Anger is an Energy: My Life Uncensored (45 page)

So, good on Keith for liking reggae. I mean: in between yearly blood transfusions, why not?

‘I
never thought he had talent, I always thought Sid was the genius.’ That was the sad, sorry, silly indictment still coming in from
Malcolm McLaren’s camp. It was Vivienne Westwood’s line, from way back in late 1975, when I wouldn’t comply with her fashion dictates. Thanks a fucking bunch, bitch, you’re
flogging my fucking clothes ideas and you have the audacity to say that. The terrible thing is, a lot of people picked up on that, and wanted to believe it and still I’m ostracized from what
we could call fashionable society because of attitudes that came down from Malcolm and Vivienne at that time. Tough tits, baby. I’m still here.

Eight long and hectic years had gone by since the end of the Sex Pistols. I felt like I’d achieved and proved so much in the meantime, but now finally my case against Malcolm was coming to
court.

From the beginning, I was told by my lawyer, Brian Carr, that I had no chance on God’s given earth of winning anything out of it and shouldn’t go forward with proceedings. I insisted
on talking to the barrister, because that’s what you need to acquire when you get into these things in England. He said, ‘Oh, it’s very risky. Are you prepared?’ I just
dived in.

Proceedings were concluded a few days before my
real
triumph – the release of ‘Rise’ as a single. That song was changing people’s
perceptions of me towards the positive. We did a great video showing washing lines in some of the more tormented neighbourhoods of London – stirring imagery from the kind of place I grew up
in – which actually got us on MTV. We were on
Top of the Pops
, too, and everyone seemed to be connecting with the song – even the critics! Battling Malcolm just felt like ancient
history.

The ‘trial’ itself, on the other hand, lasted three days, and Malcolm advisedly settled out of court. The whole thing was like a damp squib, a wet fart. I didn’t know what it
was I really wanted. I didn’t want any more resentment festering, and I didn’t want to walk off owning it all. I wanted that sense of ‘share’, and ultimately that’s
what we got: we four surviving members got to
share
everything, from the Sex Pistols name, to what was left in the band’s bank account – a large chunk of which went towards an
enormous outstanding tax bill.

Still, it set things up lovely: now we weren’t going to be bankrupt forever and a day. All we had to do was work hard to stop things ever sliding back in that direction. But we took the
name Pistols back off mismanagement and, ever since, not just me but the people I work with have been fighting to maintain a sense of integrity about what the Pistols really was.

People should understand: Malcolm was never out for the money. He was out for the accolades. That’s really what the court case settled – it wasn’t him what did everything,
creatively.

Pretty much the last time I saw him was when the Clash were playing that residency at Bond’s in New York, when we first moved out there in May ’81. Bernie Rhodes was back managing
the Clash, and he knew Malcolm was in town too, so he set up a dinner date for the three of us to try and talk us into making peace. I really couldn’t take Malcolm serious. It was the most
pointless evening ever. This was the ultimate indication of where Malcolm was coming from: he says, ‘It’s silly, Bernie, we’re never going to like
each
other, why are you doing this?’ – and we got up and left together. Outside, he turns to me and says, ‘Well, at least we didn’t have to pay for it.’ To me, that was
tuppence, not a big victory in life, but it was very much fundamentally Malcolm’s lousy approach to people. Always trying to get one over on them, in that sniggly, ducking-and-diving way.

All the people who’d been around us at the beginning, all those who were ‘Friends of Malcolm’ – like little Helen Wellington-Lloyd – had become ‘Not Friends
of Malcolm’. It had gone from the initial outbursts of ‘Oh, Malcolm’s doing a great thing’, to every single one of them realizing he was
not
doing a great thing.
Malcolm was actually very destructive, to himself and everybody else, and tried to manipulate people’s lifestyles when he wasn’t really handling his own too well. A bit of a disaster.
Poor sod.

Malcolm had a proclivity towards possession. The whole situation was very difficult for Paul and Steve, because their apartment in Bell Street in Marylebone was owned by Malcolm, and they were
well aware that any decision on their part to change sides during the case could jeopardize their existence. They eventually switched ships once it began to look grim from Malcolm’s side.

