Blondes Have More Fun

Imagine for a moment that you were a musician in Blondie. On the plus side, you were part of a brilliant band, pioneers of the American punk and new wave scene in the mid 70s. Against that, you were destined to be largely ignored by the media, no matter how well you played, as you would inevitably be overshadowed by the beautiful, charismatic singer: the original platinum blonde, Ms. Debbie Harry. To the cognoscenti, Debbie’s celebrity status did not lessen the impact of the group, even though the label’s early press releases felt the need to reinforce the importance of the others with the tagline, “Blondie is a band”.

The relative lack of appreciation was particularly tough on the likes of Clem Burke, whose powerful drumming provided the perfect backbeat for all their different styles, from thunderous rock to disco grooves. Jimmy Destri’s keyboards were also a highlight with his mixture of sparse synths and barnstorming organs alternately taking the lead and falling into the background. The guitar duties were shared between the wonderfully named Frank “The Freak” Infante and band founder Chris Stein, who was maybe better known for being Debbie’s boyfriend, even though his intense technique was ideal for their brand of power pop.

"Lipstick Vogue"

However, there is no doubt that Debbie Harry was the focal point of the group, the undisputed star of the show, the “Leader of the Pack”. A former waitress and Playboy Bunny she may have been, but she was confident, street-wise and appeared completely in control. The inspiration for the band’s name, reputedly based on truckers calling out, “Hey, blondie” as they drove past Harry, this was no dumb blonde. She may have been one of the biggest sex symbols the pop world has ever seen, but hers was a contradictory appeal. Her perfect cupid’s bow was offset by her slapdash use of the peroxide bottle, so that she resembled a sort of sophisticated tomboy, personifying a tough-girl glamour.

Quite possibly the most influential and stylish frontwoman in the history of pop, Harry could switch from sweet chanteuse to punk fighter, exuding cool elegance while still appearing eminently approachable. She may have looked like a pop princess, but she had the attitude of a rock rebel. Even at its most saccharine, her singing demonstrated a bite lacking in other female vocalists with a formidable range: one moment purring like a kitten, the next growling like a lioness. Possessing many vocal tricks and affectations, she could play sultry, aggressive, sweet and vulnerable – often within a single song.

"Hands across the ocean"

Each of Blondie’s first three albums are wonderful, but the boys (and girl) were at their peak on “Parallel Lines”, their third album released in 1978, which is the perfect example of their ability to blend 60s power pop with 70s new wave as witty, infectious harmonies complemented Harry’s unique mix of raucous, luscious vocals. Recorded very quickly over the summer, which might explain the fresh sound, it may not be the most energetic or experimental of their albums, but it is a symbol for how effortless, stylish and plain enjoyable pop music can be. The group’s Blonde Ambition informed the first two albums, the eponymous “Blondie” and the intelligent “Plastic Letters”, but “Parallel Lines” is like a more refined, sophisticated version of that hard-edged sound. The band’s roots (see what I did there?) are very worthy of examination, but this is the album where everything worked.

Produced by British glam rock svengali, Mike Chapman, who had previously worked with the likes of Sweet, Mud and Suzi Quatro, the album delivered a more commercial sound without sacrificing the band’s underlying new wave credentials. Chapman was a hard task-master and Harry was struck by the intensity of his working methods, “It was diametrically opposite from working with (former producer) Richard Gottehrer. He's very laid back and Mike is a real hot chili pepper and very energetic and enthusiastic. Mike would strive for the technically impeccable take, so we would do take after take, whereas Richard always went for the inspired take”. Chapman’s mastery of the mixing desk and his ability to spot a great pop tune acted as the ideal catalyst for Blondie’s natural talent and unbridled energy, taking their music to a new level and resulting in an all-time classic.

"I'm too sexy for my shirt"

Nevertheless, the band was condemned by some of their New York contemporaries and the music press for selling out, because of the perceived change in direction, as the brooding artiness of their early work was replaced by a crisper, cleaner sound. Despite the apparent move towards the mainstream, in reality this was a group that was prepared to take chances, happy to try new things and more than ready for the international success that followed.

The main reason for the criticism was “Heart Of Glass”, a disco pastiche turned disco classic. An old Blondie song, know to fans as “The Disco Song”, this was the single that transferred the band from CBGB to Studio 54, as they bridged the diametrically opposed sensibilities of solid underground credibility and unapologetic pop aspiration. Clem Burke characterised the sound as Kraftwerk by way of Saturday Night Fever, though he could not resist some trademark, exuberant drumming towards the end of the track, which featured a remarkably assured vocal by Harry, whose gorgeous, glacial voice soared over the bubbling, machine-like rhythms provided by Jimmy Destri’s shimmering keyboards. This was just one of the songs on the album that dealt with the theme of love and lost love in particular, “Once I had a love and it was divine/Soon found out I was losing my mind/It seemed like the real thing, but I was so blind/Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind”.

