusilla/Nancy comparison hold up here.)

And like Spike, Sid has had an active "undead" life," with his myth continuing to grow after his death. Sid never entered the company of the "glamorous undead"--those like Elvis, Princess Diana, and Jim Morrison, who may still be alive somewhere in South America--because he becomes more interesting dead. You know, it's the old "live hard, leave a pretty corpse" romantic notion. (Oddly enough, Spike has done this.) Sid lives on as an icon, as an attitude, as a fashion statement, and as a tattoo (the ultimate compliment).

Of course, Sid appropriated "My Way" from "The Chairman of the Board" himself, Frank Sinatra. Sinatra couldn't have been pleased with Sid's cover, especially considering his feelings about rock and roll. As he noted in 1957, "[It} is the most brutal, ugly, degenerate, vicious form of expression it has been my misfortune to hear. . . . It is sung, played and written for the most part by cretinous goons and by means of its almost imbecilic reiteration and sly--lews, in plain fact--dirty lyrics. . . . It manages to be the martical music of every side-burned delinquent on the fact of the earth." While Sinatra used this song to show how he had beaten the system, refusing to give in and, ultimately, winning by his own rules, Sid takes Sinatra's ideas to another level, though while Sinatra was accepted, the Sex Pistols were feared because of what they represented and their threat to the system.

Although Sid and Frank are both gone, the Sex Pistols' legacy lives on, for Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols remains every bit as vital in 1998 at it was in 1977. Many of the problems the Pistols addressed then continue to exist--some would argue even worsen. Perhaps most interesting is the British class system the Sex Pisolts revolted against. There was, after all, the scandal that arose from the Pistols' revision of the Queen's image, their use of safety pins to comment on how they viewed the British class system and government. And while we've certainly seen the Royal Family making some concessions, the fact that they continue to exist, a reminder of a monarchic past, attests to the continuance of the problem.

This got me thinking about Diana's death and her sudden coronation as "The People's Princess." The country's--indeed, the world's--response was one of a dear friend being taken away. In fact, Diana was little more than fodder for the tabloids. She was a wealthy divorcee who photographed well and campaigned again landmines but still spent most of her time wearing designer clothes, hobnobbing with the rich and famous, staying in mansions, and vacationing in exotic locations. There's nothing democratic about it. Image the upcry if a band began defacing Diana's picture. Everything the Sex Pistols hated is still in place; it's simply gotten a facelift.

The Pistols' Do-it-yourself sound and attitude are antithetical to this. Never Mind the Bollocks remains as timely today as it was in 1977. The rage of its message is as immediate, and there's still something about hearing the opening of "Anachary in the UK" that's vital as we approach the end of the 20th Century. At a time when the "music industry" is controlled by numbers, executives, and major labels, the Sex Pistols are a reminder that there's more to it, that art must remove itself from that environment--indeed, criticize it--and that rock and roll has always been about breaking rules, not moving units.

Annotated Bibliography

The following annotated bibliography is designed to give readers a sense of what's out there on The Sex Pistols, who, ironically, became their own little industry as opposed to their early anarchist vision. Anyone who's just beginning to read about punk would be advised to start with pretty much the pimer of punk rock, Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain's Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk (Penguin, 1996). While this primarily focuses on American punk, The Sex Pistols receive treatment, and it does a good job of providing a context for reading about punk--American and British.

Butt, Malcolm. Sid Vicious: Rock and Roller.

While this one's got great pictures (all black-and-white), but that's about the only thing going for Sid Vicious. Just who Malcolm Butt is remains unknown, and the text consists of bland narrative description taken from other sources that are poorly acknowledged. (Well, there's this little "acknowledgments" blurb buried on the copyright page where Rotten isn't even mentioned even though Butt draws heavily from him.) There's no sense that Butt did anything but regurgitate--rather badly--what others have already said.

Dalton, David. El Sid: Saint Vicious. New York: St. Martin's Griffin, 1998. 228 pages.

Dalton uses a distinctive voice to describe the life and time of John Simon Ritchie and, by extension, The Sex Pistols. What becomes clear from the get-go is that Dalton is having a great time, and he uses an irreverent tone in describing his subject as well as "excerpts" from a fictional Sid diary. While his prose and use of a Cockney accent take some getting used to, Dalton offers new insight into Sid. Perhaps most interesting is his defense of Nancy, for while she has traditionally been vilified for "killing" Sid, Dalton views her as a trouble, sympathetic figure who fell in love with someone equally troubled. Nancy was, according to Dalton, a "punk rocker's dream girl"--and it's inconsistent for fans of the destructive Vicious to expect him to act any differently in his relationships.

El Sid has no pictures, but such an omission is consistent with Dalton's approach. While pictures of Sid are easy to find, Dalton wants us to visualize a new Sid Vicious--one who is more than a padlock, spiky hair, and biker boots. Here, the reader participates in a new construction of Sid Vicious--ironically, much like the audience did in the creation of the original.

Dalton also includes an annotated bibliography, though there are some errors.

Gruen, Bob. Chaos: The Sex Pistols. New York: Omnibus, 1990. 126 pages.

If you're into pictures of The Sex Pistols, this is the book for you. Gruen is the renown rock photographer who was with the band throughout their career--even on the road in America--and took that famous "straws" shot. While most of the pictures are b&w, the color shots are a treat, and Gruen has also provded some text to contextualize photos as well as to explain his relationship with the band. You have to get past the gruesome cover shot of Sid eating a hotdog, but this is an engaging book.

