God Save Our Ears - Sex Pistols to Play at Golden Jubilee?

Discuss this on our boards!

God Save Our Ears – Sex Pistols to Play at Golden Jubilee?
by J. Edward Tremlett

December 21, 2001

"Down On the rANT Farm"

J. Edward Tremlett Someone once said that the surest way to foul up the future is to try and recreate the past in the present. In order to go anywhere, we have to go forward, and while there’s nothing wrong with celebrating and recognizing where we came from – as well as giving in to the occasional bout of nostalgia – dwelling too long in what’s passed us by is’t very productive. But it does pay rather well...

I had cause to think about that just recently, when I learned that the Sex Pistols are being asked to reform and play on the occasion of Her Majesty’s Golden Jubilee. According to a story on CNN, a promoter says they’ve been offered “substantial sums of money” to regroup. And, given that their 1996 reunion tour was a huge success, this wouldn’t be completely unheard of, either.

Some folks might not understand what all the fuss is about. The "Cliff Notes" version is that the Sex Pistols released a song "God Save the Queen," that insulted Queen Elizabeth (right) - quite a dangerous thing to do in England. Not only that, but they had the cheek to release it just before her Silver Jubilee, too. The song went to the top of the charts in spite of a BBC ban, the Pistols were roughed up by patriotic Englishmen for daring insult the Queen, and the band got into a boat to go up the Thames blare punk music at Parliament, leading to the inevitable arrest...

Some might have called it the Sex Pistol's finest hour: Situationism writ large upon the face of the world in words that no one could ignore. Others called it a national disgrace, and were only too happy to see the band go down in flames not too long thereafter. They were rude, controversial and self-destructive, but they were also the forefront of a cultural revolution that - while they may not have changed anything - made one hell of a great and memorable racket while trying.

So now we're thinking of revisiting history: dusting off the fellows and getting them to reprise their roles in what had been the most outlandish stunt of their day. Who could resist?

Me, I’m of two minds on the deal. As a fan, I like the idea of seeing the Pistols back on a stage. I didn’t get to see them in action the last time they reunited, but from what I heard of the concerts they were astounding. Steve Jones is still a formidable guitarist. Paul Cook can still lay down a mean rhythm. Glen Matlock – who was foisted out of the band in favor of the late, lamented Sid Vicious – was responsible for a lot of early songwriting, and he hasn’t lost his touch.

And John Lydon... I mean, Johnny Rotten... hasn’t changed at all: still brash, abrasive, opinionated, self-contradictory and camp after all these years. His belly is sagging, his jowls are wobbling and his pinpoint, captivating stare is starting to turn into the lazy-eyed leer of a dirty old man, but Johnny is still Johnny. In many ways he is the personification of punk rock’s paradoxical spirit. I’d love to be able to sit and talk with him; I’d hate to be trapped in a car with him.

But, on the other hand... what does this say about what punk rock's become?

Consider Punk's roots, if you will. It may have been “invented” by clothes salesman cum musical impresario Malcolm McClaren to sell jeans (if you take his word for it, and few do), but it spiraled out of his hands, turning into a vital, questioning part of 70’s and 80’s youth culture.

The whole Do It Yourself ethic - the idea that people with no talent, no formal training and no good looks to speak of could get up and express themselves musically - was a great thing in and of itself. But the idea that you could say four-letter words while doing so, heap abuse on power structures and even insult the royal family while you were at it? It was unheard of, but it was also a breath of fresh air: like finding a flashlight while lost in a cave.

The light couldn’t have come at a better time, either. England was in a lousy state of affairs when punk rock erupted. Work was spotty, kids everywhere were getting by on the dole, and there was a general feeling of hopelessness floating through the air. English kids were stuck between the tail end of hippie-culture music and the mind-numbing beat of disco, with the leftover, increasingly-distanced relics of the British Invasion held up as icons. They couldn't find any music to express the reality around them, at least until punk came around. And nothing was ever quite the same again.

Punk was music for young, poor and working-class folk rebelling against both the political and musical establishments. They heaped scorn and abuse on the old guard of Rock and Roll, labeling them “Old Farts” who’d passed it long, long ago and should just move over.

Seen in that light, the Sex Pistols’ reforming is a betrayal to the very movement they’d spawned. They’d hung together for a short season, and then split up amid acrimony and managerial strangeness. In other words, they had the "perfect" punk rock career: much like the "perfect" punk song, it was short, vulgar and very much to the point. Returning to the stage after more than two decades seems like the song’s gone on too long, doesn't it?

And the men aren’t the only thing that’s dated. When’s the last time they wrote new material? “God Save the Queen” was a much-needed gob in the face of the hypocritical complacency of 1979 London. But now, in a day and age where the royals’ affairs and failings are front-page tabloid fodder, the song seems like more of an afterthought than a firestarter. Old news, or - as the punks of the time might have said - "Borrrrrring!"

That song's not the only item in their bag of tricks that’s gone a little stale, either. Some of their songs retain their fire, and remain pointed, vulgar and timeless classics, but others haven’t aged as well. “Holiday in the Sun” sang about the Berlin Wall, which has since come down. “Anarchy in the UK” seems much less feasible now than it did then. And is there still a need to harp on EMI for a DOA recording contract from a quarter-century ago?

Some say punk - real punk, that is - is dead. I tend to disagree, but you have to admit that things have changed. 25 years ago, the Sex Pistols' songs were a perfect counterpoint to life in lower-class London, which resembled something out of an updated Dickensian nightmare. Now, while some things haven’t changed, things are different enough to make the fury of the old days seem out of place. If punk wishes to be truthful - as many of its early makers were so adamant about being - then maybe it's time that the mythos caught up with its makers, and they just gracefully left the stage.

There's something terribly sad about seeing a piece of your lost youth being paraded around just to make crass cash. It’s not nearly as bad as the Dead Kennedy’s recent “reformation” sans the band’s heart and soul, Jello Biafra (due to legal problems and acrimony between him and the rest of the band) but it’s still sobering. No one likes being told that a vital piece of their past is now a commodity for sale, especially when the hucksters are the ones who made it in the first place. Is this some post-modern statement - "I use the enemy" - or just a grab for cash by four old, passed-it "punks" who are now only famous for having once been infamous?

But then, all that's just my older self talking: the one who over-intellectualizes a trip on the bus or a meal at McDonalds.

The younger, more vital me - the kid who regrets having missed out on the start of punk - doesn't care about po-faced, steadfast yearnings for consistency. I’d still go see the reformed Pistols if I could score a ticket. I’d want to be up there in the front, right where Johnny could leer at me. I’d want to see Steve let loose on the guitar. I’d even want to hear them crack jokes about losing Sid’s ashes at the airport.

Principles be damned – this is the Sex Pistols. Maybe that was the whole point all along...? ***

“The joy and hope of an alternative - Has become its own cliché- A hairstyle's not a lifestyle - Imagine Sid Vicious at 35” “Chickensh*t Conformist” – Dead Kennedys

J. Edward Tremlett is a published author, political thinker and self-described "mean-spirited crank." He lives with his wife and two cats in Dubai, United Arab Emirates.

Photo of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II courtesy of The Official Web Site of the Bristish Monarchy