John Lydon may be forever synonymous with Johnny Rotten, the sneering, red-haired terroriser, the antagonistic Sex Pistols singer that screamed of anarchy, nihilism, and a desire to tear down the British establishment in 1970s London. However, as powerful a grenade flash as the Pistols were, Lydon’s work through Public Image Ltd holds up as his most arresting, impactful, and durable musical project—a horizon-focused group that expanded and experimented across decades, whilst the Pistols’ outcome always seemed destined for imminent implosion.
PiL released eight studio albums between 1978 and 1992 before reconvening for This is PiL in 2012 and releasing their tenth album last year. Though the group has come to embody the experimental transition from punk to post-punk, most notably on their recently reissued 1979 masterpiece Metal Box, the project has endured because of the breadth of its tonal excursions and depth of its influences. PiL created a space in which pop and avant garde music collided and colluded, where beneath the electric storm of frenzied guitars lay dense and rumbling dub reggae bass lines, where Lydon would pinball between atonal screeches and melodic pitches—a living, throbbing culture clash. It makes sense then that the musical make-up of the group’s singer and founder would be a genre-hopping journey. Here, the 60 year old talks through the records that have shaped his memorable individuality, five years at a time.
Cliff Richard: “Move It!”
My parents had a fantastic collection. It wasn’t just Irish folk tunes and accordion diddly-doos, there was early Beatles and lots of Cliff Richard too. The first record I would have ever wanted to buy was “Move It!” by Cliff Richard. It was a really good song at the time and still is. Early Cliff was a riotous assembly of sorts, and he had moves that left a good impression on a 5 year old.
Alice Cooper: Pretties for You
At 7 I contracted meningitis. It affected my brain, and I slipped into a coma. I spent a year in hospital, and during that time music didn’t play much of a major part. I was in total confusion and frustration and really not recognizing the people in front of me who were telling me all manner of strange things. It was very, very hard to get to grips with myself, and it took a good four years to recover my memories. Music wasn’t really there.
By 10, though, I was running a mini-cab service, doing the bookings, which was the best job ever. I loved the responsibility, and people were surprised that a little boy was booking their journey. The money was great so I started buying music.
I was going to two record stores at that time: one in Finsbury Park, run by a sweet little white-haired old lady, that used to have nothing but Jimi Hendrix and big, deep, dense, dark dub—it was always full of Jamaicans. The other one was run by two long-haired chubby fellows who had great taste. That’s where I picked up Alice Cooper’s Pretties for You. It was a long time before he became popular. The idea of buying singles wasn’t good enough for me, albums were like wow, eight more songs, and the covers would absolutely fascinate me. A lot of times I would just buy things because of the artwork—but that’s not to say it was all good. Pretties for You is a really good example of bad artwork.
Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band: Trout Mask Replica
There’s just so much on this: It’s a double album and by the time you finish it—if you can finish it—you can’t remember what you heard at the beginning. I liked that. It was anti-music in the most interesting and insane way, like kids learning to play violin—which I was going through at the time. So all the bum notes I was being told off for by the teachers were finally being released by well-known artists. That was my confirmation. From then on, there was room for everything.
Iggy and the Stooges: Raw Power
I’d never seen the Stooges as early punks or anything—that’s media manipulation of facts; I loved them, but I was always appalled with their long hair.
By this time my record collection was enormous and expanding, and my tastes were extremely varied. During the punk years, I really loved the Raincoats and X-Ray Spex and the Adverts, groups that were doing things way out on their own. There was plenty of experimentation going on musically in all areas, particularly reggae.
I lack prejudice except for music that I find to be reminiscent of somebody else’s work—I find no need for endless Chuck Berry versions, which was very popular at the time. And I had little time for what was coming out of America; bands like Television never really grabbed me, I just couldn’t connect. It was all too clever for its own good and wrapped up in too much Rimbaud poetry: Get over it and write about your own life, not what you find in books. I still can’t find a place in my heart for music like Television.
Kraftwerk: The Man-Machine
I met one of the members of Kraftwerk last year and was very surprised—they weren’t at all how I imagined them from looking at the album covers. They were in what I would call Beach Boys shirts. In an odd, twisted way they were saying I had an influence on them. I didn’t believe it for a second but I’ll take it.
