Friday, July 22, 2022

the last book I ever read (Lonely Boy: Tales from a Sex Pistol by Steve Jones, excerpt five)

from Lonely Boy: Tales from a Sex Pistol by Steve Jones:

I’m trying to imagine what Malcolm must have thought of me when I started hanging out in the shop. He obviously didn’t think I was one of the regular run-of-the-mill kids who would walk up and down King’s Road at that time wearing tight suits and kipper ties and platform boots, although I did go through a phase of doing that. Cookie calls it the ‘Adam Faith in Budgie’ look, but I reckon that was more denim. There was a bit of Hunky Dory-era Bowi going on too, with all the tank tops and stuff, but I wasn’t so into that. Ziggy Stardust and Aladdin Sane were the two big Bowie albums for me – the earlier records when he still had curly hair gave off more of a folky vide, which wasn’t really for me. It felt like something people in squats on Portobello Road would be listening to.

Anyway, back to Malcolm. I guess he would’ve noticed the energy that I had, the way that music and fashion mattered to me, and the element of fucked-up-ness that meant I didn’t give too much of a shit about anything else. They liked damaged goods, Malcolm and Vivienne, but I don’t think it was because they were looking for people they could use to put their ideas into practice. I think it was because they were quite damaged too.

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