| John
Lydon, the founder, lead singer and attitude strategist of Public Image
Ltd., recently appeared on MTV's 120 Minutes program, where he
listed his Top Five Antichrists (whom he wanted to destroy, possibly).
Nos. 1 through 4 were the Ayatollah Khomeini, and No. 5 was Debbie Gibson.
John Lydon putting down Debbie Gibson is about as logical as Jimmy Stewart
calling Dustin Hoffman a jerk because Hoffman makes movies.
His repartee
with Kevin "Kick Me Hard" Seal was predictable. Seal breaks for a commercial;
Lydon turns at the camera with eyes wide and smile firmly locked. Seal
speaks to him and Lydon fires off a typically smarmy, brief answer with
all of his eye contact focused either off-camera or on the floor. By
the sound of the laughter coming from the studio, the MTV crew is quite
amused. Good old Kevin smiles too, probably thankful that he doesn’t
have to keep this going for a whole 90-minute spot. Minutes later Joey
Ramone is on the tube yelping about how he doesn't want to be buried
in a pet cemetery, and all I can think about is how the prehistoric
dinosaurs didn't have that choice made available to them.
"We see you
climbing/Improving the effort/Wearing my suit" —"The Suit," 1979
Mr. Lydon-Rotten
has this new album out titled 9. What separates this new one
from all the previous PiL recordings is that it doesn't challenge, berate,
cajole, threaten or disturb the listener. What 9 does do, I'm
not quite sure. It goes ’round and ’round on the turntable, or in the
CD player, or in the cassette deck, but that's all I can surmise. It
doesn't even provoke me to rip it out of the stereo system. It's just
stuff. Not fantastic, not atrociously horrible, but... stuff. The operative
word here is accessible.
The new album
was produced by Eric Thorngren and Stephen Hague. Thorngren is well-praised
for his quality dance productions, and Hague has extracted "hits" for
folks like New Order and the Pet Shop Boys. Clearly, both men are adept
at what they do, and each achieves a specific end result. How someone
with as high a contempt capacity as Lydon possesses would choose to
work with these men is something of a foreign concept.
"Originally,
we were going to do this with [producer] Bill Laswell, but he said the
band couldn't play and he hated all our songs, so I told him where to
go.
"We moved to
Jason Corsaro [known for his engineering work], and then that
all fell through. So I took it all back to England. It was financially
impossible after the Laswell fuck-up. Laswell's ego has become ridiculous—I
couldn't deal with it. He said he'd written songs and I should sack
the band and use his people and come out with a U2-type product. To
me that reeks of cliché and cop-out. It's very disappointing.
[Sings] And he disappointed a few people..." [Laughter]
In regard to
his producers this time around, Lydon is positively beaming. "They're
professionals, you see, and they do their job. I wouldn't say they dominated
us at all. I think that's clearly obvious when you hear the product.
It's clearly Public Image."
I'm wondering
who's idea of Public Image he’s talking about? His? His producers'?
Virgin Records'? Perhaps Debbie Gibson's idea of PiL?
"I won't be
dictated to by producers. That's not their job, as far as I'm concerned.
Their job is clarity, and if you're doing something wrong, to point
an easier way around it. Y'know, useful tools. Steve is a musician,
and it's very useful to work with people in that way. Eric Thorngren
is more like a mad Hell's Angel."
Will he immediately
say, "No, John. This is crap!"
"Yeah. But we
do it anyway [laughter]. To my mind the band, and their ideas
are the most important. All too few people in pop music understand that.
They sign up all these too-expensive producers thinking that will guarantee
them a hit. It might do, but it makes for an almighty tedious piece
of work. I don't want to put out records that sound like everybody else.
There's enough of that already."
It's kind of
ironic that 9 was shipped to stores in the same new release order
as new records by Alphaville and Cutting Crew.
"Don't ever
look back/Good days ahead." —"Go Back," 1981
The PiL corporation
carries on after 10 years of rattling people's cages. Lydon has changed
his modus operandi so many times through each record release that it
is absolutely impossible to categorise him. An old friend of mine who
used to work at various college and public radio stations always said
that the type of format she enjoyed was WIL programming (What I Like).
