• God Saved the Queen, But Not the Sex Pistols

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    Author's
    Note To Parents: This column contains foul language and has been
    rated "R" by me. It couldn't be avoided.

    The most
    primitive work of art also can express the strongest experience,
    and it speaks to us, if only we let it.
    ~ Ludwig von Mises

    In
    the dying days of 1978 a friend of mine blessed with a very cool
    uncle received a Christmas gift, the Sex Pistols’ one and only album
    Never
    Mind the Bullocks, Here's the Sex Pistols
    . From the opening
    goosesteps of Holidays in the Sun it was a "who is this"
    moment for me, and when the band paused mid-song in Bodies to
    come roaring right back with "f__k this! and f__k that!"
    I swore on my honor that I would sneak this album past parental
    guard and into my collection, I did snuck, and it was good. Punk
    had arrived for a young Cyd Malone and for some time afterwards
    all other music sucked. Outside of my wife, punk was my longest
    relationship, a faithful one until hearing U2's Boy
    for the first time made me stray.

    Despite
    not being the first punk band (that designation likely belongs to
    Television) and despite not releasing the first UK punk single (the
    Damned's New
    Rose
    took that honor) the Sex Pistols displayed a marked
    ability to generate scads of publicity, had loads of musical talent,
    and were in the right place at the right time. It was the Sex Pistols
    who set established notions about what was music on their head and
    introduced punk to England; in much the same way that Run DMC's
    Raising
    Hell
    and Nirvana's Nevermind
    introduced the world to rap and grunge.

    In
    the business of music there are moments that can be identified with
    growth of a new product, in this case the product being sound. You
    will be able to tell when that moment arrives by trendsetters announcing
    "a new sound." Sometimes it is all part of a pre-packaged
    marketing scheme but sometimes it isn't.

    The
    latter moment arrived on November 26, 1976 with the UK release of
    the band's first single Anarchy
    in the UK
    . It was anything but a marketing scheme, the Sex
    Pistols were upon England, sometime soon to travel with a cool uncle
    into America, and into the life of a very grateful nine-year-old
    boy.

    Their
    music had anything but an easy time finding me.

    This
    Is England

    Out came
    the batons and
    the British warned themselves
    ~
    The Clash

    The
    Sex Pistols were birthed among the mounds of garbage that covered
    London during their formative years – the result – as
    Johnny Rotten remembers, of "a garbage strike that went on
    for years and years," and there we have a statement which has
    "unions with political backing" screaming at the top of
    its lungs.

    It
    was a time of economic depression and unemployment that was the
    highest since the Second World War. Public spending was running
    at 45 percent of everyone's earnings, and according to Jon Savage's
    England's
    Dreaming
    , "state control, through nationalized industries
    and a vast bureaucracy, seemed to be on the way to Orwell's dystopia."
    Mid-1970s England looked much like my New York City during the same
    period. Socialism had shot its bolt.

    Johnny
    Lydon remembers that "clearly the old way wasn't working,"
    and it would soon result in a swing towards liberty, but not just
    yet. The Sex Pistols, a bunch of teenagers who had no political
    consciousness, were merely a burst of rage at a system that was
    smothering them and so many of their fellows.

    The
    Sex Pistols message of "no future" meshed beautifully
    with an English tabloid press "full of apocalyptic rhetoric."
    The tabloids — like pit bulls, only less polite – were experts in
    yellow journalism. Jon Savage relates the media's "'live in
    fear', there are enemies within" credo, and the Sex Pistols – who took a liking to wearing swastikas and clothing that looked
    as if pulled from a rag picker's pile – fit their business model's
    required villain to the T.

    Not
    that they would have had it any other way. Repulsive and rude to
    polite society, the people who made up the actual group were not
    the kind of people you'd want living next door to you, let's harbor
    no delusions.

    Paul
    Cook, who would play drums, and Steve Jones, who would play guitar
    and start it all off by pestering a small-time businessman named
    Malcolm McLaren to promote them, were street kids who came from
    "a sprawling council state that, despite the benefits of thirties
    town planning, were as much a rabbit warren as the slums of Dickens's
    London."

    "Steve,"
    remembered an old buddy, "was going to be a petty criminal,
    as simple as that," and by the time he was not yet twenty years,
    he had already been convicted of (sing along now) "burglary,
    breaking and entering, stealing ignition keys, theft of a motor
    vehicle, and driving without a license while uninsured and under
    age." So admission to Oxford was looking increasingly sketchy.

    But
    all was not lost, because young Mr. Jones was nothing if not adaptable,
    and he used his skills as a burglar to outfit the Sex Pistols by
    stealing equipment from bands that came to tour the local area.
    Johnny Rotten claimed at the time to be "singing into David
    Bowie's microphones," and if that's not a true story, I don't
    care because it should be.

