A Q&A with a legend. What could go wrong.
First of all. I love and have loved Mr. John Lydon for all of my adult life. And for much of my childhood. My first dip into ‘The Sex Pistols’ wasn’t ’Never Mind The Bollocks’, it was ‘Friggin’ In The Riggin’’, a B-Side to ‘Something Else’, one of the shitter 7” singles from ‘The Great Rock’n’Roll Swindle’ LP. Although Sid’s version of ‘My Way’ on said album is the definitive recording of that particular iconic song, fuck Frank and Elvis. To paraphrase Chuck D and P.E, their versions don’t mean shit to me.
P.i.L. Without a fucking doubt, are one of the most groundbreaking bands of the last fumphty years. Embracing all and everything. The musical equivalent of a black hole, a gravitational field and no genre of sonic madness was able to resist its pull. And John Lydon, a hero to most, a force of nature and a bonafide national treasure and no mistake. But tonight was a hard watch.
I’m not going in on Mr. Lydon, this review comes from a place of love. In my know fuck all faux-reviewer opinion, he shouldn’t be doing this, not now, and not for a while yet. He’s lost a lot recently. Two major rocks in his life are gone, turned to dust. His beautiful beloved Nora, his partner for over a million years, and Rambo, his friend, minder, manager and adviser all rolled into one hard as nails package. John listened to them. Always. Loved them implicitly. Cared for them without question. And now they’re not here, because if they were, on tonight’s showing, they’d have pulled him aside and said “John, let’s leave it for now eh, let’s just fuck off home”. But they’re not here, and so, unfortunately, no one else did. Or perhaps could.
John told us at the beginning of the show that he was on meds as he’d been ill all week, and was halfway through a bottle of rum. There were lots of genuine tears, expressions of love, a few laughs, buckets of reminisce and sweet memories, but without Nora and Rambo as his guide, Johnny struggled to see the light. His spike is still there, the wit, the anger, the fuck off in abundance. But concentrate on getting better, on dealing with loss, make a documentary, work on more P.i.L material, because they’re still as vital as they ever were. If there’s any doubt, listen to ‘Hawaii’, one of the most beautiful tributes to a fallen love you’re ever likely to hear. Or just take some time off.
Forget the Q&A’s for now though, until he’s stronger, and the grief stages get easier. The memories won’t fade, but they’ll be less difficult to express. But then again, that’s just my opinion. And what the fuck do I know.
Tonight, you could feel the complete and utter warmth and devotion to John from the sold-out crowd of the old, the young, skins, punks with defiant mohawks. Even Goths. And I’m sure it will help him, and those in attendance will be back no doubt, when he’s back on his feet.
I’m not a religious dude, but I believe that one of the 3000+ Gods who knock abart should bless the tough as granite John Lydon and keep him safe. He deserves to see the light once more, find peace in his heart, and be happy. And maybe then book a worldwide Q&A where he will delight once more, then we can all laugh, cry and treasure every memory, not witness an absolute legend on his knees.
My reviews usually dribble on for an age, but fortunately for you dear reader, this one is a short expression of tenderness for an amazing man with an amazing story. I’m sure the tour has gone well in places, but for me, tonight just didn’t feel right.
I’m Pelican Tangerine and I say I’m not the same as when I began.