I didn’t see it as winning anything, rather resolving things properly with Steve and Paul, because they eventually came to see that I had a correct and accurate point of view. Malcolm
had
sold us down the river contractually. Was there a big joint celebration, with the popping of champagne corks and group hugs? Oh, I don’t think so! Not at all. They’d done so
much damage to me with the bad-mouthing. All of that’s still there in me. To this day, I’m aware there’s a lot to be made up for here. But at the end of the day I’ve got no
resentment or hatred towards Malcolm, so why on earth would I have any towards them?

At Brixton Academy, in May 1986, there was a mob of about 100 to 150 that absolutely came down to
destroy
. These morons considered me, wrongly, as The Enemy. They were
spitting and
chucking bottles; there was all sorts of crap whizzing past our ears! A bunch of them were constantly trying to get on stage or trying to climb on top of the
stage-left speaker stacks. The bouncers didn’t seem to be properly organized, or maybe they were just undermanned. Something just didn’t seem right. It was a constant battle all night.
All I could hear was ‘You’re a cunt!’ and ‘Sell out!’ and ‘Boo, hiss!’ – whatever. This was just shit they’d read in the papers – that
I’d sold out by starting PiL, by making
Album
with some fine bloody musicians, and that I wasn’t a punk any more.

There was such a dark horrible vibe in and outside the building. I’d heard there had been some muggings before the show. Brixton in them days was a dangerous place. The locals saw the
average concert-goer as easy pickings. Inside the venue the trouble seemed orchestrated. It was all bollocks, evil and nasty, but it shows how easily people’s minds can be manipulated by the
media telling them this stuff. Nothing had been easy since I’d finished
Album
– I’d had to find a live band very quickly, while the Pistols case was brewing. Now life was
being made all the worse by these one-percenters, we’ll call them, that were completely buying the media agenda and turning on their own. Quite frankly, I view them as government
watchdogs.

It was such a shame, because we were offering the crowd something great, really taking PiL to the next level, and the vast majority were completely with us, responding to the positive energy
that came from ‘Rise’ and
Album
. It was just this certain clique – they were punky new-age squatter types – that were dead against us. A new breed who’d got it
all wrong. They created an ugly situation. The security fellas on duty at Brixton that night were mostly from the local neighbourhood. I wasn’t overly impressed with them but some of them
were genuinely all right. One of them who I happened to get talking to because he supported Arsenal said to me, ‘Look, John, they’re spitting and chucking things at us too, what do you
want us to do?’ My answer was, ‘Just
don’t
crack any heads!’

It was a hard one to overcome. I had my work cut out. In those
situations, you can easily end up with the responsibility of starting a riot. But, really – the
hatred! The game was obvious: ‘Tear Johnny Rotten down! Who does he think he is!’ To which, I’d respond: ‘You’re doing the government’s work, you fucks!
That’s fine by me, you ain’t gonna stop me none!’ But when it comes to my band being worried about really serious injury, well, I’m with them in that respect. Then you have
to go about it a little differently.

It was so out of control, no one was listening. The only answer to it was to stop the set. The band went off, and I said, ‘We won’t come back on until that stops. You know who you
are – stop it! And if you know who they are, point them out, and we’ll stop them.’ A big punch-up ensued, and a bunch were slung out.

At that time, PiL was too far ahead for them. What a pity. Still, we
were
good! It was very frustrating because we were getting into the discipline of playing for a real long time, and
really giving you your money’s worth, and trying to keep the ticket prices as low as possible. By doing that, we let in the dogs, the jealous, the absolute talentless lowest denominator.
It’s crabs in a barrel – that old expression I use. They just keep pulling you down to their level, because they don’t have an answer. No empathy. It’s a particularly
British attitude to success – a hatred towards any of their own achieving anything at all.

It certainly wasn’t easy for my new band, coming into this situation – the punk kick-back. None of it was helpful to the agenda of getting started up again. Actually putting the new
line-up together was straightforward, to my mind. It wasn’t like running an advert in the newspaper this time, I was thinking in terms of sound, and kindred spirits, and some personalities
who might actually get on. The people you meet backstage, the people in other bands, the ones you chat to, the ones you get on with – they stay in your mind.

