|  It
seems poetically appropriate that John Lydon has chosen Kubrick's 'A
Clockwork Orange' as the film to insert into the video-cassette deck
at Virgin's Townhouse Studios in Shepherds Bush. John is hunched over
a 32-track mixing desk that dwarfs his slight, unexpectedly studious
figure. He is mixing new PIL tracks recorded the previous day for a
new studio album. Between takes, from time to time, he peers up at the
television that is set in the wall above his head.
The cassette we're watching
is a bootleg that John has recently bought. "Kubrick withdrew the
film in England a few years ago. Got a bit too close to comfort to the
truth of what's going on, didn't it?" he announces in the condescending
sing-song whine he reserves for the near-truisms he tosses like stick
grenades into conversations or silences. These vocal irritations now
provide the only memories of a once more mannered speaking voice that,
two or three years ago, used to rise and dip like the verse-reading
efforts of a petulant school kid: a voice possessed of a grating quality
guaranteed to get under even the most insensitive skins. John Lydon
DOES have a super-ego: even though much o it was doubtless erected as
a defence mechanism against all the nonsense to which he was subjected
as a Sex Pistol, there were certainly some pretty solid foundations
already existing upon which to build.
His wit and natural style
(the latter being the reason he got into the Pistols in the first place)
must for long have induced in John some measure of self-admiration -
though whether, pre-Pistols, he consciously thought in those terms is
another matter. He is probably more intolerant than he believes himself
to be: John doesn't seem very readily able to accept the humanity in
his fellow man's folly, and there is a suspicion that he doesn't always
see his own fallibilities either. Certainly, he's a little too convinced
of his own innate wisdom.
"I was born 2000 years
old", he sighs with histrionic all-knowingness at one point, leaving
the listener with the lingering memory of just how much John Lydon can
sometimes appear like a wizened, dirty old man. Considering, though,
all the nonsense to which he's been subjected, John Lydon is remarkably
well-balanced human being. He is also very funny, with a deep-rooted,
natural humour.
Though this has not always
been the case, his perceptions these days overrule his paranoia. As
well as separating him from the Kafka-esque period of the late Pistols
and its immediate spiritual and legal consequences, the passage of time
is justifying John's ambitions for Public Image Ltd. Also, he has presumably
in some ways come to terms with the tragic death from cancer two years
ago of his much loved mother - he lovingly refers to her as "my
old dear". As was shown by his Dublin arrest (he's on bail to reappear
in court just before Christmas) John Lydon is still under constant scrutiny
from the forces of officialdom.
One can only hazard a guess
at how wearing he must find this: until the early hours of the morning
one day last February when John was wakened by the sound of his front
door being broken down by police officers, who subsequently charged
him under the Fire Arms Act for possession of a pocketpen-sized teargas
spray, he and the occupants of his Chelsea home were aware that for
some months they'd been under sporadic police surveillance.
Since that bust, though,
for an item that is legal in the United States, and for which he was
given a six months conditional discharge, he feels that the upholders
of law'n'order have lost interest in him: "They seemed very disappointed
they didn't find anything more. I really got the impression they thought
they were going to discover an arms cache. God, I've never seen so many
police."
People ostensibly on his
side have caused John equally as many problems at his home. Mutant punks
have been the major difficulty: "It's much, much worse than it
was in the days of the Sex Pistols. I've even had them pitching their
tents on my front doorstep. Victor Vomit from Hull, I remember, was
a big problem." There was also a time when the Lydon front room
would be regularly peopled with ultracool sycophants, like fawning toadies
at a Regency court. "I just don't let any of them in anymore. I
just don't answer the door", he shrugs, with the faint irritability
of one who realises he's been used.
John Lydon seems a bit of
a lonely fellow sometimes, though he claims his real friends are rarely
seen and have nothing whatsoever to do with the music world. With his
jacket, trousers, waistcoat and shirt all made out of different patterned
check materials, John Lydon looks like a racecourse bookie who got dressed
whilst under the influence of a bad hangover. His sartorial ensemble
is set off by a black tie: "I thought I should go for a more sombre
effect." Around one o'clock in the morning, as 'A Clockwork Orange'
flickers to a close, the Public Image singer can be sighted sniffing
surreptitiously into his armpits. "CORRRR, I do SMELL, don't I?"
he announces, having traced the source of a stench like dead cats that
is polluting the studio. "Can we get some air freshener in here?"
