The Buzzcocks Versus The Sex Pistols
Sat in 100 degree wet heat a month ago to watch the Buzzcocks, a punk band whose popularity pretty much came and went with the original British wave of the genre, but whose head pops up every once in a while when a new group of idiots start naming The Clash as inspirations. While popular in Britain, the Buzzcocks relative obscure profile in the States have lead a sort of cult following seen by the packed house full of patched-up denim jackets worn by dudes who clearly get dental insurance, as well as the “still practicing” punks who have Mohawks and legitimately seem angry, particularly when seeing goofy, drunk tall guys stumbling around in a bar t-shirt and gray Saucony’s.
At first I was apprehensive of the attending the show. This was not because I am afraid of some under-loved pissant trying to fight me or something, but due to the fact that watching a group of sixty year olds playing break-neck punk rock seemed motivated more out of schadenfreude than reverence for the music. Wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Not only did these guys rock, they fucking killed. Having only one Buzzcocks album, the singles collection Singles Going Steady*, I wasn’t too well versed with their back-catalog, but let me tell you something- after last night, I plan to celebrate it in its entirety in the near future. While I would be remiss to not mention it wasn’t the original four- unless the bassist and drummer have aged like Demi Moore- the band laid out a tutorial to every emerging faster-rock band how to play a show. They kept it loose but concise; they rarely, if ever, stopped and if they did it was for instrument changes or to make some smarky Ol’-fuckin’ Geezah comment which were actually pretty amusing.
*Which is as good as any punk album I’ve ever heard, short of London Calling and Pink Flag
That’s not to even mention the star of the show, one Steve Diggle, guitarist. Unashamedly imitating Pete Townshend*, there were huge arm-whirls and kicks a plenty. At risk of sounding overly Romantic about musical performance, the guy made you believe that the guitar was literally a part of his body, and at times it proved to be transcendent. He understood the one rule about being cool, particularly in context of rock music- don’t try to be, and you will be. Look at the assholes for a band like Kings of Leon try to woo the crowd with their U2-imiatory “emotional” back creases- it is effective if your listener is an eighteen year old female (or, in all fairness, male) and are just curious what all the fuss is about rock music after finally taking your headphones off from listening to Rihanna.
*And if you’re going to imitate somebody’s ability to just rock, why not Pete Townshend? His web-browsing habits, however, are not condoned by any of the staff here at vsmatters.
Oddly enough, however, while watching the Buzzcocks ball up my predispositions on age, rock, etc., one band came to mind, The Sex Pistols. Probably the most famous of all punk bands, the Sex Pistols actually only released one full album (Never Mind the Bollucks….) before they burned out when that combustible mix of heroin, lack of talent, ugly groupies, and general petulance finally hit the reactionary point. The Sex Pistols sang/snarled about pressing issues of a time, and proved to be an outlet for many lower-class workers in industrialized England who indeed had “No Future” to look forward to except a bus pass, a shitty job, and a requisite family that just kind of happens as opposed to be birthed out of love, or whatever emotion families are created from*. They hacked and snarled and made some canonical music in the process. Whenever asked about what I think punk music is**, the song “Anarchy in the UK” pretty much sums it up. Starting with a unforgiving guitar lick, Johnny Rotten lets out that Clockwork Orange-like sarcastic laugh and tunefully tells you the listener that yes, “I am the Antichrist.” Screw this new 3-d technology for films and television- we need some sort of technology where it seems like you get spit filling your ear every time you hear this song. Reflective of the album as a whole, the song represents the angst and frustration of an entire culture of people almost flawlessly, on topics ranging from Abortion (“Bodies”) to specific ways to attain titular anarchy (“God Save the Queen”). It’s not exactly the album you listen to when you finally had the guts to give your best girl your varsity jacket and you want something to make-out to at the point, but essential listening nonetheless.
*What?
** Clearly Has Never Happened
The Buzzoccks, on the other hand, seem more interested in personal topics rather than the-sky-is-falling-let’s-either-fuck-each-other-or-find-something-to-light-on-fire. “Everybody is Happy Nowadays” conveys an energy similar to the Pistols, but obsesses more about loneliness and covetousness rather than worker’s rights or some other topic that a punk band full of drop-outs would at best have a vague idea about. The Buzzcocks sang about things that Green Day used to sing about before Billie Joe Armstrong equated mascara diffusion with political knowledge; the song “Orgasm Addict” is unquestionably a forerunner for Green Day’s “Longview,” the song that threw them on the Billboard 200 like a pickle slice at a glass window. That doesn’t mean the songs are less substantial; “What Do I Get?” is the Stones’ “Satisfaction” with a faster pace and a slightly more dry sense of humor. “Ever Fallen In Love” is as tight* as punk music gets, while the kraut-rock-infused “Why Can’t I Touch It” shows the band’s range.
*As in “tightly arranged,” not like “fucking tizzzzzznight”
The Sex Pistols will always be admired and studied as they found themselves to be a symbol of rebellion in the face of poverty, frustration, and boredom. They embraced this role and took off with it successfully… for about two months. The band has been in shambles since the early 80s when lead singer and general butt-wagon* Johnny Rotten formed Public Image Limited, a wildly inconsistent but generally cool band. Sid Vicious famously killed himself after killing his girlfriend, the madness that the band commercially beheld finally taking its toll on its members. The other members have had varying levels of success in other bands, but nothing that I really care mentioning, as I’m trying to make a point here. The Sex Pistols, naturally characterized by their cynical impression of the chemistry of common life, screamed themselves out of relevance before most realized their zeitgeist-shifting prominence. Any other narrative of the band would have neutered their influence quickly- a potential second album would have lacked the immediate kick that Never Mind the Bollucks… had; it would also have miniaturized the aesthetic of the incendiary trail they blazed. The Buzzcocks, on the other hand, never tried to fight this planetary hierarchy- they kept their scope mostly introspective without losing the dry sense of humor that punk lives off of to maintain relevance. The Sex Pistols- or at least Malcolm McLaren (a genius who recently passed away)- inhaled the many breaths of discontent and in the process made a musical statement unparalleled in its specific intensity to this day. The Buzzcocks clearly never reached these hyperbolic cultural heights, but because of this they age much better. Because the more 18-years is in my rear-view, the more I believe that Johnny Rotten and co. weren’t these repulsive fighters of the bullshit-bourgeois status quo that I detested at that age**, and more a creation along the contemporary lines of Lady Gaga, and her manufactured presence to awaken, and commercialize repressed feelings among suburbanites***. While it would be unfair to say that the Buzzcocks were a better band than the Sex Pistols, I can say without irony that they are a far less exhausting band, which means they win this one. That, plus they are lesser known, which automatically makes my opinion seem smarter and more controversial.
*Must accredit to B and B
** Antidote: Got a Honda; the gas mileage is just incredible!
***Although I am still clueless why dressing like a tourette’s-laden hermaphrodite can be so damn liberating for women; I digress.
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