"New York Dolls"

OK, “Parallel Lines” may not have been as abrasive or challenging as Blondie’s first two albums, but it is by no means a soft, fluffy record with satirical, cutting lyrics providing wry observations on love and life - a hard centre beneath the glossy surface. It manages to walk the line between several different musical styles with the band’s diversity almost reminiscent of The Clash’s appetite for experimentation, as they packed punk, new wave, art rock, psychedelia and (later) reggae and rap into a very catchy pop format. They hopped across numerous genres, singing their way across the full spectrum from soft, atmospheric ballads to punk-inspired rock-outs, ensuring that they enjoyed a broad appeal. Even when the songs had a simple bubble-gum sound, the arrangements gave them an edgy, gritty feel, covering many emotions including passion, love and infatuation. Their eclectic approach owed much to the several songwriting combinations in the band with contributions from all members, even the lesser lights like bassist Nigel Harrison (“One Way Or Another”).

Whatever the style, Blondie are rightly remembered for being the ultimate practitioners of perfect pop, as can be seen in the lively, engaging “Hanging On The Telephone”, which is just what the doctor ordered for the opening track. It’s a great introduction to the album as Clem Burke drums with equal parts restraint and abandon, Chris Stein and Frank Infante slash out power chords and, above all, Debbie Harry gives us two minutes of pure lust wrapped in a pleading, insinuating vocal that unleashes all her theatrical capacity, “I had to interrupt and stop this conversation/Your voice across the line gives me a strange sensation/I'd like to talk when I can show you my affection/Oh, I can't control myself”.

"Never mind the Fade Away, just Radiate"

Equally “poptastic” is the high-spirited “One Way Or Another”, which features a simple yet effective guitar riff that is one of the most recognisable ever. A brutal slab of militant feminism, bordering on stalking (“I will drive past your house/And if the lights are all down/I'll see who's around”), this song exhibits Harry’s mean girl snarl in all its glory, as she taunts and teases. It’s all too believable when she sneers, “I’m gonna getcha”.

Of course, Debbie Harry was one of the sexiest women in pop, the music industry’s very own blonde bombshell, and she was not above using her assets, pouting and winking her way through “Picture This” with its blatantly suggestive cover, showing her lasciviously licking the disc’s black vinyl. The song itself is another luminous moment of immaculate, sublime pop with a memorable, melodramatic melody underlining Harry’s worshipful, yet somehow scornful vocals, “All I want is a photo in my wallet/A small remembrance of something more solid/All I want is a picture of you”. Just as seductive is the apparently superficial “Sunday Girl”, elegant to the point of lushness. Harry is youthful innocence personified, but it’s a bittersweet symphony. The beguiling tune disguises a caustic worldview, “I know a girl from a lonely street/Cold as ice cream, but still as sweet”, which could actually work as a description of the singer herself.

"I don't pray that way"

There’s a 60s girl group air to “Sunday Girl”, which is even more the case for “Pretty Baby”, which opens with some spoken words that recall The Shangri-Las. Apparently referring to Brooke Shields’ character in the scandalous movie of the same name, this is an ode to youth and beauty, as Harry dreamily intones, “Stars live in the evening/But the very young need the sun”. Although not the fiercest example of “girl power”, the feel is not dissimilar to Blondie’s breakthrough singles in the UK: the bouncy “Denis” and the moody “(I’m Always Touched By Your) Presence, Dear”. Even the 50s were referenced with a joyous cover of Buddy Holly’s “I’m Gonna Love You Too”, which was performed New York-stylee.

To underline Blondie’s art background, Robert Fripp contributed ethereal guitar to the eerie “Fade Away And Radiate”, a sinister homage to a deity which is slowly revealed to be a television, “The beams become my dream/My dream is on the screen”. Beginning with a slow, haunting pulse beat and cool synths, before jangly guitars and keyboards break through, this track owes a debt to early Roxy Music. Moody and apocalyptic, it’s also progressive and hypnotic. Seductive even, but then I do love my TV.

"It was all about the image"

The tougher sound of old was also present in a couple of tracks. Like “X-Offender” and “Rip Her To Shreds” from the debut album, they were also bursting with Blondie’s unmistakable zest and tongue-in-cheek humour. The anthemic “I Know But I Don’t Know” is a quirky song with goofy synthesizers, featuring weird vocal stylings and an interesting harmony between Infante and Harry (“I give but I don't get/I will but I won't yet/I lose but I don't bet/I'm your dog but not your pet”). Similarly, “Will Anything Happen” matches a massive punk rhythm with a classic pop hook and could easily have found its way onto “Plastic Letters”.

