Rotten

by John Lydon

  Johnny sat with his mum all through her illness. He sat by her side for ten weeks—never spoke to anybody—never left her day or night. He washed in the hospital, slept on the seat. He was that close to her. She was in Whittington Hospital—the same one Johnny was in when he was young with meningitis. I’ve never known anybody to be as close as them. Never. Throughout his musical career, Johnny would ring her to ask her opinion, and she’d always tell him to carry on with his music. They used to slag me off. They’d laugh at me and say, “Oh, you’re a silly old man. You’re only jealous because you can’t sing.”

  When Johnny was really ill as a child, I thought that was the end of him. I think his illness made him realize how his mummy felt when she was diagnosed with cancer. When he brought her to America, he made a big fuss of her. He finally had money, and he lavished what he had on her. Then to find out that she would come back to die—well, it’s sad, isn’t it? But that was Johnny returning the favor. As for where that put me, I was quite happy so long as I saw my wife happy with Johnny. I had no worries in life. The only one was when I lost my wife; I lost everything when I lost her.

  JOHN LYDON: I missed my mother dying. It was not something to look forward to, but I would have liked to have been at the hospital. I wrote “Death Disco” for her. There was a tune running around in my head at the time, so I crossed it with Swan Lake—a brilliant goodbye, Mummy. I don’t like doing that song live because tears do well.

  After my wife died, Johnny and I became even closer—he would make such a fuss of me. I never show my boys that much affection. I let them work things out for themselves. I never pampered Johnny; he realizes that now. I’m proud of all my sons. I don’t go telling Johnny that I’m proud of him. I don’t show them how I feel. I let them work that out by themselves. It’s like Johnny Cash’s “A Boy Named Sue.” I should have christened Johnny “Sue.” I don’t interfere with Johnny’s life because I know he’s not going to do anything silly. Johnny thinks before he does anything.

  Johnny used to get the wrong impression: “You don’t like me.”

  That’s the way it goes in this family. I couldn’t smack my children when they were young. My wife wouldn’t have it. She was a very religious woman, a great Catholic. She wouldn’t abuse her children or smack them around. Now we’ve gotten closer. It never used to be, but now it’s always Dad, Dad this, Dad that. Before my wife died, it was Mum; now all of a sudden, it’s Dad.

  As far as girls were concerned, I never laid down the law with Johnny. I was the worst, so how could I? You have to practice what you preach. I’m not one of those do-as-I-say-not-what-I-do. I let my boys lead their own lives. I never spoiled them mainly because I grew up with the lads. I’m not that much older than Johnny, just twenty years, and that’s not a lot. That’s the way I wanted the family to be. Some people’s daddies are sixty years of age when they’re born.

  As far as the girls, you’d want a bulldozer at the door to keep them away, but it wasn’t like that so much for Johnny. He was always steady with Nora, and even now he never looks about. He’s known Nora for over eighteen years. Jimmy, years ago, he’d take anybody’s girl. Johnny’s not like that. He’s very steady with Nora. I think they’re very happy together. They always seem content; they suit each other. It’s good to see my boys grown. They get on well together. Johnny and Martin are very close. Having four boys wasn’t really a handful. It would have been more of a handful having one girl. I did want a daughter, but I don’t think I could cope having a girl in this country. Boys can look after themselves, but how can you protect a little girl in these council flats, with all the attacks? How can a girl walk out there today, on the streets of London?

  This district of Finsbury Park used to be all Irish; when I first got here, you’da t’ought you were in Ireland. We used to go to the community center with the children on a Saturday night. The babies would play around while we’d all have a drink with our friends. It was so nice. As the years went by, I don’t know where the Irish have gone. There are no Irish at all in Finsbury Park anymore. There are lots of Greeks in Finsbury Park now. There are Turks and a lot of blacks—Africans, who can be really violent. My Bobby even had his throat cut with a Stanley knife one night just outside the door. It’s terrible, but you cope and grow with it. Like everything else, it’s all a part of life. That’s why I travel. It takes my mind off my work and the world. That’s why I think my Johnny should get a nice hobby like playing golf, or fishing or something. He should relax and get away. Then he’d go back to his music and be twice as good. But Johnny’s hyperactive. He has to keep thinking something different all the time.

  When the load of them from the press first came around, I left photographs out and they pinched everything I had, including pictures of my wife. Then they wrote lies about Johnny and his mum, when she wasn’t even here to defend herself. Johnny got really annoyed over it, so that’s why I barred the lot of them for years. I’ve never bothered. When people used to want to interview me, I wouldn’t talk to them. I saw what they were doing—just setting me up. All they wanted was for me to say something notorious about my sons. But I never needed money so badly that I would run my sons down. I would never slag my sons, because no matter what they do, I’m proud of them. One time one of the newspapers wanted me to write an article, but they only wanted me to say exactly what they had in mind—that Johnny was outrageous and notorious—a villain. Johnny’s notorious on stage. Off stage, it’s a switch, on and off, and he can be quite different. There was an article not long ago in the paper where they wrote about Johnny—that he was one in a million who changed the world. By God, I think he did. My Johnny changed the world.