In an expedient move to eradicate
his own unpleasant odour he removes his shirt and tie and replaces his
jacket and waistcoat. No wonder the Chelsea police have stopped hassling
him: they probably had to get in Rentokil after they took him down the
station last time. Back at his mixing desk seat John continues pouring
Guinness down his throat from an unending series of pint cans. This
Arsenal's fan's love of his Irish roots is far removed from the self-conscious
showbiz nonsense that Rod Stewart, another Celtic North Londoner, utilises
to demonstrate his Scottishness.
A couple of hours later John
makes his way along the long corridor from the studio PIL are using
to enter the Townhouse's lounge and television room. As he passes the
main studio he jerks a thumb in its direction."The Jam are in there,"
he laughs over his shoulder, "if you want to nip in for a quick
interview...heh heh heh..." he cackles contemptuously.[1]
 There
is not exactly a lot of other musicians' work enjoyed by JR - the Lydon
bit was introduced into general usage after Pistols manager Malcolm
McLaren claimed HE had sole ownership of the Johnny Rotten moniker:
even so, privately, John has and still does refer to himself by the
initial letters to which he had a claim long before the existence of
a certain TV series.
Currently PIL consists of
John, Keith Levene, filmmaker Jeanette Lee and corporate overseer Dave
Crowe. Much insistence is made that Public Image Ltd. is a business
company and not a group. And it is not restricted to MUSICAL business,
either.
Drumming with Levene and
Lydon is Martin Atkins, who worked with them on 'Metal Box' and is shortly
due to tour the States with his Brian Brain group.[2] Though PIL are
working at the Townhouse on their next studio album, released this month
is 'Paris Au Printemps', a live LP recorded at a concert in the French
capital that preceded the outfit's string of US dates last
May.
John settles down on one
of the plush Chesterfields in front of the large colour TV. I ask him
who played bass on the heavily percussive number on which he just tried
out some vocals. Original PIL bassist Jah Wobble, of course, was asked
to depart from PIL following the American shows. All the bass I've heard,
he replies, is down to the bass drum! He is dismissive of the need for
a bass player, explaining that when necessary Keith Levene plays the
instrument. He goes on, reluctantly at first, to explain the departure
of Wobble, for long a close friend of the singer.
"There was a divergence
of opinion, that's all." he says, an obscure trace of bitterness
in his voice. "It's all down to the records, really. I'd like to
keep it down to that. Keith won't work with him. I won't work with him.
No one in this entire company will work with him." he adds. "Listen,"
he continues, "while being a member of PIL and being given all
rights and freedoms blah blah blah - more than he'd get with any other
organisation anywhere - he did a few nasty things behind our backs,
and that had to be stopped. But there's no big deal about it. It's just
a fact of life."
One of the Wobble's sins,
apparently, was that he utilised, without the other members' knowledge,
rejected PIL backing tracks for his solo work. It does appear additionally
that the Sex Pistols fell apart under the pressure of an American tour,
so PIL felt the strain of working in the USA. Why had they decided to
tour there in the first place?
"I don't honestly know WHY we fuckin' went to America..."
It seemed out of character...
"Which is a good reason
to go ... because we wanted to. We needed a holiday. We did gigs in
between HUGE amounts of time off when we roamed around the countryside.
After we'd finished in Los Angeles I went to Mexico in a camper bus
I hired with some friends. A VERY heavy place...It was all" - he
mimicks a New York media intellectual accent - "a very, very VALID
experience."
"Then, you see, I'd
gigged a lot before. Keith never liked gigging. I don't like gigging
now. Wobble had never gigged before really in any way at all. And you
need to know how AWFUL life can possibly get before you appreciate the
value of your instruments." He laughs sardonically.
"Look, touring is VILE.
The whole thing has either to be reorganized or stopped. TOTALLY. It
turns people into cabbages or alcoholics. Us, as PIL, we can organize
gigs just about anywhere in this universe, make it highly successful
and at the end come out with money, actually earn a wage out of it.
Yet if you leave up to, say, Warner Bros. who release us in America,
before they even begin to book the dates, they're talking about losing
twenty, thirty, forty thousand dollars. And it's NOT on. That's CRAP.
Mismanagement - totally.
All the way down the line. It's all, like, a tax loss for record companies.
They like to cover these costs, because when it comes to reviewing your
album contract and you're running at a loss then they can keep you,
but keep you under hand because you're so in debt you have to do as
you're told. But it's only if you're a mug that you get into that situation,
if you have management and middlemen."
At the time of this interview
PIL are so short of money that John is expecting to bounce the cheque
that's just been written for his domestic electricity bill. This though,
he says, is a purely temporary situation: like any business in its initial
stages they must expect their finances to fluctuate.