You want some teen angst, some ambivalence and despair? I give you Jimmy Destri’s superb “11:59”, a great song with an even better title that encapsulates the anxieties of youth, “Today can last another million years/Today could be the end of me/It's 11:59, and I want to stay alive”. How about some teen attitude? Please accept “Just Go Away”, a sardonic, vitriolic dismissal complete with aggressive call-and-response, “You got a big mouth and I'm happy to see/Your foot is firmly entrenched where a molar should be/If you talk much louder you could get an award/From the federal communications board”.

"No arguments here"

Yep, La Harry is a tough chick. You only have to look at the iconic album cover where the singer stands there in a white dress, unsmiling, hands on hip in front of her band giggling like naughty school boys in dark suits. It’s a pose full of confrontation – do you want some? The band never seemed to take themselves too seriously. They did such a good job that it all seemed so effortless, so natural, but the album produced six singles and it became an unintentional greatest hits package.

Of course, Blondie would go on to produce many more hit singles: “Atomic” and “Union City Blue” from the album “Eat To The Beat”; “The Tide Is High” and “Rapture” from “Autoamerican”; and “Call Me” from the film “American Gigolo”. The band broke up in 1982 after the release of “The Hunter”, but reformed fifteen years later, notching up another number one single with “Maria”. That meant, fact fans, that Blondie were the only American act to reach number one in the UK charts in the 70s, 80s and 90s. Quality and quantity, not to mention longevity.

"Live and Dangerous"

There's something about Harry. Sure, the camera loved her, and her stunning looks were in some ways as important as the music, but this was definitely no damsel in distress. She may have had a sexual image, but hers was a playful, independent personality. As Rolling Stone said, she performed with “utter aplomb and involvement throughout: even when she's portraying a character consummately obnoxious and spaced-out, there is a wink of awareness that is comforting and amusing yet never condescending”.

Debbie Harry has inspired a host of copycats, most obviously Madonna, though the former Mrs. Ritchie has focused more on the ambition than the music, while other so-called tough female artists should be eternally grateful to Harry for paving the way. I’m thinking of Gwen Stefani, Pink and (God forbid) Lily Allen and The Ting Tings. Of the younger pretenders, Lady Gaga would give her left bollock to have a tenth of Debbie Harry’s talent, not to mention class.

"Smile and the world smiles with you"

“Parallel Lines” was the album that made the world love Blondie and everyone fall in love with Debbie Harry. The girls wanted to be her, while the boys just wanted to be with her. Blonde highlights? There were loads.

Feels Like Heaven

While most music fans would agree that Echo and the Bunnymen were one of the most important bands of the post-punk era with their moody, atmospheric songs helping to define the sound of the early 80s and influencing many other groups, there might be some discussion about which of their albums is the best. Many regard the lush, orchestral “Ocean Rain”, which includes the legendary single “The Killing Moon”, as their landmark release, and it is true that the PR campaign modestly claimed that it was “the greatest album ever made”. The glacial “Porcupine” has some supporters, especially as it contains the band’s first significant hits, “The Back of Love” and “The Cutter”. Others might point to the incredible debut “Crocodiles”, which blends innocence, humour, raw energy and tuneful melodies.

There is no doubt that these are all wonderful records, but for me, their finest work can indisputably be heard on “Heaven Up Here”, the group’s second album, which was released in 1981. The authoritative NME shared my opinion, naming it the best album of that year. Building on the youthful vim and vigour of “Crocodiles”, it marks a huge step forward by a young band happy and willing to flex their musical muscles and showcase their growing confidence and ambition.

"Not a happy bunny"

Darker and more passionate than its psychedelic predecessor, it added mysticism and power to the mix – truly heaven sent. Although it’s chock full of ideas, ranging widely across the aural spectrum, it’s probably still the Bunnymen’s most consistent album, coming across strongly as a cohesive whole. It’s the record where the band really arrived at their own sound, with the pounding drums and slashing guitar only accentuating the poetry of the glorious songs. The air of mystery was emphasised by the iconic album cover, featuring the band silhouetted on a beach, standing in front of a menacing sky.

This is where the band established the brooding, atmospheric sound that would dominate their most mature work. Deep, emotional, ethereal, even otherworldly, this is highly evocative music that manages to convey a mood and render a picture (on the wall). There’s an undeniable feeling of melancholy, which will satisfy those fans of gothic, glam (glum?) rock who like their singers to “paint it black”, but, to answer the question posed in the Bunnymen’s classic “Rescue”, it’s not just the blues they’re singing.

"Hair, there and everywhere"

Of course, the group’s focal point was the effortlessly hip singer Ian McCulloch, he of the pale skin, pouty lips, back-combed black hair, dark shades and long overcoat. Like a young Jim Morrison at the mike, he certainly looked like a rock star and boy could he talk. Nicknamed Mac the Mouth, the Liverpool lip was always his greatest fan (“Lairy across the Mersey”) and he was renowned for his arrogance.