    The
    band's most normal member was the bass-player Glen Matlock, who
    was the "only competent musician in the group" and would
    write the tunes. Steve Jones remembers that "I never really
    got on with Glen, I found him a bit poncified, he weren't one of
    the lads," and that combined with his much maligned taste for
    the Beatles, Kinks, and Rolling Stones would keep him in perpetual
    outsider status, but not as outside as the eventual lead singer,
    the charismatic Johnny Lydon, soon to be blessed "Johnny Rotten"
    due to the state of his teeth.

    Thanks
    to an extraordinary mother, who home schooled a young Johnny after
    he suffered a mind erasing illness, life granted him the advantage
    of a superior education combined with a natural intelligence – and
    an insufferable arrogance. "He's more of an intellectual, John,"
    remembers Steve Jones and "he seemed like a real prick,"
    an opinion which seemed to be rather widespread.

    The
    young Johnny Rotten was "barely tolerated" by the rest
    of the group — including the Malcolm McLaren — and this, combined
    with the British tabloids whipping up their readership into a lather
    over the mortal threat to their children embodied by the Sex Pistols,
    must have made Johnny a lonely boy at a trying time.

    And
    a physically endangered boy to boot. A newscaster from the time
    described the Sex Pistols as being a great threat to England's very
    existence, equaling that of the Commie Red Hordes and "hyperinflation."
    Such inane stupidity emanating from the mouths of Britain's chattering
    class put Johnny Rotten in harm's way on a personal level. Before
    time mellowed him and gave him a penthouse suite in Hotel California
    he was knifed, slashed, and physically attacked by gangs of royalists.

    It
    got to the point where he recalls, "I just wanted out of the
    country," and it's a shame it got that bad — he didn't have
    any particular animosity towards his fellow countrymen.

    "You
    don't write a song like God Save the Queen because you hate
    the British race but because you love them (and notice he said them
    rather than it) and you hate the way they're being treated,"
    he relates. He shows pride in his fellow British at a point in The
    Filth and the Fury when he talks of that most English of stereotypes,
    their wit under duress.


    Through relentless touring and hard work, the Sex Pistols built
    themselves enough of a buzz to attract the attention of EMI, the
    BBC of the English music industry. Their October 1976 signing on
    to EMI's roster started off the show, and gave punk its entrée
    to society. It wouldn't be an easy ride.

    Their
    music was banned by BBC from airplay, their album when released
    was pulled from retail stores, some of which fell under attack,
    and any concert they tried to play publicly was more likely than
    not to be cancelled, all done with the approval of their fellow
    citizens, some of whom physically attacked the band members.

    Forget
    GDP per capita, a better measure of a people's level of civilization
    is in how they respond to those who disagree and/or are different.
    In the case of the Sex Pistols, the people of England were found
    wanting.

    EMI…

    We wanted
    to sign with a big label, we were a proper band and we wanted
    to get our music out to as many people as possible.
    ~
    Glen Matlock, 2006

    There
    are certain bands that you just know are every bit the lunatic
    fringe they claim to be, they hold a certain something that no marketing
    team can create, only enhance. Therefore, you also know that they
    are not going to be around for long, you can just mentally picture
    the train wreck coming. Guns-n-Roses and Nirvana gave off that glow.
    The Sex Pistols burned fast and bright, and their time as an actual
    creative unit was short, ending with Glen Matlock's departure from
    the band in February 1977. EMI had dropped them from their contract
    a short time before.

    One
    of the main precipitating causes of their short shelf life was the
    infamous television appearance on Bill Grundy's show. It would propel
    them to fame, yet destroy the band at the same time. Their reputation
    would smother them.

    Once
    again showing God's infinite sense of humor, it was England's pro-union
    stance, surely designed to "preserve jobs" (in embalming
    fluid if necessary) that directly contributed to the widespread
    marketing of the Sex Pistols to all of England's youth.

    Understand – unions held the English people in quite a good headlock those
    days. Steve Jones, the band's guitarist, remembers "everyone
    was on the dole," not surprising in a place as union friendly
    and anti-worker as was 1970s England. In Brian Southall's Sex
    Pistols — 90 Days at EMI
    , a slender, 150 page book about
    a music band, unions are mentioned four times.

    Besides
    the aforementioned garbage guild, we have us a gravediggers guild
    up in Liverpool, threatening to force the living "to bury people
    in the Mersey estuary" if their demands weren't met, an "all-important
    musicians union" holding up a music video from Queen, and an
    EMI executive "getting a rap over the knuckles for breaching
    union rules and almost causing a walk-out at the factory" for
    trying to rush a marketing piece out to the company's sales force.

