Pop music never was for grownups. Shocking parents and politicians is, even if not the intention, half the fun. It’s easy to forget, though, in these days of samples, edits and potty-mouthed lyrics, just how different things were 30 years ago. The idea that people who weren’t musical virtuosos, and didn’t conform to standards of ‘good taste’, could have a record deal was outrageous. Against common decency and everything we fought for in the war, etc.
Though everyone’s aware that the Sex Pistols were briefly signed to, then sacked from, EMI, Southall’s blow-by-blow account from inside the EMI press office is fascinating stuff: the indignation of the older signings such as Cliff and Queen (Freddie described them as “a smelly little group”), the pressing plant staff so appalled they went out on strike and, ultimately, the EMI bosses crumbling under pressure from shareholders and Mary Whitehouse’s mates.
Rather than saving our young morals, the media hysteria, from Bill Grundy onwards, ensured that the Pistols became legendary. As Glen Matlock puts it in the book’s introduction, “Far better that it happened, rather than we just put out another record, it stiffed and we all ended up as window cleaners.” Fuck yeah!