As they say in the trade, he gave good quote, as quick to deride his contemporaries, as he was to extol the brilliance of the Bunnymen: “I wasn’t just going to be in a band, I was going to be in the best one. I was going to have the best voice and write the best words. And I was going to look great”. To be fair, this attitude is shared by almost all of his fellow Scousers and was almost certainly exacerbated in McCulloch’s case by the crippling shyness of his childhood, which made him “explode” when he realised that he could sing. In addition, his brash public persona is in marked contrast to the poetic sensitivity and sense of romance revealed in his songwriting.

"Stars are stars"

McCulloch’s great self-belief is more than justified when you hear him singing with soaring abandon and passion throughout the album. His voice is extraordinarily strong and emotive, dripping with drama and pathos, as he delivers mysterious, cryptic lyrics to spine-tingling effect, especially on the majestic “A Promise”, where his compelling, over the top vocal perfectly communicates the feeling of betrayal, as he vehemently laments, “You said nothing will change/We were almost near/Almost far/Down came the rain/But nothing will change/You promised”. His singing style can be found somewhere between the plaintive monotone of Joy Division’s Ian Curtis and the flamboyant yelp of The Cure’s Robert Smith - with maybe a soupçon of U2’s Bono thrown in. Whatever – it works.

However, it would be a huge mistake to dismiss the Bunnymen as a one man band, as the other musicians contributed at least as much as the brilliant singer. Indeed, according to McCulloch, “Heaven Up Here” should be considered guitarist Will Sergeant’s album, as he was such a control freak during the recording. Even if he drove the arrangements, this does not result in any ego-tripping guitar solos, but a swirling larger-than-life sound with Sergeant’s angular guitar shimmering above and cutting through the din like shards of glass. If anything, McCulloch’s relationship with Sergeant was akin to that enjoyed by Jagger and Richards in their early days.

"The corridors of power"

A lot of the songs also revolve around the circular rhythms created by bassist Les Pattinson and, especially, the awe-inspiring drummer Pete de Freitas. Every track on this album features inventive drum patterns that were de Freitas’ trademark signature. He casually switches from the hypnotic beat of “A Promise” to the explosive drumming of the title track. After his tragic death in a motorcycle accident in 1989, McCulloch described de Freitas with his usual understatement, though in this case the hyperbole was fully warranted, “It was the end of an era. He was the best drummer on the planet”.

A real strength of this album is the way in which the Bunnymen work seamlessly together to shape each song’s dynamics, the way they build to a crescendo in “Turquoise Days” (“Did you say knowledge?/Did you say prayer?/Did you say anything?/If not for good/If not for better/If not the way it is”) being a prime example with tight interplay between lead and rhythm guitars. The music is so powerful that it gives McCulloch’s vague, spiritual lyrics additional profundity, while the singer's words, in turn, reinforce the ominous nature of the music, though McCulloch typically mocked the idea that the band’s sound could be contained in a single genre, “We’re quasi-post-pre-punk, post-industrial, neo-psychedelic, angst croon, Sinatra punk, Dean Martin jazz. We’re just the greatest band in the world”.

"Cold comfort"

The album gets off to a vigorous start with a pair of mighty songs that are particularly effective in establishing the dramatic theme of restless, groovy energy that pervades throughout the album. The appropriately named “Show of Strength” opens affairs, immediately confirming that “Crocodiles” was no fluke, as Sergeant’s prickly guitar sets the edgy, paranoid tone. The band move easily through the gears with an avalanche of sound effects reminiscent of a strong wind howling through the trees, while the bitter words aren’t taking many prisoners either, “Your golden smile/Would shame a politician/Typically/I'll apologize next time/Bonds will break and fade/A snapping all in two/The lies that bind and tie/Come sailing out of you”. Equally urgent is the darkly humorous “With a Hip”, featuring funky guitar and machine–gun drumming, as McCulloch searches for answers, “Hold it in the light and see right through it/For God's sake, make a decision”.

This is music with a big heart. It’s about making you feel something more than making you think. McCulloch’s integrity consistently shines through, especially in “Heaven Up Here”, where all of his demons are exposed. Even as he tries to shake off his addiction to alcohol, he seeks relief from his pain and gives in to its dangerous pleasures, “The hammer on my chest was an abominable pain/The anvil on my belly was an abdominal strain/You got the bottle/Gonna take the bottle/Gonna take a sip”.

"Return of the Mac"

Many of the songs hint at a world about to collapse, though any despair is somehow offset by the sheer energy coming forth from the band, as they match compelling music with bleak lyrics, not least in the utterly magnificent “Over the Wall”, which many fans believe is the best thing they’ve ever done. It’s a stunning tour de force, a triumphant epic whose magical music draws you into its web, with Reverend McCulloch singing with the dramatic fervour of a man performing an exorcism, “The man at the back has a question/His tongue's involved with solutions/But the monkey on my back/Won't stop laughing”.

