26 REDS & A BOTTLE OF WINE

You can always count on John Lydon. I've never considered him much more than a public nuisance, albeit an amusing one, but I don't think that gives him enough credit. I mean few of his colleagues were able to so smoothly transfer from punk to new wave and few are still manning the guns. In a time when there are more ex-punker pushing baby strollers than over amplification Lydon is still telling everyone to 'fuck off'. At the very least you have to appreciate his commitment.

There was the press conference in 2002 where Johnny announced the new Sex Pistols tour. When asked about the absence of professional debaser Sid Vicious (due, in part, to death) Mr. Lydon became insensed and went on a tirade about how Sid was nothing more than a coat-hanger for a bass guitar.

Then there was the Sex Pistols' stop here in New York City. The show's after party was in Serena, the bar in the basement of the Chelsea Hotel (a nod to Sid?). John was wandering around the party, thoroughly enjoying being the center of attention. A photographer friend of mine (a woman) took his picture. John grabbed her lens and she jerked the camera away from him, pointing a figure in his face. A finger he proceeded to bite. There was slapping and yelling. The whole thing was a mess. To Johnny’s credit he never involved the bar’s stuff or security. Security were squares; this was a fight one hipster to another.

Now John is telling the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame to fuck off from his website. Johnny’s right, there is something unpunk about the rock and roll hall of fame. It’s a place of old blues man and The Beatles and The Who and The Ohio Players and Prince. Maybe The Clash. But not Joy Division, not Dead Kennedys, not The Flys, And not the Sex Pistols. "We're not coming. We're not your monkey." Oooooo-kay! Lydon is kind of a clown but at least he's sticking with to his guns. Or at least his pistols.