John Lydon can be formatted, after all.
After nine albums
it is very clear what John Lydon likes. Upon the crash of his first
band (trying not to mention the "P" word, you see), he teamed up with
Keith Levene, Jim Walker and Jah Wobble (a.k.a. John Wardle) to create
the legendary First Edition. Wobble’s heavy reggae/dub-styled
bass lines coupled with Levene's dissonant, spiky guitar playing and
Lydon's treatises on humanity, religion and love summed up the band's
name perfectly: Their public image was extremely limited. There was
no middle ground to PiL—you either loved the record or you wanted to
kill everyone who had anything to do with its creation.
The next record,
Metal Box, was designed as three 12-inch singles in a metal film
canister. As a commentary of its own, it was almost impossible to get
the records out of the can without mangling them in some form (It was
released in the States as a conventional two-record set called Second
Edition). Drummer Walker was replaced by Martin Atkins, and some
modern sonic architecture was erected in the form of "Swan Lake/Death
Disco" and "Poptones." Levene had started practising cruelty to synthesisers
along with his unusual guitar dimensions, and Lydon had gotten even
more abrasive in his lyrics and vocal delivery. Right about this time,
the clone bands started to fester and the Lydon-Levene collaboration
was being hailed as an extreme new innovation. A live recording titled
Paris In The Spring captured the band's ferocity on stage.
Flowers Of
Romance, a record that has to go down in modern pop history as the
most grating slab of vinyl ever put out by a major record label, was
released in 1981 (By my approximations, Nina Hagen's Nunsexmonkrock
places a close second). Wobble was sacked for stealing PiL bass lines
for his solo projects, and the three of them carried on with serious
primordial drumming and full-bore aural attack. Lydon continued to annoy
and irritate, but damn it, he was never ignored. Self-indulgent? Perhaps.
But the glorious methodology applied to Flowers was that it reinvented
the whole punk ethic of getting on with it. Annoying as hell, and truly
a landmark recording.
The aggregate
began work on the infamous You Are Now Entering A Commercial Zone
record. After being unceremoniously tossed off of Warner Bros. (surprised?),
PiL were working with the now defunct Stiff America organisation on
a custom label deal. Besides Stiff's failure to succeed in America,
the relationship of Lydon and Levene had disintegrated. Levene took
the Commercial Zone tapes and released his highly unauthorised
bootleg. Lydon and Atkins toured Japan with a group of faceless musicians
and released Live In Japan. Shortly afterward, the duo released
This Is What You Want This Is What You Get, which featured new
tracks as well as completely different versions of tracks from Levene's
record. This Is... had some interesting moments, like the dancefloor
itch of "Bad Life," the Lydon-as-Sylvia Plath recitation of "Tie Me
To The Length Of That"—and, really, who can forget "This Is Not A Love
Song" (I know we've tried, but...)?
In 1984 Atkins
and Lydon part company. Lydon performs with Afrika Bambaataa on the
infamous Time Zone project World Destruction, as well as guesting
on "The Animal Speaks" from the Golden Palominos' record Visions
Of Excess. In these working situations he meets Bill Laswell. Three
guesses as to who is going to produce the next PiL record, and the first
two don't count. Lydon's working relationship results in Album (or
Cassette or Compact Disc). If anyone would have
predicted in 1980 that Johnny Rotten would be on the same record as
people like Ginger Baker or Steve Vai, he/she would have been dismissed
as a moron. Although there are no credits on the recording, Laswell
assembled a team of musicians to create a modern rock sound for the
PiL company banner. From the rocking "FFF" and "Fishing" to the foreboding
"Round" to the blatant mainstream sounding "Rise," John Lydon succeeded
once again in baffling the hell out of everyone once who thought he/she
had him pegged in a very small box.
The present
line-up of PiL features some of the most powerful talent in British
post-punk music. Say what you will about Lydon, but the man has impeccable
tastes in colleagues.