The futility of life is further explored in “The Disease”, which walks along a truly desolate landscape, “As prospects diminish/As nightmares swell/Some pray for Heaven/While we live in hell”. Just as reflective is the slow-burning “All My Colours”, which sounds like a hymn, albeit one featuring tribal drums, as it considers the tragedy of being alive and vulnerable, “What do you say/When your heart's in pieces?/How do you play/Those cards in sequence?/That box you gave me burned nicely”. The Bunnymen even echo (see what I did there?) Talking Heads in “It Was a Pleasure”, as they address these problems, “Let's get rid of the shit/I know you like that, too/The stuff that undermines/The best of me and you”.

"Fade Away and Radiate"

The gloom and doom were influenced by the likes of The Doors and the Velvet Underground, but the Bunnymen put a very modern spin on any trippy 60s psychedelia, as they blended in the anger and aggression of late 70s punk. However, it is clear that McCulloch’s stage persona and even his singing voice owed a great deal to Jim Morrison and the talismanic chant of “zimbo, zimbo, zimbo …” in “All My Colours” started life as a tribute to The Doors’ legendary frontman (“Jimbo”). In the LP’s notes, McCulloch also admitted that he constantly had Velvet Underground songs in the back of his mind when recording the album.

While the overall mood may be one of sadness, there is also an uplifting feeling to the music that shines through the dark days. Any tragedy in the songs is always counter-balanced by a call to overcome, rather than wallow in misery. Even in the despondent “The Disease”, there’s a positive angle, “My life's the disease/That could always change/With comparative ease/Just given the chance”. Ultimately, this is a record that turns its face to the light, though maybe only an autumnal glow rather than full-blown summer heat, closing with the relaxed “No Dark Things” and the relatively euphoric “All I Want”, which is a celebration of desire for desire’s sake, hinting at the future upbeat sound of “Ocean Rain” with its sweet songs of romance and cinematic imagery.

"Sergeant Rock (Is Going To Help Me)"

Echo and the Bunnymen always seemed destined for greatness, but were never quite as big as their stadium-playing rivals, U2 and Simple Minds, at least in terms of record sales, even though they were acknowledged as a much cooler band with their maverick instincts, uncompromising attitude and decision to play gigs in the strangest locations. They were indeed a superb live band, and we can be grateful that their breathtaking presence was so wonderfully transferred to “Heaven Up Here”.

Although McCulloch’s pretty boy looks seemed ready made for the MTV generation, the charge of the long coat brigade was no more successful than the British cavalry in the Crimean War. However, McCulloch does not seem too bothered, “We never had a game plan. It wasn’t about the trophies or the yachts. We were very passionate about what we did and that’s what always set us apart. It was the record company who tried to make out that we were under-achievers. We were no more under-achieving than Jimi Hendrix or The Doors”.

"Lips Like Sugar"

Even though he never achieved world domination, there is no doubt that McCulloch was the most successful of Liverpool’s mythical The Crucial Three, a short-lived collaboration featuring McCulloch, Julian Cope, Pete Wylie. Apart from the fantastic name, the venture did not produce anything with Cope and Wylie leaving to form The Teardrop Explodes and Wah! Heat respectively. They enjoyed some modest success, but did not leave a lasting impression like Echo and the Bunnymen.

But nothing lasts forever and the Bunnymen split up in 1988. Although the group appeared to be going from strength to strength, there were tensions under the surface. While they enjoyed numerous triumphs, the Bunnymen were beset by torment, tantrums and tragedy with de Freitas’ fatal demise following close on the heels of McCulloch’s somewhat less permanent departure. The magic was gone baby gone, but their huge influence lives on in countless bands today, such as The Coral, The Verve, Franz Ferdinand, British Sea Power, White Lies and even Coldplay.

"Purple Haze"

Located somewhere between anthemic grandeur and acerbic Scouse wit, the spiky edge of the splendid “Heaven Up Here” still stands up today as proudly as McCulloch’s hairstyle, while time has not diminished one iota of its beautiful power. The Bunnymen would later reform, but this was the band in its glorious pomp. It was a show of strength, indeed. To return to the question of whether this is their best album, I can only agree with the Bunnymen’s own words, “This is the one called Heaven/And this is the one for me”.

The Boy Looked At Johnny

Following his appearances in “I’m A Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here!” and the advertising campaign for Country Life butter, some people were eager to label John Lydon (Johnny Rotten that was) as a sell-out. The Sex Pistols’ reputation was further tarnished when the original members reunited in 1996 for the aptly named Filthy Lucre tour, an obvious money making exercise. It would be easy for latter day music fans to dismiss the Pistols as just another band and wonder what all the fuss was about during the punk era.

