Spoken Word Tour
I Could be Wrong, I Could be Right with John Lydon
Huntingdon Hall | November 8th
Locally, Huntingdon Hall has become a byword for a superlative night out, delivering diverse, eclectic and populist acts. Resultantly, the venue has become a bit of an institution…
Even in this, the burgeoning winter of our discontent, 69 year old John Lydon, Punk rocker, vocalist, lyricist and opinionated- provocateur & contrarian secured an impressive audience for his evening of the spoken word.
Defiant and in unscripted defiance of expectation, Lydon narrated his truths from the outset with his sporadic crucifixion poses, animated gurning, blank stares and arched-eyebrow judgements as punctuation for his fusillade of memories, truisms and anecdotes. Aided and abetted with language that would shame a dock-side pub, whose swear box, had long since, been tossed into Albion’s salty sea…
Mr. Lydon’s love of Blighty is abundantly apparent, however, the anecdotes of his childhood in Arsenal land were spiked with both affection and a cold-nostalgia. Whether informing us of chasing wayward dentures under armchairs or extolling the virtues of living between two tough pubs the poverty seeped into the retellings like tooth ache. The most poignant anecdote inspired the song Bodies and it is not difficult to understand the life experiences which inspired Johnny Rotten’s song writing.
Beforehand, you could not have written or predicted the singalong about our Prime Minister or the audience participation with one of Max Bygraves’ songs – I guess that is the mercurial quality of Punk.
However, as predicted John Lydon was determined to give his opinions on established institutions. Religion, all organised religions were treated to the Lydon scriptures. Whilst at Catholic school, his violent reward, from the nuns, for writing with his “sinister” left hand brought forth audible gasps on the night and the anger still brings an energy to Lydon’s viewpoint. The music industry, the BBC and the monarchy came under scrutiny like a pre-pubescent’s proof of age when attempting to enter a pub on a Saturday night. All accompanied with a liberal usage of the C-word…
Lydon also insisted on personal opinions and targets during his two hours on stage. Boorish and arrogant, the Commoner Andrew was subjected to a herculean stripping of his title, although, he received an alternative crowning. Joe Strummer was held up as the “hypocrite that he was,” and divested of any respect form Lydon. As Punk royalty, having been proclaimed as the “Punk king” by Melody maker’s Caroline Coon perhaps Lydon is allowed to pronounce on his kingdom until he is hoarse?
In 1977 my kingdom was small and I was far from worldly. Nevertheless, I did know enough to realise the seismic impact of the Sex Pistols on British life. Stunned, I recall the legend “Sex Pistols” painted across the vinyl panel of a donkey jacket of a kid at school. Known to smoke and drink I truly believed we were going to hell in a wonky Fine Fare trolley. As for today, well, as Max first sang – “Fings ain’t what they used to be…
For those who took to their feet at the night’s closure and for those that sang along to Anarchy and for those that shouted their approbation, clearly John Lydon (AKA Johnny Rotten) has become an institution in his own right.
By: The Swilgate Scuttler
Ps For my baby brother who was one of those Punker Rodgers!