 "Besides,"
he chuckles, swallowing another mouthful of Guinness, "we DO seem
to spend rather a lot on entertainment. None of us has any money in
our bank accounts, yet we all have colour TVs and video sets, and rather
expensive stereo systems. We don't seem to buy much food, though. We're
doing alright. It's just ups and downs." "It's well bizarre,"
he adds, "the whole tax situation.
If you credit yourself with
stuff you need, and show the tax people you're running at a loss, then
in fact you're gaining. Just as long as we can do what we want, then
we're happy... It's just unfortunate that what we'd like to do involves
very, VERY high finances. I'd ideally like someone with a lot of money
to talk to us."
"We want to do films,
but not like The Who's scheme of things, which I think is WELL shitty.
That's just following the normal pattern and getting them nowhere. Look
at the film industry all over the world. It's collapsing, right? What
it needs is whole new ideas and a totally different approach. Without
these two things you might as well forget it. There's no point in trying
to condescend to OLD attitudes and OLD ways - you've failed before you've
begun. I've always been someone who wants to CHANGE the things ARE.
The possibilities are ENDLESS..."
"It's simple: everything
is run by a bunch of OLD FUCKERS who are too scared of change, but know
at the same time that what they're doing is crumbling. It's not working
anymore."
"It's the same thing
with the dinosaur bands. You know the huge amounts of money they make,
and yet they're moaning all the time about things getting lacklustre.
But what are they doing with their huge amounts of cash? They should
be putting it back into other bands, or helping out in some way like
building studios for bands that don't have the chance or money to get
a record contract. The kind of stuff that WE're trying to do."
In fact, though, because
they're playing within this vast corporate rock structure, a lot of
these huge bands don't have half as much money as you'd expect. I understand
this is particularly the case with the Pink Floyd...
"More fool them. They
could very, very easily have got away with doing it their own way, the
lot of them. Cowardice, I suppose. Or just basic laziness - that's more
like it."
When he uses the word "laziness"
there's a certain droll roll to John's voice that suggests perhaps HE
is not totally free of that particular deadly sin...
"But anyway, Rock'n'roll
is a dinosaur. It's dead, and (laughs) I thought I buried it with my
last band. I don't like silly fuckers resurrecting it. The whole system
should be changed - TOTALLY. Right from the grassroots upwards. And
that's what we are trying - and SUCCEEDING - in doing. And if we don't
get the credit, or some journalist or whoever don't APPRECIATE it...then
that's TOO bad. I do feel that what P.I.L." - he recites the individual
letters, as opposed to Keith who pronounces it 'pill' - "is doing
is DAMN important." "Plus", he laughs, "we make
jolly good fuckin' records! But anyway, this is boring for me really...if
people don't see it by now, I'm just pissing up against the wind ...
though I seriously have no idea who or what our audience is."
If it seemed poetically apt
that 'A Clockwork Orange' should've been screened in the studio, it
has to be an irony of near epic proportions that as JR enters into the
customary rock'n'roll-is-completely-redundant rap that one feels is
part of his very life force, the opening credits are rolled on the TV
in front of him of the quintessential mid-50s rock'n'roll film, 'The
Girl Can't Help It'. He watches the screen out of the corner of one
eye. After it has been running for half a reel or so, we are joined
by Keith Levene, who appears to divide his time in the studio between
ascetic electronic work and playing Space Invaders. Via the articulate
erudition with which he expresses himself tonight, Levene belies a reputation
for being morose and dourly awkward.
These supposed character
traits seem to be the result of simple introversion. He "hates
going to gigs just for the sake of needing somewhere to go out to."
Like John, he has no time for the revivalism that plagues modern music.
"You might as well go RIGHT back", he grins semi-serious,
"and become a fucking Viking or something like that. I'd much rather
be a Viking than a skinhead." Though he never completed any of
the courses he commenced, early Clash member Keith has an art background
that included much video work. It seems likely that plenty of the current
desire within PIL to pursue a video direction is rooted in his practical
knowledge.
As he sits down, JR is commencing
a diatribe against the infatuation with back garden independent labels
that grew out of punk: "I seriously don't give a tuppenny shit
about any other outfit at the moment, because they're ALL wankers and
wallies. WE know what
we want, WE know what we think is right, and usually we're very fucking
CORRECT. It's as simple as that: we'll just carry on doing what we want,
not what we THINK people want. We will not support big labels, small
labels or any other fucking label. It's just a matter of common sense.
You obviously want the largest possible distribution for your record
that you can get.
Not the most MINIMALIST.
That's CRUD. That gets you NOWHERE. So a few trendy journalists appreciate
what you're doing...well, GREAT. WONDERFUL... But isn't
that just a loser's way out? 'I've made my statement for art!'"