Alan Dias is
the bass presence who, along with drummer Bruce Smith, gives the band
a complex rhythmic foundation without sacrificing gut feeling. John
McGeogh's previous experience with seminal bands like Magazine, the
Banshees and the Armory Show redefines the guitar sound. Lu Edmonds'
twisted sense of guitar playing burns holes in just about anything that
attempts to contain it (Check out his dangerous guitars on Shriekback's
Oil And Gold record, ye of little faith).
When the band
went out on the road to support Album, the record was put to
shame by the musicians' sense of arrangements and their sheer firepower.
Using an instrumental of "Kashmir" as their opening salvo, PiL proceeded
to waste whatever skepticism may have been fermenting at the moment.
Five distinct personalities working toward one big confrontation.
This band's
first record, Happy?, was characteristic of those live shows.
Those personalities were there, and even though the harbingers of "street
cred" moaned "sellout" at PiL, the record still proved to be accessible
for neophytes while music fans appreciated Lu's deranged guitar, McGeogh's
sense of the appropriate and the two-coats-of-paint tightness of Dias
and Smith.
Although he
appears in the writing credits, Edmonds is missing from the new album.
He is going deaf. As a major admirer of his work, I am disturbed. Besides
the Shriekback gig, Edmonds did time in bands as disparate as the Damned
and the wacky world music of 3 Mustaphas 3. The man is far greater than
a functional sideman, and his performances show this.
"Apparently
the doctors told him he cannot work live for at least a year," Lydon
explains. "If he does, the damage might be permanent. What's happened
is that he's lost the top range of his hearing. We thought he was just
very weird, but he was actually deaf." (Ted Chou will be doing guitars/keyboards
on this tour.)
I have a very
strong suspicion that his absence makes for a smoother product. Refer
to "The Body" and "Rules and Regulations" from Happy? and you
can hear whose guitar has the attitude problem.
"He helped in
the writing. The playing wasn't so difficult—once you've got the parts
any monkey can put it together. It's the actual writing of the thing
that counts. I'm not going to take anything away from Lu at the moment.
Life's very hard on him. It's a terrible thing to take a year off of
your chosen profession. He's a madman and one of my best friends."
(This is the
only time Lydon has pissed me off during the course of our phone conversation.
If any fucking monkey can play a part, why didn't he call Johnny Marr,
or for that matter, Steve Jones?)
"Let's talk
politics/Every dog has its day/For me I don't believe/Better days ahead/Will
never be" —"Home," 1984
Besides making
nine records that do not sound very much alike, another one of the most
endearing features I find in John Lydon is that he refuses to wear a
bleeding heart on his sleeve, his t-shirt or his hairdo. Given all the
notoriety and media attention he has received over the years, it would
be incredibly easy for him to ram home his pet beliefs. His lyrics tend
to deal with individual feeling and his own personal attitudes (read:
Vent That Spleen). If he does exhibit a public social conscience, it's
limited to the obscure ("Francois Massacre" from Flowers Of Romance)
or the heavily veiled ("Rise" allegedly being an indictment against
South African injustice).
One of the memorable
tracks on the new record is "U.S.L.S. 1." It sounds like a narrative
on terrorism upon the first couple of listens, with the band working
up a tense atmosphere. "It should be pronounced 'Useless One.' It concerns
your president. It's about a terrorist bomb on Air Force One. It poses
the question 'How would Mr. Bush feel if he knew?'"
"I don't write
anything purely just for atmosphere; that would be boring. Things have
to have a point to them—unlike Eno's Music For Airports."
I contend it
has a point, but I can't listen to it while I'm driving long distances.
"Well that's
up to you. That's the individual at work. That's all I ever asked from
anybody."
So there will
be 100 thousand different listeners' interpretations of this song?
"Oh, I hope
there will be more than that! [Laughter] I'm not going to generalise
on political issues. All too many people do that, and they never really
get to the heart of the problem. And then they merely use it as a podium
for a dismal song. I hate all that flag-waving stuff. None of the bands
putting out these political statements at the moment truly understand
the politics they are dealing with. They just read an article in the
Village Voice and they'll take that as gospel and pull out the
bits that sound good to them and eliminate the other half, which is
usually the truth. There's not a lot of research going on here."
