Lydon John - Rotten: no Irish, no Blacks, no dogs: the authorized autobiography: Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Please note: Most of the photos that appear in this book are more of a personal nature than the usual Sex Pistol pictures you have come to expect. To the best of my knowledge, very few of these have been seen. Since they were taken by my family and mates, youll notice the deliberate lack of flash and polish. Some even take on an unintentional surreal quality. All Sex Pistols shots were taken by John Gray. Regrettably very few candid shots of Sid exist in my collection. However, Ive included one of my favorites of Sid, Nancy and me, depicting life in a rotten living room. If you want posed Sid shots, consult other publications, none of which I recommend.

INSIDE ENDPAPERS : Arsenal!! (John Stevens)

CAST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Paul Cook, the drummer

Caroline Coon, the journalist

John Gray, the boyhood mate

Bob Gruen, the American photographer

Chrissie Hynde, the Pretender

Billy Idol, the Generation Xer

Steve Jones, the guitarist

Jeanette Lee, the Kings Road shopkeeper

Don Letts, the reggae deejay

John Christopher Lydon, the father

John Lydon, Johnny Rotten, the singer

Nora, as Nora

Marco Pirroni, the Ant

Rambo, the Arsenal football hooligan

Zandra Rhodes, the fashion designer

Dave Ruffy, the Rut

Steve Severin, the Banshee

Paul Stahl, the soul boy turned punk

Julien Temple, the filmmaker

Howard Thompson, the A&R man

Much has been written about the Sex Pistols. Much of it has been either sensationalism or journalistic psychobabble. The rest has been mere spite.

This book is as close to the truth as one can get, looking back on events from the inside. All the people in this book were actually there, and this book is as much their point of view as it is mine. This means contradictions and insults have not been edited, and neither have the compliments, if any. I have no time for lies or fantasy, and neither should you.

Enjoy or die.

JOHN LYDON

SEGMENT 01:

NEVER MIND THE SITUATIONISTS; THIS WAS SITUATION COMEDY

THE MORNING AFTER WINTERLAND, SAN FRANCISCO, JANUARY 15, 1978

Ever get the feeling youve been cheated? My famous last words on stage. The Sex Pistols ended the way they beganin utter disaster. Everything between was equally disastrous. That last Winterland gig was a failure, and I knew it more than anyone.

The night of the gig I didnt even have a hotel room. The morning after I still didnt have a hotel room, did I? At least not with the band. Malcolm McLaren said there wasnt any room left for me and Sidney. So Sid and I slept with the road crew in a motel in San Jose, fifty miles outside San Francisco.

One of the reasons I stayed with Sid Vicious on the bus during the American tour, driving, rather than flying, from state to state, gig to gig, was to keep him away from drugs. He had already developed a keen problem back in London. The idea was to keep him clean. Thats what infuriated me so much. The minute we hit San Francisco, somehow or other, Sid managed to escape and get himself a whole parcel of heroin. Funny, that. Some would call that a coincidence. That buggered him up. Totally. As a result, dear reader, the Winterland show was a disaster.

We never had a decent sound on stage. I dont even remember the sound check. Winterland held about five thousand and was almost as big a hall as we had ever played. We were touted as the new Rolling Stones. It was horrible. Once anything got to a level of importance, the Pistols were let downnot by ourselves, but by the people who should have been looking out for us. I couldnt understand why on earth Boogie, our British road manager, was behind the PA desk mixing the sound. At a major gig like this one, we should have had a professional sound engineer. It was awful, wasnt it? It was worse where I was standing, center stage. You were lucky if you were in the audience; you didnt have to put up with the feedback on stage. I couldnt hear bugger all, except Steves guitar, which was constantly out of tune. Its very hard when you cant hear what youre doing. You cant tell. No monitors on stage were working. They were all feeding back.

That kind of distraction would normally not get in the way, but it did that night in San Francisco. People expected too much from us. Bill Graham, the promoter, moved the gear off the stage and arranged a party afterward. I was told I wasnt allowed in. At my own gig! I was told to go away after the way I had behaved.

We hated each other at that point. I hated the whole scenario. It was a farce; I realized that from our first week of rehearsals as a band back in 1975. I must have left that band so many times. We all did. It was just nonstop. In and out. I walked off stage loads of times at gigs. The only one who really did go was Glen Matlock, our original bass player whom Sid replaced. But that made us all very happy. Things improved no end the minute he exited. Bringing Sid in brought a sense of chaos that I liked. Yes, Glen was responsible for a lot of the original tunesif you want to call them that. He had a softening effect. Glen wanted to turn the whole thing into a sort of a Bay City Rollers scene and for us to look like some Soho poofs. Can you believe that? This was his image of the Sex Pistols: awful white plastic shoes, tight red pants. Really, really awful. Phony gay image.

Who put the Pistols together? Not Malcolm, really. Born out of a clothes store he owned? Thats the pop myth. There were several people in the band before I came along. The first connection with the store, I suppose, was that Glen worked there. Whatever they were up to before, they were nothing like what they became once I joined up! They had no image. No point. No nothing. No purpose to it other than making really lousy Small Faces and imitation Who noises. It was vile. Really, really bad, but I liked it.

They all bitched at the first rehearsals about how I couldnt sing, which was true. I still cant, and I dont really want to. The kind of records they were playingif they call that singingwere awful. The Faces must have been the worst band on the earth to model yourself after. Acting drunk. Teetering around the stage. That was the kind of thing Glen liked. He thought it was clever. I didnt. I thought it disgusting pub rock.

Quirky little pop songs is what they wanted. You should have seen their faces when I slapped the lyrics down to Anarchy in the U.K. It was classic. I wish I had had a camera. God Save the Queen was the final reason Glen left; he couldnt handle those kinds of lyrics. He said it declared us fascists. I agreed with him. Just to get rid of him, I didnt deny it. I dont think being an anti-Royalist makes you a fascist. Quite the opposite. Silly ass. Isnt he?

There was no progress or advancement all the way through the Pistols. While we were touring America, there were large periods of not doing anything at all. However, I was constantly writing. Turns out I wrote a lot of songs for my next group, Public Image Limited, during that period. But I could not get the Pistols interested. They wanted to go back to that quirky little Who ditty thing. Songs about religion absolutely killed them. You cant sing that! Youll get arrested! Well, I fucking hoped so. That was the whole point.