Heart of a Punk Soul of a Rasta

PiL

The last time I saw PiL play live the much lamented John McGeoch (nee of Magazine) was at the musical helm with Bruce Smith behind the kit (as now) and Lu Edmonds (nee of The Damned), though not playing live (as now) was still somewhere in the ether. Mr Lydon himself seemed rejuvenated and everything seemed sweet, but as I always say for the sake of those who weren't there at the time or for those who were temporarily looking the other way, the music scene in Britain between '86 & 92 was for the most part (present company excepted) a great big bag of shit. So if you'd told me in '92 when PiL's luck was definitely up that I'd live to see two more servings of the Sex Pistols (in two separate decades), a never ending supply of The Damned, and a reformed Magazine & PiL in 2009, the disbelief may have been enough to get me clean and sober without the need for expensive therapy.

Yes shit happens, things change and whirligig of time moves on, so when John Lydon announced the rebirth of PiL earlier this year it seemed (to me anyway) the most obvious and natural thing for him to do. But as a dyed in the wool fan what interested me was whether the PiL reformation was going to have teeth and whether there would be a good hunk of dead animal in the sandwich.

And so to The Academy..........................................

After a good deal of haranguing from the concert online people who were attempting to flog all and sundry ALiFE a 4 CD live thingy we actually entered the venue. (Lovely people though - bootleggers with a smile - very 2009 - I'll have two please). John B and I took up our places amongst the other old, sad, confused, folliclely bereft and bemused punters, whilst the wholly unsuitable support band played gamely on. How much more suitable it would have been if Birmingham's own "The Courtesy Group" had been slotted in here, ho hum. My associate John Bigot then slipped away for what seemed like an inordinate period of time, returning with a poster neatly rolled under his arm. "Been looking at the merch desk have you John?" "No I've been for a piss". "So where did you get the poster from?" "From the bogs wall of course, it's always nice to get something free in the bogs". "Yeah, OK don't steal anything else or I'll send you back to the car".

Pre kick off Lu Edmonds came out and tuned his long necked electric lute type thingy, cause in truth there were no medieval roadies available in the West Midland conurbation that particular evening - it's a very rare trade the medieval roadie trade nowadays - since the last bastions of the medieval roadie "Tenpole Tudor" packed up you can't get a medival roadie for love no money - my liege!

"Hey Bigot, do you remember back in the "Grimly Fiendish" crimping irons and hair spray days of The Damned, didn't The Damned do a cover of "Pretty Vacant" by the Sex Pistols in their live set?" "Yes they did Ed, but why are you talking in such a loud, assertive and clipped fashion?" "Because I want to draw out some punk connecting lines so people think we are slightly knowledgeable about the subject, do you think it will work?" "Not a fuckin chance and anyway Lu wasn't in the band then, so shut the fuck up they're coming on!"

And before there was time to say could say tie me to the length of that Mr Lydon, Lu, Bruce Smith and Scott Firth were greeting the throng with "hello, hello, hello, ha ha ha ha ha ha" and we were off and bouncing. With "Public Image" done Mr Lydon informed us that we were in for a long night, he wasn't wrong, two hours of PiL followed with the highlights being a blistering version of "Careering" (thank fuck they were playing Brum first the Lydon larynx could not withstand more than one night of this ferocity surely). Then there was the sonic simplicity of "This Is Not a Love Song"; "Albatross" which was jettisoned in mesmerizing fashion, all whirring bass and unrelenting anger. "Tie Me to the Length of That" (a track that had been somehow edited from my conscious mind) was pulled from the hat and given a good shaking before the pain and catharsis of "Death Disco" was delivered so to the bludgeoning rhythms of "Flowers of Romance" with Lu giving the banjo a damn good bowing.

From "Album" we had black rubber "Bags", black rubber "Bags", black rubber; from "First Issue" "Annalisa" and "Religion", thankfully the later was delivered minus the explosive conclusion of the '83 show. A brief interlude followed for our appreciation to be proffered before PiL resumed with the silliness of "Sun", the anthemic "Rise", and finally "Open Up" to take us to the terminus. I felt battered, bruised, unnerved and generally unclean, but mainly I felt like I'd just paid 36 quid plus booking fee, tax and petrol to hear and see a fifty year old bloke in very loose apparel go through the most horrific and invasive dose of scream therapy known to mankind. Mr Lydon left the stage shouting "onward, onward, to every corner of Albion" how exactly he would be able to reconstruct himself just to deconstruction himself again and again over the course of the next week I'd no idea.

One thing is for sure though whilst the larynx remains intact, pain, anger and despair will always have a natural bedfellow in PiL.

LONG LIVE LYDON!