Wednesday, May 22, 2013

#41 Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols

I tried.  I tried.  I tried.  I tried so hard to like the Sex Pistols.  I really wanted to.  I thought I could fake it too and pretend to be in love with the Sex Pistols.  Deep down, I thought a part of me will emerge and love Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious.  I know they are important.  I know they are a raw awesome punk band who called it like they saw it, expressed anger for a generation, hooray they were controversial and banned, they lyrically bitchslapped the queen, etc.  All good things I thought I'd enjoy, but when it got right down to it, it all sounded the same to me.  I thought I was on the same song for 20 minutes and then I realized I was halfway done with the album.  And by the time I forced myself to listen to it for a fourth time, I was so impatient for it to end.

And there is a language barrier; laugh all you want, there really is one.  Besides having to look up "Bollocks" which, I'll have you know has six different definitions, I couldn't understand a word of this rubbish (that means trash, Katy, in case you want to look it up).  And what I could understand sounded so juvenile and silly, I was embarrassed to listen to it very loud--and it being punk music, I suppose listening loudly comes with the territory.  *shrug*

Meh, all in all, not my cup o' tea.

I think I wrote a poem about a teacher once who was not a human being either (not as noteworthy as the queen).  But I was in the 8th grade.  I also recall writing a short story about Fetus Fajitas that was way better than their crappy abortion song.  Mine had a point to it too.  I didn't just throw darts at the dictionary to come up with phrases.

This album made me feel like one of those creepers who never leaves their high school town the more I listened.  Or like when Blink182 toured in their late thirties and were making poop jokes and fucking someone's mom jokes and shouting "boobies" for the squeals of delight from thirteen-year-old girls.  Just constantly stuck in an adolescent brain and angry for no reason.  Bitching at things just to bitch and blaming everyone else for their made up problems.  You get to do whatever you want and not work a real job?  You can't name the Prime Minister but you're wealthy as hell because you can make one song sound like twelve and call it an album?  You get drunk and make money off of angry retards who buy your albums just because they got banned?  My friends, you have first world problems.  This is not something to be angry about.  Drop your little anarchist act and go home.  Wash your gimmicks off and  take a nap or read a book or something.  Jesus H.

The Clash totally kicked your asses, Sex Pistols.  I don't think any punk band will impress me after The Clash rocked my world.

And none of you sound intimidating enough for me to think you're anarchists or antichrists.  FAIL.

In truth, I don't have anything to say about this album.  I seriously couldn't think of a single thing that would make this entry interesting or worth reading in anyway.  Or even funny in putting them down.  The album was so far removed from me that it had nothing to do with my life whatsoever.  It didn't spark any brain waves or remind me of anything important enough to write down.  It kind of made me feel like being stuck in a shitty dream where everyone is yelling in a different language; and I don't have too many of those dreams, thankfully.

Maybe if I am given a more interesting base material to work with, I'll write better.  For examples, please refer to all other blog entries.

Stones Website:
Never Mind The Bollocks Here's The Sex Pistols --Album Cover

Warner Bros., 1977
"If the sessions had gone the way I wanted, it would have been unlistenable for most people," Johnny Rotten said. "If you want people to listen, you’re going to have to compromise." But few heard it that way at the time. The Pistols' only studio album sounds like a rejection of everything rock & roll had to offer. True, the music was less shocking than Rotten himself, who snarled about abortions, anarchy and hatred. But Never Mind. . . is the Sermon on the Mount of U.K. punk – and its echoes are everywhere

Read more: 
Follow us: @rollingstone on Twitter | RollingStone on Facebook