So, after
Album
, I went back to London and found John McGeoch. He’d been the guitarist in Magazine, who I was a
big
fan of. And wasn’t he astounding in Siouxsie and the
Banshees? We fell into each other in a really great way; we were already very good
friends. John sadly passed away in 2004, but hanging out with him was always hilarious.
His humour was, ‘Where’s the bar?’ He’d start with a double Martini, he couldn’t care less if it was shaken or stirred, and onwards and upwards from there on in. He
could be a difficult person – he was a Scot, indeed – and he had a lot of emotional wreckage going on inside him, but I don’t mind working with difficult people when they’ve
got the goods.

I will always think the world of John – just superb guitaring skills, and in different styles from what I was used to. I was used to more rhythmic styles and approaches. John was more of a
note-y kind of guy, with the jazz chords every now and again. And it turned out he was a beautiful, beautiful person to work with.

Bruce Smith I’d known for ever, really. I first met him at a gig with his first band, the Pop Group, and for some weird reason we Pistols thought they were threatening us. They thought we
were threatening them, and they were terrified – but there was about seventeen of them! He went on to drum with the Slits. He’d been trained as a reggae drummer, and played on soul
records, done jazz – quite a lot going on in there. He’s a happy-go-lucky, amicable guy, but I soon found out he’s a bit of brilliance in a rehearsal format. He’s very
rhythmically structured, and has this personality that can blend all these opposite forces together into something cohesive – which, frankly, is a quality I tend to lack from time to
time.

Bruce brought in Allan Dias on bass, because they’d done the odd bit of session work together, and I trusted Bruce’s faith in him. Allan became one of PiL’s longest serving
members – things don’t always end up negatively. Allan was so easy to get on with, very good fun, and a ladies’ man without a doubt. He has a certain quality of confidence where
girls just fall all over him. A sexpot. This is PiL, we cater for everything, and everybody.

Lu Edmonds, on keyboards and guitars, came from another strange meeting in London. I had forgotten completely that he was in the Damned, and I didn’t recognize him as such – and I
didn’t hold it against him. There he was in his fisherman’s cap doing his
little roll-up cigarettes, looking just like a professional social worker. He’s
one of the most easy-going, greatest people to get along with. It’s so strange, his brain and body are disconnected. His body is so uncoordinated with rhythm and yet he plays more superbly
than I have ever heard from any human being ever. He loves ambience, sonorous rhythms, fractures, tonalities, chaos.

With those four in place, there was a bunch of people that are all incredibly different from each other, but I thought, ‘This could work, finally.’ No single one of us was dictating
what the next vibe would be. It was a real sharing of talents, very generous, no dictatorship going on. It was a massive breath of fresh air for me, because up till then in retrospect, it had been
like suffocation.

What these boys had to face on our first UK tour in May ’86 was just terrible – very, very difficult, and not just in Brixton. The opening night in Hanley, some idiot chucked a
snooker ball at me. In Edinburgh I was hit on the head with a lady’s high-heel shoe, a stiletto heel. Wow, did that knock the sparks in my brain. In fairness, Richard Jobson from the Skids
came back afterwards and said he’d talked to the girl responsible, and she was really sorry. She was only trying to say, ‘Look, here’s my shoe!’ – she meant it well,
she wasn’t out to try and gouge my eyeball out.

In Vienna, McGeoch got a two-litre bottle of wine lobbed on his head. He ended up with something like forty stitches. We also had problems at another festival in Holland as well. The deal was,
if it came to that, then we’d just have to go off. The band are standing there trying to play and they don’t have a free arm to catch things. Myself, I got very good at catching stuff
when it was thrown, and not skipping a beat. But it’s not a game. You can get seriously hurt there. It only takes one or two at some of them large festivals, where the stage was low, and it
could get very, very dangerous.

In Vienna, it was a support band responsible for throwing the bottle at McGeoch. They’d gone to the back of the bar and nicked these empty bottles and that’s what they were slinging
at us. It was like, who’s stopping that? I’d go, ‘Police yourselves.
Who’s doing that?’ Generally speaking, a crowd would point them out and
off they’d skulk. You’ve got to do something, and make a stand.