Fair enough, but nobody who was around at the time will ever forget the intoxicating moment when they first heard “Anarchy in the UK” or “God Save the Queen”. These exhilarating punk classics sounded a ferocious blast through the musty halls of the establishment, blowing away the boundaries of what had previously been considered socially acceptable, as they embraced controversy with a rebel yell.

"Champagne Supernova"

“Anarchy” might be considered the first punk hit single, one of the greatest rallying cries in music history, a perfect anthem for teenage youth at the time. The music journalist John Robb described the impact of the record, “From Steve Jones’ opening salvo of descending chords, to Johnny Rotten’s fantastic sneering vocals, this song is the perfect statement … a stunningly powerful piece of punk politics … a lifestyle choice, a manifesto that heralds a new era”. This record immediately established the Pistols’ potent dance stance – aggrieved, euphoric and nihilistic. Rotten’s manic cackle at the beginning of the song sets the tone for the derisive lyrics: “Right! Now! Ha ha ha ha ha/I am an anti-christ/I am an anarchist/Don't know what I want/But I know how to get it”.

This heady mix of punk rock and a highly politicised attitude was maybe even surpassed in “God Save the Queen” with its virulent anti-monarchy message. Although the single’s release was timed to coincide with Queen Elizabeth’s Silver Jubilee celebrations, the band always claimed that it had not been written specifically for this event. Whatever the motives, the effect was sensational, as the Pistols famously performed the song on a boat sailing down the River Thames, passing Westminster Pier and the Houses of Parliament: “God save the Queen/Her fascist regime/They made you a moron/Potential H-bomb”. Without any radio airplay, the song reached number two on the BBC charts – and many believed that it was only kept off the top spot by a conspiracy. Either way, for the impact the song made on the public consciousness, this was arguably punk’s crowning glory.

"Flag day"

It was sorely needed. The rock world had settled for the bland, safe music purveyed by the likes of Abba, ELO, Foreigner and the Bee Gees. The bloated arrogance and complacency of these old farts was utterly irrelevant to the younger generation, as they had few aspirations to changing things. Instead, these groups were happy to maintain a middle of the road state of affairs, while a few wealthy superstars like Elton John haughtily wore the gaudy trappings of the nouveau riche rock aristocracy, as opposed to writing any decent songs.

Then there was the social context in which the Sex Pistols came together, which Lydon eloquently described: “Early Seventies Britain was a very depressing place. It was completely run-down. There was trash on the streets, mass unemployment, just about everybody was on strike. Everybody was brought up with an education system that told you point blank that if you came from the wrong side of the tracks, then you had no hope in hell and no career prospects at all”. Throw in the high taxes, power cuts and feeble music and it became clear that disillusioned youngsters had almost nothing to look forward to. The optimism of the 60s was just a distant memory. It was in this atmosphere that punk was conceived – to channel the anger of dole queue Britain.

"Johnny B. Goode"

At the forefront of the uprising were the Sex Pistols, featuring Johnny Rotten – a frontman, lyricist and vocalist like no other. Visually, he was ideal with spiky green hair, a permanent sneer on his face and a ripped “I hate Pink Floyd” t-shirt, but he also possessed a fierce intelligence and astonishing onstage charisma. The truth was that Rotten was far cleverer than people appreciated, as the most cursory listen to the provocative, anti-establishment lyrics that so successfully skewered Britain’s disintegrating society would have revealed.

His bitterly sarcastic attacks on pretentious affectation were deliberately carried out in the most confrontational, challenging manner imaginable. Nobody could miss the frustration, rage and venom in Rotten’s startlingly original rabid delivery. Few moments in popular music can match his guttural cry of “No future for you”. Every word was spat out with contempt as he dissected the moribund social order, using inflammatory language and profanity that was downright shocking at the time, but somehow his message was still uplifting.

"Twist and Shout"

Rotten’s genius is one of the reasons why the Sex Pistols’ only studio album “Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols” is just about the most exciting rock’n’roll record of the 70s – a truly inspirational work that is powerful, angry and not afraid of anything. Although some die-hard zealots foolishly believed that the Pistols releasing an album somehow damaged the punk mythology, the rest of us gloried in its sustained excellence, as the brilliance of the quartet of early singles was matched by the other tracks. Yes, there was a hint of “greatest hits” about the disc, as it included “Pretty Vacant” and “Holidays in the Sun”, as well as the first two masterpieces, but it does mean that the album stands as an exemplary tribute to the band’s vision.