    The
    infamous Grundy interview catapulted the Sex Pistols to overnight
    notoriety in their native land much like the Ed Sullivan show catapulted
    the Beatles to fame in New York City. It was set into motion because
    while the original schedule called for Queen's Somebody to Love
    video to entertain the teatime TV crowd, "the video wasn't
    cleared by the all-important Musicians Union" and hence empty
    airtime. Someone had the poor foresight to suggest the Sex Pistols
    for the job. The coming disaster quickly gained steam, propelled
    by a perfect storm of bad management decisions.

    Johnny
    Rotten was "not the boy you'd ask to hand out the scissors"
    in the words of one who knew him, and here was EMI, 50 percent owners
    of the TV station the Sex Pistols were about to appear on, asking
    Johnny to hand out the scissors to the nice tea-time television
    crowd. But wait, there was more.

    Bill
    Grundy, the celebrity interviewer, was much like the Cub's announcer
    Harry Carey, though probably not as proudly and openly drunk. He
    was also described by some of his contemporaries as "mercurial,"
    and he most adamantly did not want to interview the Pistols. He
    was, in retrospect, probably not the best choice of venue, and he
    added on by deliberately goading the band, most of whom were drunk
    due to a well-stocked bar in their waiting room, to "say something
    outrageous," and it was only a matter of time before someone
    all live on air said, "you dirty f__ker," and the host
    and audience noticed.

    Actually,
    it was Johnny Rotten's "f__king" and "shit"
    that were the warm-up pitches, but nobody seemed to catch on until
    Steve Jones's "you f__king rotter" alerted England that
    Circus Maximus was in town; the Sex Pistols had come to steal their
    children.

    "After
    Grundy it was a media circus," said Steve Jones, and much of
    England turned hostile to the band, in a very real sense. Despite
    releasing one and only one single to date (Anarchy in the UK),
    the Sex Pistols became an overnight sensation, entering the public
    eye not as a music band but as a circus freak show with a repulsive
    soundtrack.

    The
    Grundy interview set in motion their eventual dismissal from EMI,
    ninety days into their relationship, and then from A&M Records
    in what I'm sure must still be the industry record seven days. Eventually
    the Sex Pistols stuck to the "third time is a charm" path
    with their marriage to Virgin Records. There they released their
    three other singles Pretty Vacant, God Save the Queen, and
    Holidays in the Sun, to be followed by their one and only full
    length album. A good seller, it is still available in pretty much
    any record store you venture into and, thirty years after its release
    date, that says a lot.

    Bill
    Grundy was fired from the show, and his career never recovered.

    …And
    I, Me, Mine

    I hadn't
    received any money…so it went to court.
    ~
    Johnny Rotten, from England's Dreaming

    The
    ability of the Sex Pistols to have three separate record labels
    bid for their services and put out their music, despite its effective
    censorship by a politically controlled media (responding to a public
    whipped up by the press) gives warning about mixing politics with
    media and lends credibility to the absolute necessity of alternative
    avenues of distribution outside of the politicians' control. How
    much would the world have been deprived of had the British political
    establishment been effective in their designs to censor the Sex
    Pistols music!

    But
    even more important, let's look about it from a progressive point
    of view. The British political class, which under a just system
    would have protected the Sex Pistols from the braying mob,
    instead actively worked to prevent them from selling to a willing
    customer base all they had to give — their musical talent. They
    were, in a very real sense, stealing from these four young kids
    the ability to earn their keep. That is not justice.

    Thank
    God for the businessmen of that nation, in particular England's
    answer to my city's Donald Trump, Virgin Record's founder and CEO
    Richard Branson — he would personally take the stand to defend his
    right to sell the Sex Pistols albums wherever they were wanted.

    Where
    EMI's CEO Sir John Read was too busy licking the boots of his friends
    in Parliament to bother defending his employees, Richard Branson
    proved himself, through no fault of his own, a very effective check
    on power, a freedom fighter on par with Larry Flynt. He played a
    big part in introducing me to punk and in allowing the Sex Pistols
    to earn their keep from selling music.

    Jon
    Lydon's career in music has taken him from a London slum to a beach
    house in Malibu. My purchase of Sex Pistols material doubtless has
    paid for a part of it. Mr. Lydon, doubtless, wouldn't have wanted
    it any other way. And neither would I.

    According
    to Jon Savage's England's Dreaming, the slum where Paul Cook
    and Steve Jones grew up has morphed into "a very desirable
    area." Things change, sometimes for the better, and if you've
    got something that the workers want, they in their multitude will
    make you very rich. Power to the people who win such power for themselves.
    It can take an utterly deserving young street urchin and elevate
    him onto a beach house in Malibu.

