Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs (1993)

John Lydon here takes on the difficult and neverending task of "correcting the record," in this case the highly visible, and visibly pored over, history of the Sex Pistols. He was a little late to the party, trailing 1989's Lipstick Traces and 1991's England's Dreaming, which effectively set the outlines, thanks in part to a combination of Malcolm McLaren's arguable overparticipation and Lydon's own underparticipation in those projects. But then Lydon practically compounds the problem with this "authorized autobiography" (though a nice touch, that) "with Keith and Kent Zimmerman," which casts an air of the smug and self-satisfied. It feels as if Lydon considers himself ultimately above all this, and so he is. There is minimal effort. It's basically an oral history with Lydon's voice overwhelmingly dominating the transcriptions. For me, if anything, it tends to undercut his case, which is powerful on its face. As Johnny Rotten in the Sex Pistols he is the first anyone would think of as the chief player in that drama, with Sid Vicious playing a critical supporting role. But the books by Greil Marcus and Jon Savage make powerful and persuasive cases for the importance of McLaren and, rather more incidentally, for Glen Matlock, who made significant contributions as a songwriter. Lydon comes off in this autobiography as a decent human being and an interesting enough cultural figure, sarcastic and radical and embittered though not unpleasantly so. But he seems more football fan than rock star somehow, and somehow this regular guy thing struck me as a tough sell. Certainly Lydon has carried on the most interesting post-Pistols career (though I don't think McLaren is actually that far behind him). But many of Lydon's arguments against the significance of, say, McLaren, or Situationism, seem to boil down to "Nah-nah, can't prove it. I was there and I say not," etc., without producing anything like a satisfying or credible alternative explanation for the hurricanes of phenomena that swirled around the Sex Pistols when they existed. Lydon could well be the one telling the truth, but his version seems by far the least interesting—thus, perhaps, the most convincing in one way. But still, if Lydon is going to stake his legacy on his vision and his words he might have considered taking on the work of composing them rather than simply switching on a tape recorder and speaking into it as the whim moved him. This is a bit disappointing.

In case it's not at the library.

28. Sex Pistols, "Anarchy in the U.K." (1977)

(listen)

This is so obvious and, in a way, self-serving that I'm almost embarrassed to put it here. But long before it was the hallmark of a cultural earthquake/tidal wave that changed everything, etc., blahhh, it was this funny-weird song that a friend turned up on a 45 single. A 45 single! That by itself seemed strange enough at the time. Then it was this. Sure, there's a lot of scary sensation to it, big swaggering words like "anarchy" and "Antichrist" and all that unholy cackling from Johnny Rotten (later John Lydon), and plus he's not such a great singer you know, or anyway misses a lot of notes. But it's as much a pure pop song for now people as anything concocted by Nick Lowe and his Stiff brethren and that's exactly how I took it. I just loved it. Somebody put it on a tape for me, and I dubbed it from there onto all kinds of tapes for other people. I still think it's a pretty swell song, with a big raw wailing guitar sound and martial marching tempos, and all the howling and caterwauling from Lydon. There's something just thrilling about it. "There's so many ways to get what you want!" "It's the only way to be!" And, of course, the one that resonates across the ages, "I wanna destroy!" Each and every with an exclamation point embedded in the grain of the vocals and the emphatic kick of the band. I was perfectly prepared to accept this as the future of rock 'n' roll. I'm still not sure it wasn't, although by the time I was reading about them regularly in fan magazines they were pretty much over. They weren't exactly dead, they still aren't (and that includes poor old Sid). But they were over—an interesting state of affairs that this song utterly embodies, tensions and all.

England's Dreaming: Anarchy, Sex Pistols, Punk Rock, and Beyond (1992)

Jon Savage's lengthy history of the UK punk-rock eruption circa 1977 has been considered the go-to single volume on the subject practically since the day it was published, and for good reason. Written by someone who watched it all happen, and meticulously researched beyond that, there's as much knowledge here as anyone could hope to find, certainly in order to understand the basics. Savage focuses most of his attention on the Sex Pistols, and more, on mastermind Malcolm McLaren's huge role behind the scenes, but he's never afraid to follow the story where it takes him: to New York for McLaren's eye-popping visit in the mid-'70s (and my source for arguing that New York punk-rock not only came first but very directly influenced the UK version of it, which essentially set everything else in motion), to the Clash and Damned and Buzzcocks and Siouxsie & the Banshees and X-Ray Spex and more bands as well, to Manchester and Liverpool, and through the American South on the Sex Pistols' disastrous final tour. Savage approaches the subject on multiple levels simultaneously, decking out his tome with handbills, photos, and art of the time, including a few pages of color plates in my beat-up old paperback edition, and he substantiates it with a comfortable facility in various art/fashion/political goings-on animating the action, such as Situationism or the larger move of the British public toward conservatism then underway in a failing economy, providing the context as well as the stakes for much that punk-rock aspired to. It's telling that both McLaren and John Lydon (aka Johnny Rotten) explicitly dedicated themselves to being anything but rock stars and in many ways considered the fact that that is exactly what the Sex Pistols became to be their signature failures. (It was about the only thing they agreed on, however, as the collapse of the band early in 1978 was followed immediately by a series of bitter lawsuits between the two principals and others that lasted the better part of a decade.) Everything you ever wanted to know about the Sex Pistols is here, including the unpleasant story of its one genuine rock star, John Simon Ritchie (aka Sid Vicious), and endless insight into what made the band and the movement it spawned. Essential, let's go ahead and call it that.

In case it's not at the library.