The Filth and the Fury Page #2

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That's why we'd always | end up at Vivienne's,

because it was | like a hang-out.

I liked the clothes, | they were different.

It weren't all flares | and kipper ties.

It was Teddy Boy clothes. | It was a lot more rebellious,

and obviously | I was drawn to that.

The Teddy Boy thing, for me,

was all about the idea | of being a peacock,

and standing out in the crowd, | but at the same time

feeling a sense that you are | part of the dispossessed,

which -- at the end | of my art school term,

I thought I could make | a profit by.

I became friends with Malcolm

because he had a lot | of contacts in music.

He seemed to know everybody.

He finds a way in | with his blague,

which is perfect | for a manager.

I walked up and down | the King's Road

with complete anger | and resentment.

People were extremely absurd,

and still stuck into flares | and platform shoes

and neatly coiffured | longish hair,

and pretending the world | wasn't really happening.

It was an escapism | that I resented.

There was also | a garbage strike

going on for years | and years and years,

and there was trash piled | 1 0 foot high.

They seem to have | missed that.

Wear the garbage bag, | for God's sake --

and then you're dealing | with it.

And that's what I | would be doing...

I would wrap myself | basically in trash.

...and that so lamely | and unfashionable...

that dogs bark at me | as I halt by them.

I've got news for you. | Dogs bark at me.

In a weird way, that whole | persona of, say, "Richard Ill"

helped when I joined | the Sex Pistols.

Deformed, hilarious, | grotesque --

and the "Hunchback | of Notre Dame" is in there,

and just bizarre characters

that somehow or other, | through all of their deformities

managed to achieve something.

# ...Just for a short while #

# She'll scratch in the sand #

# Won't let go of his hand... #

Steve was a kind | of a kleptomaniac, really.

I'm sure he would be | diagnosed as that, you know,

because he couldn't keep | his hands in his pockets...

which was quite handy, | really.

We'd always know a way in round | the back of Hammersmith Odeon,

being our local area.

# The Jean Genie... #

David Bowie was playing | the Ziggy farewell thing,

and while the roadies | was asleep in the front row,

he'd be going around on stage | snipping all the microphones off.

We had great guitars, | amplifiers,

great drum kits, | PA system, everything,

but, you know, we couldn't | play it properly.

To prevent myself | from being beaten up

by what were Uxbridge | Teddy Boys

coming in, | pilfering in the store,

I decided to go down | another route --

rubber and leather | fetish wear.

I felt that...

that would look fun and exciting | on the King's Road

because it would have | a similar effrontery

that Teddy Boy clothes had, | except it would be new.

Malcolm's shop interested me

because of the rubber wear.

Fascinating that people can get | themselves into such a predicament

that the only way they can | have sex is in a face mask

and a rubber T-shirt.

With a bollock weight.

How does it become that way? | It becomes like that for you

because you just cannot | face reality.

Steve just came back one day, | and said,

"l found a bass player." | I said, "Who's that?"

He said, "This guy, Glen, | who works in Malcolm's shop."

Lo and behold, I started | rehearsing with them.

They had so much equipment that | Steve had "assembled," shall we say?

We were always pestering | Malcolm to manage us,

and he said he'd be interested | if we got rid of Wally.

He came down once, he said, | "You shouldn't sing,

you should play guitar. | You should get a singer."

We realized wally was gonna | have to go.

Alas, poor [ Wally ]...

I knew him, Horatio.

Round this time | there was a group of guys

who came from the north side | of London,

who used to come | into the shop

probably for the same reasons | we did,

you know, on a Saturday, | whatever...

there was the group of them, | apparently all called "John."

Steve and Paul never believed | we were all called John...

They could never take that.

Sid's real name is John.

Theyjust thought we were

Iike a "Clockwork Orange" gang, | you know -- "The Johns."

I've no idea why | they picked me out...

other than they thought I looked | well different from the pack.

We arranged to meet John | one night...

in a pubjust down the road.

We had a few pints, and then | we came back to the shop.

We gave the singer | an audition

in my shop, later on, | after the pub had closed,

for him to imitate,

and for him | to try to sing along

with an Alice Cooper track | on the jukebox

called "Eighteen", | which I adored.

And he sung it like | "The Hunchback of Notre Dame."

# I'm eighteen #

# And I don't know | what I want #

I always did view myself

as one damn ugly f***er.

I certainly weren't | no belle of the ball.

John just started...

going into spasms | in front of the jukebox,

and singing, | and doing his act,

what later became what everyone | knows and loves, you know.

And I knew right away then | that he was the singer.

He was... gonna be the one, | really.

I personally wouldn't | have got him in the band,

even though he looked | like a star.

I thought he was a wanker for taking | the piss, and he wasn't serious...

But then, after speaking to him | for a while,

I realize that | that was his own insecurity

to take the piss because | he wasn't really a singer.

John was from a different world | from me and Cookie.

He's more of an intellectual, | John.

I knew what Steve was.

I knew he had potential | to be a great person.

There's something in him | that's genuine.

I can see that there's a tragedy | in him, just like in me.

Deep down inside, | they're wounded people.

And then there's Glen...

waffling on about nice things | like the Beatles.

We're the very first people | to call each other c*nts

outright --

face on -- | and know it.

And we are. We all are... | All in our way.

You put all this | together, and it...

it makes for high drama, | a bit like a Harold Pinter play.

It shouldn't work, | but it does.

All our first rehearsals | were a nightmare.

I couldn't hold | a damn note,

Paul couldn't really keep time, | I couldn't play guitar.

I f***ing hated it. | It was just a f***ing noise,

but I just stuck in there, | because that's all I had.

# ...no lip, child #

# And I mean what I say #

# Don't give me | no lip, child #

# You'll be sorry one day #

Oh, f***, it's awful. | I hate songs like that.

Right from the start, | we'd argue --

bitterly, bitterly, | from day one rehearsal,

pure, full-on row.

It would be constantly,

"You know, you've gotta | learn to sing."

And it's like, "Why?"

"Says who? | Who wrote the rules here?"

But that's all right, you need | that difference of character.

I didn't think, | if I could be a sculptor,

I necessarily needed clay...

I suddenly thought, | "You can use people!"

And it's people that I used, | like an artist.

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