"The whole Live
Aid situation, for instance. 'Oh, let's save Ethiopia!' Nobody seems
to be aware that there was a civil war going on there at the time. Now
which fucking army were these people feeding? More importantly, it wasn't
only Ethiopia, but all the other surrounding countries that were equally
starving. Nobody wanted to deal with that. So I decided to stand out
about it. Of course I got shouted down about it: 'You bastard! Letting
people die!' Well, hold on, boys and girls; they are still dying."
"What exactly
did these people achieve? They achieved nothing! The whole problem
from start to finish was education and their internal political battle.
While that goes on it is very difficult to do anything. To leer over
someone like Big Brother and say, 'Do stop it now!' That's something
people need to work out for themselves."
Yeah, but some
people need that. Some people would give up their freedom for equality.
"Oh, stop it.
Now you're sounding like Ollie North!" [Laughter]
Well, actually
I was thinking more like Alexis De Tocqueville.
"Fine, fine,
fine. But you can't hand someone a sandwich, walk off and say you have
done your bit. It's an ongoing problem, and if you are going to involve
yourself in these things, you have to continue to involve yourself.
The only person I see doing that is Bob Geldof. They [other artists
involved in the Live Aid charity] have found new causes at the moment,
and it's very fashionable. I don't think any of them are doing anybody
any favors except themselves. Is Sting going to save the rain forests?
No, I don't think so. All it's going to do is make a load of middle-class
brats feel that they've done their bit when in fact they have achieved
nothing."
"Big business
is very wise/I'm crossing over into free enterprise." —"This Is Not
A Love Song," 1983
In case you
haven't heard, 9 is a real slick piece of work. John Lydon may
be a master at chameleon rock, but this pure pop sheen escapes me.
It's really
easy to have a field day with jargon when describing the new PiL offering:
Accessible, sellout-cult-status-mainstream-corporate-movethoseunitsdammit-disposable-forgettable
pop- worthless-radio-fodder... make your own lists.
I'm not going
to write Lydon off as worthless, although each time I play 9
the urge still hits me. So I wonder if this is really John Lydon working
in a WIL format. And if he is, who's going to buy it?
"It's primarily
for us. It's the kind of music we want to make and like to listen to.
And if an audience out there respects that, that's well and fine. I
would never condescend to make a record that people would like to hear
because the minute you do that, you're doing it wrong. There's no honesty
to that. It's pandering to the lowest common denominator. Because it's
obvious that when you do that, you're doing it for money.
"Every time
I make a record it is a risk. The record company might throw me off
for being absurd. I'm hardly making Virgin a lot of money, am I?" [Laughter]
I think this
time he will, despite the backlash from his previous supporter. Right
about this time we discuss some of that jargon attack previously mentioned.
Let's start with "street credibility."
"That's a load
of bollocks. What the hell does that mean, anyway?"
Well, when you
make a record...
"Street credibility?
Does that mean you're gullible and easily ripped off? In my mind that's
what it means. [Snarls in a gutter cockney accent] 'Keep in touch
wid da' kidz, woit?' Aren't kids supposed to be intelligent? They are
in my mind."
Well, you're
talking a whole new ball game of demographics now. Like ages, I mean
a 2-year-old is a kid, right?
"Well, I include
myself in that, actually."
How old are
you? I'm 27.
"I've been 21
for a few years now."
You're 29. I
think you're 29.
"Am I? I'm older.
[Laughter] Never mind."
Okay, John.
You win. Let's kick around another phrase, like "commercial accessibility."
"[Disgustedly]
Yeah, which nobody's managed to explain to me what that means."
Well, let me
make an attempt. Music in general of any kind, if most people like it,
they play it in the car, they take it to the beach...
"Hold on. What
you're saying is commercial accessibility means ‘trivial.’ ‘Disposable.’
Well, I don't think I make [anything] disposable. I don't manufacture
plastic bottles. I'm into fine glassware."
This is the
thing. I mean, how can Rick Astley justify his existence?
"I don't think
he can."