Anybody seeking a generational anthem for the period needs look no further than “Pretty Vacant”, which was even shown on “Top of the Pops”, highlighting what it was like to be young, just hanging around: “I don't believe illusions/Cause too much is real/So stop your cheap comment/Cause we know what we feel/Oh, we're so pretty/Oh so pretty/We're vacant”. The last authentic Pistols hit was the apocalyptic “Holidays in the Sun”, which was inspired by the Pistols’ trip to Berlin to escape the constant threat of violence in the UK. Opening to the sound of crunching Nazi jackboots, the uncompromising lyrics painted a sobering image with the first line, “A cheap holiday in other people’s misery”, and followed this with a search for the “new Belsen”. Nasty stuff, but the history they were describing was indubitably evil, so they justifiably gave it both barrels.

"Oh you silly thing"

The Sex Pistols are rightly regarded as one of the most influential groups in the history of popular music and the impact of “Never Mind the Bollocks” cannot be over-stated. This was an album that altered the face of rock music forever. Although there had been plenty of protest records before, there had never been anything that felt as remotely dangerous or anarchic and there’s probably never been anything quite like it since. It was punk’s great wake-up call, a new beginning that brutally erased all that went before, when, just for a moment, music seemed capable of changing everything, such was the hysteria in the air.

In the context of today’s world where any limits of taste and decency have been all but forgotten, much of the Sex Pistols’ shock value looks tame, but everything about them was controversial back in the 70s. They sparked intense outrage with lyrics that took no prisoners, as well as Jamie Reid’s iconic cover art. Everything was designed to shock, from the garish pink and yellow colours on the album cover, to the track listing in a typeface reminiscent of anonymous ransom demands, to the ripped up Union flag held together by safety pins.

"Razor sharp"

Of course, the album’s title was not just considered to be provocative, but, incredible as it might seem now, was actually accused of being obscene, leading to it being banned by major chains like WH Smith, Boots and Woolworths and even the prosecution of a Virgin record shop owner for displaying it in the window. However, eminent QC (and wonderful author) John Mortimer successfully argued that “bollocks” was a legitimate Old English term, originally used to refer to priests, now meaning “nonsense”, which forced the chairman of the hearing to grudgingly conclude: “Much as my colleagues and I wholeheartedly deplore the vulgar exploitation of the worst instincts of human nature for the purchases of commercial profits by both you and your company, we must reluctantly find you not guilty of each of the four charges”.

For the Pistols, nothing was sacred and no target was spared, as they attacked the monarchy, British society, its institutions, social order and (some believed) public morality and common decency. It’s difficult to deny that they raged, maybe not against the dying of the light, but certainly against conservative attitudes. Lydon’s Catholic upbringing emerged with a scathing condemnation of abortion in the harrowing “Bodies”, inspired by the infamous Pauline from Birmingham, one of the many lunatics following the band around: “She was an animal/She was a bloody disgrace/Body, I'm not an animal/Mummy, I’m not an abortion”. Equally filled with loathing was the criticism of “E.M.I.”, their former record label who dropped them only days after signing the band: “And you thought that we were faking/That we were all just money making”.

"Usual tabloid under-reaction"

Britain had no idea how to handle the Sex Pistols phenomenon, with intensely disapproving press coverage leading to many gigs being cancelled. The exotically named London Councillor, Bernard Brook Partridge, typified the common reaction of local governments: ”Most of these groups would be vastly improved by sudden death. The worst of the punk groups I suppose currently are the Sex Pistols. They are unbelievably nauseating. They are the antithesis of humankind. I would like to see somebody dig a very, very large, exceedingly deep hole and drop the whole bloody lot down it”.

Debatably, what made the authorities so nervous was that underneath the shock tactics and rampant negativity, there were forceful social critiques carefully designed for maximum impact. The Sex Pistols spoke to a new generation of kids, perfectly articulating their unhappiness with an intensity that few other bands could capture. Although they sang about not caring, it was clear that Lydon was far from apathetic: “If we had an aim, it was to force our own, working class opinions into the mainstream, which was unheard of in pop music at the time. You don’t write God Save the Queen because you hate the English race. You write it because you’re sick of the way they are being treated”.

"Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon"

Their sense of despair came through in “Problems”, which targeted the humdrum, “Eat your heart out on a plastic tray/You don't do what you want/Then you'll fade away” and the terrace chant of “Seventeen”, which described young people giving up before they had even really begun their lives. Guitarist Steve Jones said, “Everybody goes through that period. Unfortunately, most English people stay there”.

Loud, raucous and irreverent, “Never Mind the Bollocks” was punk at its very best, when it was still a force for change, before it became fashionable and even acceptable. The gusto of their performance is too convincing for it to be an act and you really believe Rotten, when he screams, “We mean it, man”, but the man himself would later be contemptuous about what punk had become: “The term's been applied to a genre of music and it's been transformed into a uniform and a list of rules, regulations and rigid attitudes. It's humorless, bland outright copying. It's fake, and I don't like it. It's the enemy”.