Yeah, well, operating like
that you can end up disappearing up your own arse. But what will you
do when your contract ends with Virgin? With this next studio album
out you'll be halfway there. Or perhaps you haven't really got round
to thinking about that yet...
JR (laughs): "YEAH...quite
frankly! Look, large record companies ARE manoeuvrable. Not everyone
who works for them is cloned beyond reason. You CAN manipulate
circumstances in your favour - it's just down to common sense."
Keith: "When you do
a deal with a record company what people seem to forget is that the
record company is working for YOU. That's where record companies and
managers and groups get it wrong. The manager tends to make the group
believe that the group is working for him and for the record company.
Yet it's the EXACT opposite: the record company is there to help the
group...and themselves. If you go and talk to the record company yourself
it's much easier than if you have some manager who just tells you what
he wants to tell you, and undermines you. If you deal with it yourself
you're more likely to get what YOU want done."
 In
the past the relationship between PIL and Virgin is known to have been
volatile, to say the least. For long stretches of time, particularly
around the release dates of the two PIL albums, communication between
label and signing has been close to non-existent.
"A few wankers have
been eliminated..." is John's way of describing how this impasse
has been overcome and an apparently close working relationship arrived
at. No longer does PIL have to deal with a vast Virgin beaurocracy who
in the past, John and Keith allege, would distort their intentions and
redirect the original PIL desires. Now they deal directly with
Virgin boss Richard Branson.
"Virgin", Keith
explains, "gave us very decent advances for our records. For example,
we're getting an advance for this live record which is almost unheard
of. But then they'd blow it by not promoting what we gave them. It got
to the point about a year ago when I just said to Simon Draper, the
managing director of the label, 'Go on, sling us off the label if you
don't want us.'"
Keith then inquires what
I think of PIL's music. Generally it's great, I reply, although in comparison
with the first album I find 'Metal Box' somewhat devoid of humour.
JR: "That's funny...that's
the one we were giggling all the way through..."
Keith: "'Metal Box'
can be a hard album to get into... But I think that album's got so much
depth..."
'The Girl Can't Help It'
is still showing on the television in front of us. John interrupts Keith's
words with a sudden yelp of delight: "O-O-O-OOOOHHH... 'CRY ME
A RIVER'!!! TURN IT UP! KEITH, THIS IS JULIE LONDON - THE WOMAN I LOVE!
I never knew she was in this! I REALLY like her. 'Cry Me A River' is
one of my all-time fuckin' favourites."
Keith resolves to remain
unmoved by this display of devotion: "...if you restrict yourself
to labels like rock'n'roll you're never going to get anywhere with PIL.
We're not even a group: we're a company. I don't think we connect with
any of that stuff that groups are doing. That's my dilemma in the studio
right now. Right this minute. The last album, 'Metal Box', if you want
to call it rock'n'roll, it's the furthest you can go in rock'n'roll...
Now there's got to be a complete change. At the moment I'm designing
a drum synthesizer that I'd like to be able to put out on the market.
I want PIL to do loads of things. We'll be doing videos soon. Well,
we're doing them ow, but we'll be releasing them soon. But that doesn't
just restrict us to playing the numbers that are on the tape, for example."
JR: "Listen, you do
a song, but why does it have to be pictures of a band strumming guitars
to go with it? Why should that be your visual?"
 Keith:
"Why should the soundtrack even have any music in it at all?"
JR: "Taking it the other
way round...YES!!!"
Keith: "It might just
be a dialogue soundtrack to go with the visuals. That's what a videodisc
means to me. It's access to the film industry and -"JR (with the
peevishness of one whose beloved has disappeared from the TV screen):
"WHY, WHY, WHY! You either like what you see or you don't! That's
it, isn't it?"
Keith: "I'm trying to
show the difference between the restrictive attitude and the open mind."
Me: "But the way most record companies are approaching video, they're
obviously just going to turn out the predictable hackneyed rubbish..."
Keith: "Well, that's
why I'd like to get money out of ITT or someone like that. Because I
don't feel PIL is restricted to record companies. We're signed up to
Virgin for the music side of it, but why should we be restricted to
them for films? I think that by using video and Super-8 together we
can blow all the unions out, which is the whole problem that fucks up
film-making. And that's what PIL's all about - accessibility and non-restriction,
opening things out.
Facility and creativity -
not money. Just get it together yourself. That's the example WE want
to set. Not CHANGING ROCK'N'ROLL because I really don't think we have
anything to do with it. I'd rather send out a video of us than do a
30 date tour. Because videos don't have arguments with themselves, and
don't split up, and don't ever tire."
JR: "How can you be
honest if you have to play the same set every night?"