I would think
that maybe 9 is a lot more commercially accessible for sales
than Flowers Of Romance. Due to the things that you were doing
on that record, compared to this record, I would think you would have
a greater audience appreciate, purchase, consume the record. [Insert
pause here]. Then, suddenly...
"Well, with
a bit of luck they'll backtrack."
Do you think
they will?
"I have no idea.
I don't particularly think. That's up to the individual—it really doesn't
matter."
"You
used to be nice/Now you're twice as nice/You used to be good/Now you're
too good." —"FFF," 1984
Do you think
your old fans will be alienated by this record?
"No. [Pauses]
I don't want fans in that respect that they slavishly demand
and expect a similar kind of thing from me all the time—that isn't what
it's about. Each record might as well be from a completely separate
band. They are separate pieces.
"I've never
liked the idea of people slavishly buying every single record by one
group. I find that humiliating. Not to treat bands like saviors of the
universe because it's only music and ultimately disposable. It depends
on how long that will last or not last. You mustn’t be too precious—no
band is right for anyone all the time. Not if they're true to themselves."
Now you've got
me confused, because you've just told me that you are into fine glassware.
"Cut glass is
disposable, eventually. In the real world, nothing can last longer than
a lifetime."
Yeah, but whose
lifetime?
"Mine, I hope,
because I intend to be here for many more years."
If you walk
out in front of a bus today, what do you think you'll be remembered
for?
"Well, I won't
know anything else about it, then, will I? I haven't lived a lie."
No you won't,
because of this legacy of your work. How many bands have started up
from listening to your records?
"I suppose quite
a few."
Isn't that a
testament there?
"It's good enough."
I'm sure it
will continue because even as we speak right now, some kid is picking
up a copy of Second Edition And saying, "Hmm. I'll take this."
"What is your
point? I feel like you're stumbling in the dark!"
I think you
are too hard on yourself in that regard.
"I must never
take it serious, right? Because I am always on to the next thing. I
won't allow myself to be that precious."
So you are tired
of the cult-status type thing.
"Yes. I am not
interested in that thing: 'The Cult Of Personality.' I wish I wrote
that song."
You could always
cover it.
"Well, I'd rewrite
some of it; I think it's a bit vague."
You could conceivably
cover it. I think it would be fantastic.
"Well, [Living
Colour] certainly copied my old hairdo, didn't they?"
"The ordinary
will ignore/Whatever they cannot explain/As if nothing ever happened/And
everything remained the same again." -"Seattle," 1988
I think John
Lydon would be a perfect resource tool for any individual wanting to
know about music-biz politics. Here's a guy who started an entire musical
movement that is still being acknowledged today (read any Guns N' Roses
interviews lately?). He's been booted off a bunch of record labels.
I wonder how he feels about the alleged breakthroughs in modern music—like
overblown postmodern radio stations.
"Things are
worse than ever now because there are all these formats. There are very
few people doing anything different. All rap acts sound the same. All
the acid stuff sounds the same, all the hip-hop, all the heavy metal
bands... It's really terrible. There seems to be no room for individuals,
and you've got a young generation out there accepting all this blindly.
I think it's a bit tragic for them. Maybe they will wake up soon and
start doing stuff themselves again instead of having it force fed to
them.
Then there is
that whole entire nostalgia trip.
"Like the whole
acid-house thing, which is more or less disco."
Do you think
that type of regression to older things is dangerous?
"Who to? Once
the past has been achieved, move on. It's safe. There is no threat to
the past. The people who go to those kind of concerts, they kind of
walk around like they're aimlessly lost, trying to relive something
that never really happened."
I figure now
is as good a time as any to ask him about nostalgia from an era he's
familiar with. After all, Stiff Little Fingers average one farewell
tour a month; the Buzzcocks reunion rumours fly about; and then there
is a rumour that a certain English band from 1976-78 was offered a huge
amount of money to tour stadiums in America.
"There is an
element of truth to that, yes. My answer is no. I would never
do it. I don't care how much the money is, I don't care how many financial
difficulties I have gotten myself into; I just will not do it. Period.
