J

ohnny Rotten, the sneering face of the U.K.punk explosion and—with guitarist Steve
Jones, drummer Paul Cook, and bassist Glen Matlock—the force behind 1977’s
Never Mind the Bollocks Here’s the Sex Pistols, suffers fools badly. Ask an ill-informed
question or project a preconception, and you’re guaranteed a withering response.
But it’s also true that he’s capable of more brutal frankness and ferocious humor
than a dozen Noel Gallaghers. Indeed, it’s an ebullient Rotten (born John Lydon 51
years ago) I encounter in a Culver City, California photo studio. (He lives nearby
with wife Nora Forster.) Though he still records, he hasn’t released an album since
1997’s solo Psycho’s Path, shortly after he disbanded Public Image Ltd.; his passion of
late has been hosting nature shows for TV. “I like many, many things, and I don’t like
to be pigeonholed. The whole punk ethos became that way when people thought
they understood what punk was,” he says. “Journey is one of my favorite bands.”

Thirty years on, how do you think the Sex
Pistols fit into the punk explosion?

We never considered ourselves punk. It was a moniker put on us. The Sex Pistols were directly related to our culture in England—the message of Yeah, you can do it yourself. I didn’t see that too much out of that New York scene. I saw a lot of self-love and fanciful poetic leanings, all that

Rimbaud stuff, Patti Smith, pretending that there was some wonderful, beautiful artistic reasoning behind it. None of them had any street sense of

This is all fucked up, let’s change it. The Ramones to me were never punk; they were closer to

[English boogie rockers] Status Quo.

as a working-class person, born and raised, this is an important song for us: “My God, we do count in the world. It isn’t all just the sons and daughters of wealthy parents.” The school system for working-class kids is complete victimization—just stifle you, promise you no rewards, and hope that you just don’t bother. And very many of us don’t.

When you were attacked in London in June of
’ 77, tendons in your arm were damaged. You
were a left-handed guitarist, right?

I’m not a guitarist at all, now! I’m more like a clitoris these days because of that. It was a knife attack, but this shit does happen.

You’ve said you had a machete stuck in your

kneecap in an alley once, too.
When we first came to America [in January 1978],
they were pulling guns on us down in the South. It
was an act of choice to tour there, but it was also
a bit crazy. It was dangerous. The record company
wanted to shove us into that CBGB’s world of New
York, but that’s a world of foolishness.

For 20 years, rock had largely been just

entertainment.
Right, without real social implications. Except
in England, where there was this working-class
element lurking around. John Lennon’s “Working
Class Hero”—not a great song, but poignant. And

The Sex Pistols also had a satiric edge. Did
people miss the joke?
No! The joke was the dead hatred against us. It
was the funniest thing you’ve ever seen: to create
such animosity in people that you know should
know better. That’s a reward! [Laughs] I’ve
never needed a publicist. What for? There’s
enough people that hate me to keep my name in
the papers.

On the Filthy Lucre reunion tour in ¹⁹⁹⁶

My favorite reaction to the Pistols came from
British politician Bernard Brook-Partridge. He
said your band “would be vastly improved by
sudden death….I’d like to see someone dig a
huge hole and bury the lot of ’em in it.”

Yeah. And this is all in Parliament! [Laughs] I hit on a few home truths, I did. And of course, I delivered them with my usual sense of fun. “God Save the Queen” is a very valiant record. But you’re under the powers that be; you’re supposed to just roll over and salute the very forms that make you cannon fodder. Like, what the fuck is anybody doing here about Bush? How can a fascist dictator like that run this country, and there seems to be nothing, no matter who you vote in, that can stop him doing what he wants? I don’t see any demonstrations, any student riots. Because sending young boys over there to get murdered for nothing is unacceptable to me.

When you recorded Never Mind the Bollocks,
did you ever imagine the album would have the
world-changing impact it did?

No! How could you? And it did change the world. It was an enjoyable record to make, from start to finish, ’cause I loved our songs so much. And we put so much energy into it. [The Stooges’] Fun House had a stunning Side One—it’s a sense of energy; it sounds like one big glorious attack.

 

Like old Little Richard records. Absolutely! Crazy-ass lunatic, but Little Richard records were stunning. It’s hard, because the record industry does push you out if you’re too different from their long-term perspectives on future marketing strategies. Nirvana was peculiar. That was kind of a record company ploy, to rephrase punk in a more manufacturable way.

Some people have compared Nevermind to
Bollocks. Do you think that holds up?
“I’VE NEVER NEEDED A PUBLICIST.
WHAT FOR? THERE’S ENOUGH
PEOPLE THAT HATE ME TO KEEP
MY NAME IN THE PAPERS.”