John Lydon and friends faced relentless criticism when they undertook their first reunion tour in 1996. The music press had a field day and loyal fans didn’t know quite how to feel about this latest outing. Should they be elated at this opportunity for a whole new generation to experience the original snarling punk rockers that exploded from London all those years ago in a tornado of profanity, rebellion and anger? Or should they feel sick at a cheap and embarrassing U- Turn, particularly when considering their previous condemnation of bands such as the Rolling Stones as being “more like a business than a band". For no matter how much sneering, eye rolling, spitting and shrugging Mr. Rotten does, these glaring contradictions won’t go away. This is made explicit tonight at the Manchester Evening News Arena, UK.
The collective present in this Arena are perhaps the most embarrassing set of clichés-in-denial ever witnessed in such a musically visionary city. Bondage trousers, mohicans and Malcolm McLaren gear floods the venue like a plague, as does the phlegm, bile and the inexplicable hatred directed towards support artists The Scratch Perverts.
The Scratch Perverts are of a more- shall we say- electronic ilk than the Sex Pistols, and provide an entertaining, defiant set despite their impressive set being drowned out by musically bigoted morons. One has to admire the bravery of the duo marching across the stage with a hand held camera- filming the inanity- whilst sticking two fingers up for good measure.The hilarity of the crowd's ignorance is of course the undeniable contradiction between the open minded uninhibited experimentalism that was the punk movement and its modern counterparts closing themselves off in a clique of tattoos and tartan, afraid of change or innovation. It matters not, contradiction seems to be the colour that won’t run from this bizarre spectacle.
The Sex Pistols’ introduction is probably the most moving moment of the night- as the Arena’s P.A. plays Vera Lynn’s “There’ll Always Be An England” and almost every member of the audience is caught up in inspired patriotism- whipped into a singing, chanting frenzy until Lydon marches out to declare that there will, indeed “always be an England!” rife with eccentricity and confrontation before ploughing into the Pistols classic “Pretty Vacant”. Whilst it is comforting to see such a positive rabble rousing start to the show, you do have to question just how many people in the room needed to be told to be patriotic and obeyed in sheep- like fashion. How many of this flock were, prior to this, truly aware that the questioning ethos often present in the punk “movement” is beneficial to those exposed to it, that it encourages a resilience to complacency and provides a sense of patriotic pride when it comes to characterise so much of British music, art and culture? How many of these safety pin enthusiasts were actually utilising this independence and not following a pack mentality when they hurled abuse at a perfectly sufficient support act a few minutes ago? I guess most of them are just here for the spitting and jumping- and they’ll do it to pretty much anything this group endorses.
The fact is, the crowd would have enjoyed this concert no matter what- and tonight proves this conclusively. If you can enjoy a bunch of fat old men musically masturbating to their own reflection without an ounce of vitality or necessity in their performance then the only explanation is hero worship and stubbornness. This is a sorry state of affairs, and as the band rock out hit after hit they begin to look more and more like Status Quo- particularly when Steve Jones (guitarist) and Glen Matlock (bassist) actually engage in an impersonation of the ‘Quo by rocking back and forth with their guitars, facing drummer Paul Cook in what I can only hope is a misguided attempt at irony.
If this were any other group, this would have been all right. This performance would have passed, but the slack- jawed inanity of the crowd and the irreconcilable contradictions of such an event outweigh adequate musical performance, some amusing conversation with the crowd, and to be fair, what appears to be heart felt sincerity in places on the part of Mr. Lydon, who to his credit has in the past admitted revelling in his own evolution. Further, the most outrageous and moronic displays of the evening were out of his control and a fault of those in attendance. None of this, however, addresses the contradictions that have characterised tonight and threaten to destroy the original integrity (if ever there was any) of the Sex Pistols.
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