Ever. It would be contradictory to my entire life. If you do that, you
might as well slash your wrists."
I wonder if
journalists still ask you questions about your previous résumé.
[Very curt]
"No. It hasn't happened in quite a few years."
I heard that
the Never Mind The Bollocks had recently gone gold.
"I've no idea.
I couldn't care less."
It might mean
some royalties for you.
"That would
be nice, but then the tax man would get that."
So you'd rather
bury it, then?
"Yes, you're
dead right."
"The emperor's
clothes get clearer and clearer." -—"Same Old Story," 1989
The way he speaks,
John Lydon is no millionaire. I was informed that it costs a lot to
run what he runs. Elektra did not give him tour support for the Album
tour more than three years ago, and he's still paying for that.
Another myth exploded. I was looking to see if I had an extra $20 to
mail him, but my phone bill is due.
"I've always
been under financial stress. Artistically, yes, but I haven't reaped
any rewards."
Do you have
a family?
"I have a wife.
I don't want any children because I'd feel I'd have to dedicate my life
towards them. That's the way I feel; I can't do both."
How about the
Rolling Stones argument: Could you see yourself doing this many, many
years down the road?
"I don't think
so. If I do it will be in a very different format. One has to have respect
for one's body. The bones do go brittle."
I don't know,
Keith Richards has made it back from the dead a couple of times now.
"Blood transfusions
and all that. He does actually look like Dracula now... I'm going. You're
boring me."
I'm sorry, John.
Last question. Given the abuse you get from reporters, given the people
who are obsessed with your previous work of the late ’70s, the so-called
"fans" who will say "Lydon sold out" and the same people who spit and
throw things at you at your gigs, and given the misconceptions you have
suffered—aren't you tired?
"Other people
being pathetic—I feel sad for them, not myself. I have never told a
lie in my life, and I don't intend to start. To say I've sold out is
nonsense; it's just stupid. I will continue to do what I want to do
to the best of my abilities. I present my life to you, and you can make
what you will of it."
Because you
don't particularly care.
"Not in a cynical
way, but a right way. Why should I? Your opinion doesn't matter to me."
"Why should
the devil have all the good tunes?" —"Sandcastles In The Snow," 1989
Somehow I am
not convinced. I have listened to 9 more times than your average
CMJ scribe in a faded Cult Love tour T-shirt, hoping to find
some tumultuous teeth kick. Much to the chagrin of my ex-fiancee, I
did not hold my breath. Sure, Lydon can tell me about his musical choices
until compact discs become obsolete. What I want to know is if his colleagues
are going to follow him up the charts.
"I'm quite pleased,"
says Alan Dias on the phone in a London rehearsal studio. "We put a
lot of time into arrangements and melody. This album is more integration
of rhythms and melody rather than just really hard grooves on their
own. It's all mixed in—it's just another approach. I don't think the
weight has been taken out of it at all."
And this is
really an adequate representation of PiL?
"I would like
to think so, sure. It's a democratic process in songwriting, so everybody
is expected to carry their weight."
And what about
Lu's absence?
"We miss Lu.
It was a shock to have to go in and record without him after he had
been involved in the songwriting. Obviously with a sideman playing these
parts rather than Lu, it's going to make a difference. But it's not
going to affect the show as such."
Dias has played
with people like Bryan Ferry and various Class Of '77 fadeouts like
Jimmy Pursey and Steve New. I wonder what his working situation is like
these days.
"There's a difference,
but the challenge is still there. In fact, it is more interesting for
me to play music that has no boundaries rather than a stereotyped limited
format music."
Bruce Smith
is a consummate musician. Whether he is steaming up those records by
the sorely missed Rip Rig + Panic or doing the straight 4/4 beat of
Terence Trent D'Arby, Smith is always dead on it. Besides being an incredible
musician, he's a nice guy to talk to. Maybe I didn't have time to bore
him.
"We don't think,
'If we do such and such, we're going to make it big.' We don't make
records for that reason. I want to make records that I like at the end
of the day. If everyone else likes them, that's great."