    Sometimes,
    God is just.

    And
    Now Back In the U.S.S.A…

    "They're
    here performing their classic song Anarchy in the UK…perfect band
    for you… please welcome the Sex Pistols."
    ~
    Jay Leno to Ron Paul, The Tonight Show

    When
    all was said and sung, the Queen of England — England's very political
    structure for that matter — is alive and well, it is the Sex Pistols,
    that mortal threat to England's very existence, who have gone the
    way of the dodo bird. They are now little more than a novelty act.

    Yet
    despite a life span shorter than our current Iraq War, they set
    music onto a completely new course, created a new ethic for judgment.
    Punk is now an accepted, profitable genre. Decades after the Sex
    Pistols are no more, California punk band Green Day is keeping things
    going and selling millions of records. Johnny Rotten once said "I
    want to change it so there are rock bands like us" and if I
    may quote a great man, "mission accomplished."

    While
    this was a small victory for liberty, it was a victory nonetheless,
    and a victory I got to savor as a nine-year-old boy, to experience
    that ear-popping "who is this" moment.

    Despite
    the best efforts of EMI's Sir John Read and all his political friends
    in high places the music of the Sex Pistols is alive and well today,
    thirty years on in a business that re-invents itself at a breakneck
    pace. That attests to the talent of the kids who wrote and played
    the music, the ability of Malcolm McLaren to market it, and to Richard
    Branson for having the means and the willingness to defend and distribute
    it. They fought the law and the law didn't win — they exceeded expectations.

    And,
    speaking of having a knack for exceeding expectations, presidential
    candidate and 72-year-old grandfather Ron Paul recently was involved
    in a little stir with none other than Johnny Lydon himself. If you
    are one of the Ron Paul supporters, you might have gotten caught
    up in the brouhaha that erupted over Johnny Lydon's public shout
    out to, and public butt shake towards, our man Ron Paul during a
    shared television appearance. Whether or not Johnny Lydon is in
    fact a fan of Ron Paul I have no way of knowing, but as my brother
    John said, "hates authority, seems like someone who would fit
    in." But who's to say? Punk and its mistrust of a power do
    mesh rather nicely with Ron Paul.

    If
    you are Ron Paul supporter, and likely you are because you're on
    this website, as things stand at the time of this writing like all
    the punks from the late 1970s you are the loser, you are
    outside the Establishment, you are the fringe. The mainstream
    press only deigns to admit you exist in order to rip on you, to
    mock you, to warn of sinister connections with Nazis, if not worse.

    The
    Sex Pistols’ Never Mind the Bullocks is a fitting soundtrack
    for the Ron Paul Revolution; Jay Leno hit the nail on the head.
    All around is ample reason for concern — the constant petty insults,
    the heavily armed Kevlar-encased searching our bags, the endless
    calls for endless suspicion, war, inflation, the lies, and let's
    not forget torture, all bought to us courtesy of our political elite.
    It brings to mind Johnny Lydon's lament, "I don't have any
    heroes, they're all useless," because, when I look around for
    anybody, I see nobody.

    Except
    maybe one – but how useful is a man with no hope of winning?

    Will
    the Ron Paul movement amount to anything over the long term; will
    it win the battle of ideas? Only time will tell, and being the naturally
    pessimistic type I'm inclined to the negative. Some wag once wrote
    that Ron Paul is running for office in America one hundred years
    too late, and I think that's correct. Ron Paul is a classic liberal
    in a country where the very idea of individual liberty and the rule
    of law is at odds with what the majority of Americans want. Having
    lived amongst Americans all my life, I believe a voting majority
    want to live in Hillary's Village, not Ron Paul's.

    As
    I gird myself for the deluge of e-mails, all eager to assert possibility,
    I respectfully urge you to save yourself and me the time and don't
    bother. A Ron Paul victory would be a miracle composed of a Dunkirk,
    a Midway, and the ball rolling under Billy Buckner's legs all wrapped
    up in one. As much as I'd like to, I just can't bring myself to
    that level of hope.

    Regardless,
    I will continue to lend my time and, most importantly, my money
    to Ron Paul's quixotic ride with Sancho Panza. I'll be at the rallies
    where you can talk to me about music, baseball, life, politics,
    children, or movies but this is where we will end our discussion
    on hope, with the Sex Pistols in the background singing the epitaph
    over our Republic's twitching corpse:

    No
    future for you
    No future for me

    November
    29, 2007

    C.J. Maloney
    [send him mail] lives and
    works in New York City.

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