Me: "Have you stopped
doing live gigs for good?"
JR: "YES! It's just
not on. You might as well go to a museum. I'm afraid it's not on."
Me: "But are there no
groups whom you would enjoy to see on stage?"
JR: "At the moment no."
Keith feels the same. Though
he loves the new Bowie album, he wouldn't like to see him play a live
show - though he would like to see him in 'The Elephant Man'. This,
though, provides John with the opportunity to express HIS sentiments
on the subject of Bowie: "People like Bowie, they should do very
small nightclub gigs...totally different, totally separate. The geezer
reckons he's an actor, he reckons he's into mime... (dramatic groan)
GOD! I've yet to see it! UUUURRRGGGGHHH! I hate him SO much! I've NEVER
liked him... We have quite a few differences about things like that,
don't we, Keith?"
Keith (his thoughts leaping):
"We're in here doing an album, right? We have to concentrate on
doing music,that being our main money-puller and our main reason for
being about at the moment - even though we want to do lots of other
things. But we obviously have to concentrate on the musical side of
things because that gives us the facility to expand. But, as I said,
that's my present dilemma: I refuse to take part in any of it anymore...
I don't understand why we haven't sold a load of records, but we haven't.
'Metal Box' sold out, and the 'Second Edition' sold loads, but they
should all have sold millions more, and I don't know why they didn't.
In the end, maybe our forth album will do really well, and people will
just buy up the others.
But by then, we'll be doing
so many other things that the musical side of it will be the least important..."
 Me:
"I think you're seen as a cult band..."
JR: "Unnecessary rubbish.
Because there's no intellectual in this outfit - that's for sure! I
will
not GIVE up. There IS a future. I will NOT accept the nuclear threat
as being the be-all and end-all. I will NOT crawl back into escapism.
The nuclear threat is just another form of escapism for the manic depressives.
Or alcoholics. Or drug fiends."
As John is speaking, Keith
stands up and returns to the studio. With Keith gone, John bemoans how
disillusioned he's become with reggae, laying much of the blame for
the devitalization of the music on the reggae snobs who swarm homicidally
about it: "Do they like the RECORDS? Do they actually like the
MUSIC? I don't like what reggae clubs have become, there's very few
blacks in them anymore. It's all social workers and trendies. That's
why I don't like reggae music anymore. It's all 'Oh, you don't like
that record? You racialist bastard!' But why don't I like it? Could
it be that I've heard twenty better versions of it two years ago? Over
the last two years there's been very little but re-releases. The only
band I can think of who're doing anything at all is Black Uhuru. That's
it."
Understandably Malcolm McLaren,
due to whose actions all the Pistols' money ist still in the hand of
an official receiver, remains a BETE NOIRE. Former Clash manager Bernie
Rhodes, McLaren's supposed lackey, is seen, though, in a very different
light.
"You have to appreciate
about Bernie", explains John, "that he does TALK. And so do
I: I talk myself into death traps sometimes. And that's what Bernie
does.
And it hurts him. I know how much he influenced Malcolm. He DEFINITELY
influenced the start of the Pistols. He made all Malcolm's shirts. He
did all the t-shirt designs. He got ME in the band. Malcolm hated my
guts, because of the way me'n'Sid used to take the piss out of him.
WANKER! It's not that Bernie was Malcolm's stooge AT ALL. It was the
other way around." I take exception with John over his continual
sniping about The Clash whom, whatever he may feel are their misgivings,
I certainly see as most sincere blokes.
"Oh, I'm not saying
they're NOT. There was a time when Joe got very upset about something
I said about them. It doesn't matter. I just DON'T LIKE their records,
and I don't like their direction, I don't see what they're aiming at
as being in any way constructive..."
 But
perhaps things have to operate on - "Many levels? Different attitudes?
Fine. Perfect. But you can't expect me - as a normal person just like
everyone else - to like everything. I have my likes and dislikes and
I don't like what they're doing. It's not good enough for me. Personally."
Considering the official
absurdities with which he's had to contend, it's hardly surprising that
John Lydon is appalled by the political nonsense currently being propagated
in this country. Like many others he is increasingly disillusioned at
how little difference there is between Left and Right:
"Basically, it's all
the same - it always will be. They just go round in circles. In actual
fact, you need dull boring people in those positions of power to keep
things together. Because as soon as you vote for opinionated leaders
the extremities are going to provide a backlash to match it. So you
just need a dullard, that's all - as a stabilizing factor. But I think
(laughs) Margaret's gone a bit too far... I think it's bloody obvious
she's mad. THE WOMAN'S DANGEROUS! The Tories will be in to 1984. And
I can't see ANY way of stopping them." |