I tell him after
many repeated listens of the new record, I can't deal with it. I expect
so much from PiL, and I don't know what this is supposed to mean.
"One thing that
is good about this new record is that several of the tunes are from
what Lydon did at home on machines; really far-out pieces of music.
Really fucking great, probably the kind of thing you'd like a lot, I
might add [Laughs]. The source is more emotional rather than,
'Well, here's the groove; let's put something on there.' To me, if you're
going to make a piece of music, it still has to have the initial emotional
input. You have to keep that in there—and that's what we try to do."
This line-up,
though, seemed so promising with the last album and the tour. I think
the characters are non-existent.
"You're right.
There were strong characters involved, but it didn't make one character.
Rotten's vocals and the music and the compositions have gelled together.
On the last record we made, it wasn't there at all."
I think the
edges are gone.
"I can see what
you're saying. I think some of the tracks might suffer from the final
mix being a little too... smooooth, but I certainly would have
done it like that."
And everyone's
musical choices are still the same?
"The PiL audience
is a very wide one-from young to old. You want to do something to the
maximum because people will respect you for it. Something like Guns
N' Roses, which is the corniest rock cliché you can imagine.
Living out these role kind of things like comic-book stuff is bullshit."
"I had a
vision/That I was Alice Cooper/And Johnny Rotten rolled into one/I had
a vision." —The Royal Court Of China, "Geared And Primed"
Alice Cooper
and Johnny Rotten do have a similar attitude plan. They both project
these arrogant personas that demand attention , and they both provide
a ticket to hell for you if you don't give it to them. Some people get
caught up in their guises—Alice Cooper had to put himself through detox.
Lydon's healthier method is to make dodgy records and to convince himself
that he's justified for doing so.
The press release
for 9 includes an opening statement that reads as follows: "I
like it here skirmishing on the outskirts. It suits me fine, and it's
important. I'm hacking away at the foundation stones." If Lydon truly
is hacking away at the foundation stones, he should try using a pickax
instead of a package of Kraft American Cheese slices.
Happy?
was proof that Lydon could direct his energies into an accessible sound
while still maintaining some hard edges. These edges are necessary to
convince listeners old and new that this is no sense of Xerox. If he
thinks he is doing something subversive, he has only proved that he
has no teeth.
Through all
of his contradictions (is he sure that he hasn't bowed to a record company
whim? Ask Martin Atkins. Are the kids intelligent or are they stupid
for listening to the same old thing?), I feel sorry for him. He wants
to shed all of his Class Of '77 connections, yet he allows himself to
be called Rotten (something Smith did a couple of times during our talk).
And how about the cover of "Pretty Vacant" on the Album tour?
He was very curt about denying that no reporter ever asked him Pistols
questions, and then Kurt 'Voice Of Authority' Loder asks him on an MTV
"Week In Rock" segment if we are ever going to see The Great Rock
’N' Roll Swindle. He keeps distancing himself from his past, but
it only comes back to bury him. Lydon's angry insistence to avoid is
one end of the spectrum, while his previous co-conspirator Steve Jones
is doing a cover of "Did You No Wrong" with Axl 'Clean Needles, Please'
Rose. They have started this strain of pop culture, and they can't contain
it.
Slagging off
Lydon-Rotten only helps to perpetuate the myth. Bands like Journey and
Styx have taken critical vitriol to the bank more times than John Lydon
has changed hairstyles. Let's not bury Lydon because he has advanced
all of us far too much to be beaten up and thrown in an antiquated gun
turret of a U.S. war ship.
And let's not
raise him on a pedestal because that mindless idolatry isn't sincere
if he hasn't earned it—and, let's face it, he would hate all of us if
that were to happen. Simply put, John Lydon will make the music he wants
to make, regardless of what any label executive, music critic or 'fan'
with a back panel patch of Sid Vicious on his denim jacket may say or
do. This also means, of course, that we are not obligated to buy it.
So what? It
doesn't matter. Don't worry. He'll be fine; he'll still make records—maybe
even some ferocious ones that will force us to look at ourselves again
and to re-examine our values. But most of all, to make us listen.
If not, he can always start a family. |