"The Scream"

In a funny way, the Sex Pistols gave comfort to both sides on the question of social decline. Their fans thought that their music reflected the gloom and doom around them, while their critics saw their presence as further evidence of the downward spiral. “Shot by Both Sides”, if you will. The group offered no particular alternatives to the prevailing system, only attacking the status quo (in both senses) as vehemently as possible. In the end, the only thing they destroyed was themselves – in the case of Sid Vicious, quite literally – and it was hardly their fault that they only cleared the way for the rise of Thatcherism, though they had spookily predicted it in “No Feelings”, with its “Looking After Number One” attitude: “I got no emotion for anybody else/Better understand I'm in love with myself”.

Ironically, the band’s unsavoury reputation turned out to be advantageous in the world of commerce, especially when they came to the public’s attention with a bout of swearing during Bill Grundy’s televised interview on the “Today” programme. As Virgin’s Richard Branson commented, “They generated more newspaper cuttings than anything else in 1977 apart from the Silver Jubilee itself. Their notoriety was practically a tangible asset”. This resulted in the album selling extremely well, proving that as well as challenging existing values, it was also something that people would want to buy – despite the apparent contradictions with the punk philosophy. As The Clash would later sing, “turning rebellion into money”.

"Take a chance on me"

Since the early demise of the Pistols, their former manager Malcolm McLaren has lost no opportunity to tell the world that he was the mastermind behind their seditious approach, a master manipulator, a crafty Svengali. While there is little disagreement about his marketing talent or his ability to improvise a media circus, my own view is that he was actually a chancer who got lucky, who initially was more interested in selling his punk clothes. The band ridiculed him in their songs with the self-explanatory “Liar” and “New York”, which mocked McLaren’s stories about his role in the punk scene in the Big Apple. The always-quotable Lydon dismissed McLaren’s influence, "We made our own scandal just by being ourselves. Maybe it was that he knew he was redundant, so he overcompensated”. Even the laid-back drummer, Paul Cook agreed, “Malcolm milked situations. He didn’t instigate them; that was always our doing”.

Nor was this just the story of Johnny Rotten (as Neil Young might have you believe). The music has a raw energy, producing a tight, abrasive sound that complements the biting lyrics with simple, effective chords. Steve Jones’ multi-layered guitars created a veritable wall of noise with retro riffs that were straightforward, but devastatingly effective, like the spine-tingling intro to “Pretty Vacant”. The other half of the engine room was his mate Paul Cook, whose no-nonsense drumming style provided a pounding beat. Although in many ways the album sounded like a rejection of everything that rock music had to offer, it’s deep, rich sound was also surprisingly traditional, thanks to experienced producer Chris Thomas and there were echoes of rock dinosaurs like The Doors, The Who and The Kinks on tracks like “Submission”.

"Some band before Rich Kids"

Some accused the Pistols of being influenced by The Ramones, but Lydon dismissed this accusation in his own unique manner, “They were all long-haired and of no interest to me. I didn’t like their image, what they stood for or anything about them. They were hilarious, but you can only go so far with duh-dur-duh-dur. I’ve heard it. Next. Move on”. What is undeniable is the influence that the Sex Pistols had on other bands. Within a year of “Anarchy”, countless other teenagers had picked up guitars, mastered three chords and formed punk bands, while legends like The Clash, Buzzcocks and Siouxsie and the Banshees have all cited the Pistols as their inspiration. Members of Joy Division, The Fall and The Smiths remember seeing the Pistols play the Manchester Free Trade Hall back in 1976, while even later the likes of Nirvana and Oasis acknowledged their debt to punk’s originals. Morrissey put it best, “I think they changed the world and I’m very grateful for that”.

While Rotten clearly had plenty to say for himself, the music was largely written by the original bassist, Glen Matlock and his creative input was badly missed, after he was thrown out of the band for “liking The Beatles”. His replacement, Sid Vicious, may have had the look and reputation on the punk scene, but he couldn’t play a note and his arrival marked the beginning of the end. Vicious (or Mr. Ferocious, as Freddie Mercury once called him) went on to become punk’s cartoon figurehead, but in reality he was little more than a gigantic dickhead, finally overdosing on heroin in 1979. As Marco Pirroni, later to come to fame with Adam and the Ants, said, after Matlock’s departure, “it was nothing to do with music anymore. It would just be for the sensationalism and scandal of it all”.

"The Thin White Duke"

In many ways, “Never Mind the Bollocks” signalled the beginning of the end for the Sex Pistols, as they broke up only three months after its release, when Johnny Rotten famously finished the 1978 San Francisco gig by asking the audience, “Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?” The Sex Pistols were great and then they were gone. After all the mischief and mayhem is stripped away, this is an utterly magnificent album, one of the most influential ever. In “Sound of the Suburbs”, The Members ironically sang, “They play too fast, they play out of tune/And I … can't hear the words”. And that was the point: if you didn’t get the Sex Pistols, they weren’t meant for you.