On the Death and Rebirth of Punk Legends

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Parent Category: Film and the Arts

Category: Reviews

Published on Saturday, 10 April 2010 14:02

Written by Alex Smith

John Lydon's resurrected Public Image Ltd. performed on Jimmy Kimmel Live recently. The former Johnny Rotten, Lydon has withstood a lot of criticism for daring to christen this current ensemble PiL given the pointed absence of original members Keith Levene and Jah Wobble, but as the vocalist himself pointed out to Jimmy Kimmel, there have been 39 members in the band over the years.

Regardless, even with the inclusion of former Damned/Shriekback guitarist Lu Edmonds (who played with PiL circa the Bill Laswell-produced Album album and tour), it's hard to get excited about a PiL "reunion" featuring a rhythm section of unknowns (couldn't John have tried to patch things up with original drummer Martin Atkins?).

In any case, to a gathered throng of what looked like disinterested Nickeblack fans, nu-PiL took the stage (flanked by Bud Light banners). If you're interested, you can see them play "Rise" here and watch Kimmel talk with John here. PiL's Kimmel performance served as an opening salvo of sorts for their impending tour of North America. One wonders if this morning's news of the death of Lydon's former manager/svengali/nemesis, Malcolm McLaren will overshadow proceedings.

The loss of McLaren made for some sad news. Sure, he was dutifully reviled by never-say-die punk purists for allegedly fleecing the Sex Pistols and meticulously choreographing their messy implosion, but how much of that legend is actually genuine? I'll leave that to the rock historians to ponder.

McLaren gets less credit for other contributions like Bow Wow Wow, "Double Dutch" and the Fans album (among other things).

I'd actually seen the man here in New York City a couple of times. Far from the conniving swindler he's usually portrayed as, he usually looked like a dapper fop. The last time I encountered him was as recently as last summer. I was deep in the bowels of Penn Station, rushing to meet my wife and kids as they arrived from a spell in Long Island. As I was descending a flight of stairs to the platform, up came a nattily dressed McLaren.

"Malcolm!" I instinctively (and somewhat presumptuously) exclaimed. He flinched as if I was about to hit him. I felt quite sorry for that, and saluted him as I continued down the steps. I'd imagine Sex Pistols fans have given him a lot of unsolicited grief over the years.

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