The Sex Pistols Are Here

The pioneers of punk rock do not quite burn Atlanta

As the four musicians straggled toward the plane at London's Heathrow Airport last week, it was clear from their appearance that they were not just another Top 40 act. They spat in the air, hurled four-letter words (the mildest was "scum") at the photographers and with malevolent glares set off shivers in their fellow travelers. Said one woman passenger in disbelief: "What are we flying with --a load of animals?" No, just the Sex Pistols living up to their bad-boy reputation as the prophets of British punk rock.

Two nights later in Atlanta, Lead Singer Johnny Rotten opened the first concert on their first tour of the U.S. by announcing: "You can all stop staring at us and just relax and have some fun." Sure enough, the Pistols' American debut was a tame, almost respectable happening. Johnny did not throw empty beer bottles at the audience. All he did was blow his nose a lot. Guitarist Steve Jones did not vomit, though in the past he has proved he has the stomach for it. Nor did Bassist Sid Vicious sputter forth more than a few four-letter words. Sid did manage to draw cheers when he removed his shirt and revealed the torso of a 90-lb. weakling. Both

Vicious and Rotten sported hairdos that looked as if they had been blow-dried in a wind tunnel or plugged into a preamp.

The Pistols' unwonted decorum may have been imposed by the presence out front of the Atlanta vice squad. After all, the Pistols had caused a scandal on British TV a year ago with their vile language. They had been fired by two record companies, locked out by most of Britain's major rock clubs and concert halls, reviled for a song calling the Queen a moron during the Silver Jubilee celebration and castigated nearly everywhere for their world-class grossness. Just two weeks ago, in fact, their entry into the U.S. had been temporarily denied--and four concerts canceled--because members of the group had minor criminal records. But no repro-vals were necessary at the Great South East Music Hall (capacity 500), which is located in an Atlanta shopping center. Vicious' worst offense offstage came from his penchant for flagrant free enterprise. He cheekily charged reporters for interviews, asking what he thought the traffic would bear but settling for as little as $2.

Their calculated insults and obscenities are part of the image of the Pistols as a pioneering force in the movement known variously as punk rock or new wave. In Britain, punk is the voice (some would say vice) of working-class kids who cannot find jobs and care not a whit for the traditions of their homeland. In the U.S. the movement is more purely musical: groups like the Ramones, Talking Heads, Television and Richard Hell and the Voidoids have rejected the rococo sophistication of much 1970s rock and turned back to basic buzz and blast.

Heard on records, the Sex Pistols' music is primitive, purposely repetitive, less melodic than the American brand. In person the Pistols' antics add to the entertainment, if one enjoys a little gutter rebellion and a lot of depleted expectations. Rotten, Vicious, Jones and Drummer Paul Cook are only in their early 20s, but they have mastered the art of the 1950s pelvic thrust completely. Rotten is the live shell: an emaciated, electric figure who jumps from simian crouch to arm-swinging swirl to Groucho Marx prowl. Dissolving a coy smile into a demonic leer, he half snarls, half shouts the notorious Anarchy in the U.K.:

I am an antichrist I am an anarchist Don 't know what I want But I know how to get it I want to destroy

Tour openings any place, let alone in a foreign country, are tough moments for even the mightiest of rock groups. The Atlanta crowd was not knocked breathless by the Pistols, but they obviously had some of the fun Rotten urged upon them. It was not a typical punk assemblage of street-wise rowdies, although one fellow showed up with a safety pin punched through his cheek. The kids pelted the performers with a friendly barrage of crumpled paper cups and, as the Pistols' big beat went on, twisted and swayed on their feet. They had no choice: the place had been designed without seats to encourage informality and mingling. Imagine, no furniture to break up! Punk aficionados could only hope that things would get worse.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.