I loved anything by them. Their cold, emotionless way of presenting a pop song was always entertaining to me, so novel and so deadpan and cynical and kind of heartwarming. So ahead of its time.
Alice Cooper: Killer
This was the mid-’80s, around the time PiL made Album. On that record, I was referring to the heavy metal scene, which had crawled up its own backside. It was endless bands imitating each other, the same nonsense that punk turned into. But great achievements were made in music around then too. Everything from madder folk outfits and pop music itself was becoming very interesting then. I was always pleasantly surprised that oddball stuff would creep in the charts from nowhere. Someone like Gary Numan gave pop music a very distinctive and clear tone that was all his own.
At this stage I would have been buying everything that was being made, but Alice Cooper’s [1971 album] Killer never left me. That easy way of growling he had was always impressive.
Nirvana: “Smells Like Teen Spirit”
I remember being very angry at their album title being Nevermind. I thought Nevermind? Have you lost your bollocks or something? I was drawing a line on it all, perhaps too sharply, but I have to say “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is one of pop music’s all-time greatest. That song is firmly embedded in my psyche. So, I forgive them. Most bands can’t come up with one complete song, and sometimes one is enough. By “Heart-Shaped Box,” it was all starting to sound a bit suicidal. I felt it coming.
Sex Pistols: Never Mind the Bollocks
At 40 I was pretending I was 21 again in the Pistols reunion. I was listening to a lot of things people were giving me at the time but I had to relearn Never Mind the Bollocks. I’d forgotten how bloody fast that record is—even though a lot of the punk crowd was saying how slow it was when it was released. That’s how we wanted it though, we didn’t want that incredibly fast manic stuff. That’s the stuff that killed punk off.
Various Artists: Barry Lyndon Soundtrack
I’d bought this record years ago and had forgotten about it. But the movie came on TV in America, and I went oh my god and immediately had to hunt it down. I’d left it in London; I went to London just for the Barry Lyndon Soundtrack. There’s a Mozart piece on there that is just stunning. It was different to the usual classical renderings, it just seemed to have more heart and soul and harpsichord. It’s still there now on the top of my pile, it’s one of those albums that doesn’t collect dust. I have a weird association with it because my mother’s maiden name was Barry, and Lyndon is obviously Lydon misspelt. It also reminded me of my mother’s death and all of that. I wanted to play this at my father’s funeral a few years back, but my dad had a specific Irish record that he loved, so we played that.
Sinéad O’Connor: “Nothing Compares 2 U”
For some weird reason Sinéad O’Connor came back into my life. I re-indulged and reconnected with her and I was such a happier person for it. I go through long periods of forgetting and then I’ll just have major sessions and listen to just that for weeks on end. I thought the way she handled “Nothing Compares 2 U,” the Prince song, was genius. It is so moving and sad. I must be a sentimentalist and I’ve never realized until now.
Oh, and Dolly Parton runs through all of this by the way. I’m a Dolly man—you can all knock “9 to 5,” but I love it. One of the greatest tragedies of my life so far is that I’ve never been able to make it to Dollywood. I think I’d have a hoot.
Kate Bush: “Wuthering Heights”
A lot of record shops were closing around this time, and I won’t use the internet to buy them. The internet is for porno, encyclopedias, and video games, of which I waste an awful lot of time on. So I slowed down in the purchasing around here and went back to old stuff like Kate Bush. On “Wuthering Heights,” her voice is almost hysterical but always in her own register. I find it very soothing for her to be squealing away up there, it’s fantastic. She’s a gift.
I love PJ Harvey too. That’s one very interesting woman who doesn’t play the sex category. She strides in there at the level of any man, and I’m really proud for her in that respect, because that’s really what we wanted in punk—we wanted girls to be the equal to the boys, and she carries that great tradition.
PiL: What the World Needs Now...
This year has been incredibly hard work. We’re trying to run our own label, we’re touring as much and as often as we can, and there’s very little time to sit and enjoy other people’s efforts. That’s one of the downfalls of things going well—you don’t have time to indulge in other music as much. I require total concentration and involvement to try to grab the atmosphere that an artist is creating—that’s where music holds everything for me, and you can’t get that if it’s in the background whilst you’re brushing your teeth. Maybe that’s the reason why I don’t brush my teeth.