  SEGMENT 23:

  “EVER GET THE FEELING…”.

  That last moment on stage in San Francisco was the truth. I had felt cheated. I felt that my life had been stolen from me by lesser beings. Our inabilities ruined something truly excellent. I’m sure history will bear me out on that. Right now it’s still too close to the bone for people to judge it accurately because there are still too many vested interests floating about.

  And I’m no saint. I’m as wrong as everyone else and as right as most.

  Wrong in that I was young, stupid, and rash. I didn’t have the perceptions I should have had. I ran away from problems rather than hitting them head on: the very thing I accuse other people of doing all of the time. Yet I know there’s a certain aspect in my character where I actually enjoy things falling apart, where the chaos becomes far more enjoyable than the commitment. It will always be there, my impetuosity.

  So I am not without guilt.

  I could have helped Sid more. If only I hadn’t been lazy and washed my hands of him like Pontius Pilate. That’s something I’ll have to carry to the grave with me. I don’t know what I could have done, but I know I should have done something. There are always ways. You must never be lazy when it comes to your friends.

  Believe it or not, I have no animosity toward Malcolm. The last time we talked was when Bernie Rhodes was trying to set up a nightclub in New York in 1985. He wanted Malcolm and me to talk it out. He said we were two great minds who needed to get together and stop all this. Okay. I sat there, and Malcolm had attitude all fucking night. He just couldn’t get off it. After a couple of double brandies, he was spouting and talking like a politician. I got up and said I was leaving. Bernie stopped me and asked me to stay. It was nice of Bernie to try to do that. But was it really? Then Bernie left the table.

  I leaned over to Malcolm and said, “Look, Malcolm, Bernie’s gone to the toilet now. You know you’re going to talk rubbish all night, and you know I ain’t listening. Why don’t we just go home?”

  We shook hands, and he went one way and I went the other. We left Bernie in the toilet with the bill.

  Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?

  Notes

  Segment 02: Child of the Ashes

  1. Pseudonyms (bracketed the first time they appear) are designed to protect the innocen
t and guilty!

  Segment 20: Never Mind the Lolling on the Sand, Here’s the Affidavits/A Legal Pie Fight

  1. As far as The Great Rock ’n’ Roll Swindle was concerned, the whole thing from the hiring of Russ Meyer on was a joke and a waste of time and money. My original choice as director was Graham Chapman from Monty Python, but he behaved gloriously bad to Malcolm. That put the knockers on that. Then Malcolm brought in Russ Meyer, with whom I didn’t see eye to eye. He was just going to turn this film into a tits-and-ass movie. I’ve never liked any of his films, one man and his childish fantasies. I didn’t want to be a part of his regime because I felt we’d be second fiddle to his big tit phobia.

  CAST OF CONTRIBUTORS

  WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

  Paul Cook lives in London, is married, has a family, and still plays drums.

  Caroline Coon is the author of many articles and books on contemporary music, including punk and the Sex Pistols. She’s also a painter.

  John Gray is a primary school teacher in London.

  Bob Gruen is a photographer in New York City, famous for his photographs of John Lennon and Yoko Ono.

  Chrissie Hynde fronts the Pretenders, now spanning their third decade.

  Billy Idol went on to form Generation X before becoming a successful solo artist.

  Steve Jones lives in Los Angeles and continues to tour with his own hardrock band.

  Jeanette Lee is still involved with the good side of the music industry in London and has worked for such bands as PiL and the Jesus and Mary Chain.

  Don Letts is a filmmaker who has directed several videos and served a brief stint in Big Audio Dynamite with the Clash’s Mick Jones.

  John Christopher Lydon still drives a lorry in England.

  Nora and John Lydon married shortly after John formed PiL.

  Marco Pirroni is a guitarist who co-founded Adam & the Ants and has played, written, and toured with artists such as Sinead O’Connor.

  Rambo is a jewelry designer and still lives in Finsbury Park.

  Zandra Rhodes is one of the top couture designers in Europe.

  Dave Ruffy co-founded the Ruts and is a drummer and songwriter who has worked with bands like Aztec Camera, Sinead O’Connor, Kirsty MacColl, and Adam Ant.

  Steve Severin is a founding and current member of Siouxsie & the Banshees.

  Paul Stahl is an advertising executive in London.

  Julien Temple is a filmmaker who has directed numerous videos as well as feature films and documentaries.

  Howard Thompson moved to America where he is an Artist & Repertoire executive in New York.

  “Whatcha Gonna Do About It” by Samwell/Potter, published by Fanfare Music Ltd. England. Used by permission.

  ROTTEN. Copyright © 1994 by John Lydon. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Picador, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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