Kent, Nick. "Sid Vicious--The Exploding Dim-Wit." The Dark Stuff: Selected Writings on Rock Music, 1972-1995. New York: Da Capo. 9 pages.

While not lengthy, Kent's essay bears mentioning for a couple of reasons. The first is his description of Sid's obsession with Bob Gruen's biker boots--Kent even describes Sid plotting to kill the photographer if need be. (Reading this in light of Gruen's take on the scene is intersting.) Kent also tells of something I've read in no other source: A casette tape made recorded by a journalist while Sid was waiting for an ambulence after an overdose. Kent's writing is, as always, imminently readable, and the other essays are a treat as well.

Lydon, John, Keith Zimmerman, and Kent Zimmerman. Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs. New York: Picador, 1994. 329 pages.

John Lydon's very readable autobiography details his Irish family, sickly childhood, and rebellious adolescence, laying the foundation for Johnny Rotten as well as the rise and fall of The Sex Pistols. His writing here is smart, angry, and articulate--how many rock icons reveal that they've based their stage persona on Shakespeare's Richard III? Lydon also denies the "Situationist Link" ("The Situationists had no situation--no rules, no regulations. That's their apparent philosophy. But the trouble was that they thought about `organized' chaos. They were too structured for my liking, word games and no work") and criticizes Malcolm McLaren at length. Rotten also has a nice mix of Lydon family pictures and Sex Pistols pictures.

Some of the most compelling material in this book is Lydon's assessment of his friend Sid Vicious. He describes giving Sid his name and later notes, "I could have helped Sid more. If only I hadn't been lazy and washed my hands of him like Pontius Pilate. That's something I'll have to carry to the grave with me."

"Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?"

Not with this one.

Marcus, Greil. Lipstick Traces: A Secret History of the 20th Century. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1989. 497 pages.

Written by celebrated rock critic Greil Marcus, Lipstick Traces attempts an erudite treatment of music and philosophy, linking the French Situationists to The Sex Pistols. The prose is vintage Marcus--translation: unreadable. Marcus tries (I think) to replicate Situationist/Punk ideology by not footnoting sources (there are notes in the back, but nothing connecting them to relevant text), and by including headings are worthless. Moreover, Marcus fails to examine the role that British culture and Sid Vicious (who rates only cursory treatment and is referred to as "the crudest, cheesiest, stupidest member of the band") played in the formation of the band. When Marcus spends two pages on the all-girl British punk band The Slits, he never seems to figure out that gender probably played a substantial role in their attitude. (Ignoring women has been a consistent fault in Marcus's writing.)

John Lydon says he wrote Rotten, in part, to correct those who would link the Situationists to The Sex Pistols--and his argument is far more convincing and readable than Marcus's.

Monk, Noel, and Jimmy Guterman. 12 Days on the Road with The Sex Pistols in America. New York: Quill-William Morrow, 1990. 239 pages.

Written by The Sex Pistol's American Road Manager, 12 Days details the end. Monk, clearly someone who truly loves rock and roll, has produced a readable account that first gives background information and then describes, day-by-day, his adventures in the South with the band. This book is remarkable for a number of reasons: It puts the readers behind the scenes of an "event"; Monk creates a fascinating portrait of a band collapsing--and its "manager" who is never present; and it's just plain fun to read. Particularly affective is Monk's description of Vicious, whom Monk finds himself baby-sitting.

It takes awhile to get used to Monk's use of a third-person narrator (I assume to create a sense of objectivity), and the first 30 pages are slow but this one is a powerful read, especially given that the reader know how the story will end. Great pictures, too.

Spungen, Deborah. And I Don't Want to Live This Life. New York: Ballantine, 1983. 387 pages.

This is a mother's heartbreaking account of her daughter's life and death. Deborah Spungen, upper-middle class wife, mother, and businesswoman, describes the life of her eldest daughter, an undiagnosed schizophrenic, famous groupie, and lover of Sid Vicious. Spungen details the family's attempts to find help for her troubled child when none existed; instead, Nancy almost destroyed her family and, ultimately, does destroy herself.

While the entire book is compelling, four points particularly stand out. When Deborah visits a 19-year-old Nancy in New York, the mother-daughter outing involves Nancy's picking up her stripping assignment and then visiting a Methadone clinic. Another episode, which can only be described as surreal, involves Nancy bringing Sid home to meet the family. Deborah's first thoughts on seeing Sid: "My daughter was dating Frankenstein." Deborah's treatment of Nancy's death is particularly troubling as she describes the insensitivity of public officials, the press, and the public. There are also Sid's communications with Deborah following Nancy's death--and this is not the Sid seen in the media. Sid called Deborah once and sent her two notes, always expressing his devastation at Nancy's death as well as his need for Deborah's understanding and support--something she is, understandably, reluctant to give. However, Deborah finds herself conflicted, both scared by the possibility of Sid's violence while drawn to their shared suffering. That the book's title is taken from a poem Sid wrote for Nancy suggests Deborah's uneasy truce.

Vermorel, Fred, and Judy Vermorel. The Inside Story: Sex Pistols. 1987. 239 pages.

It's unfortunate this one's out of print, for it provides a fascinating look at the Pistols, their rise and fall, and their organization. The Vermorels, old friends of McLaren's, have brought together interviews (both their own and those from other sources) with newspaper accounts and various other sources--perhaps the most interesting if McLaren's secretary's diary which gives a fascinating behind-the-scenes (what little "scene" there was) of McLaren's operation. This is one of the most helpful books out there on the Sex Pistols; if you ever find a copy, grab it.