Submission

Sex Pistols: 'Submission' (1977) [1]

 

I. 

 

According to Rotten's recollection, it was Malcolm who suggested the band should write a BDSM-themed song with the title 'Submission' - they were, after all, called the SEX Pistols, although only guitarist Steve Jones seemed to have an eye for the ladies, Rotten once famously dismissing the act of love as merely a couple of minutes squelching [2].

 

So perhaps no surprise that Rotten would decide to interpret the word submission as sub-mission, i.e., a submarine mission and write a song that is less about kinky sex of the sort McLaren fantasised and more about an immersive experience with a mysterious girl and her watery love [3].   

 

Reflecting on the song years later, Rotten said that whilst he and other band members enjoyed the punning humour of 'Submission', Malcolm failed to see the joke and, as a result, didn't ever attempt to suggest or shape the lyrical content of a song again, which, if true, is a shame; for Malcolm was clearly the guiding spirit and intelligence of everything that came out of 430 Kings Road, including the Sex Pistols [4]. 

 

 

II. 

 

One assumes that McLaren was hoping Rotten might come up with something simlar to 'Venus in Furs' by the Velvet Underground, a track inspired by Masoch's famous novel of that title published in 1870 [5]. 

 

Unfortunately, however, Rotten is no Lou Reed and, as noted, kinky themes of sadomasochism, bondage, and submission mean nothing to him - or, at most, they provide an opportunity to mock those who do take these things seriously. Sex, style and subversion may be central to McLaren's philosophy and aesthetic, but Rotten is all about sarcasm, scorn and sneering. 

 

In a sense, Malcolm might have been better off kicking Rotten out of the band earlier than he did and bringing in another talented young singer-songwriter, namely, Adam Ant, who immediately quit the pub rock outfit Bazooka Joe (for whom he played bass) after seeing the Sex Pistols in November 1975 [6]. 

 

Adam soon fell in with key figures on the London punk scene, including Jordan, who famously worked at SEX, and, unlike Rotten, he was more than happy to explore the pervy world of fetish, producing some fantastic songs on the subject, such as 'Whip in My Valise' and 'Beat My Guest' [7]. He even coined a motto for his band Adam and the Ants which read: Ant music for sex people. 

 

Unfortunately, it would be two years after the breakup of the Sex Pistols, in January 1980, before McLaren finally paid attention to Adam and agreed to manage - or, more accurately, mentor - him for a month, receiving a flat fee of a £1000. It was from Malcolm, that Adam got his pirate-Apache look and the Burundi drum sound - so a bargain, really, although it also cost him the loss of his band, who left with McLaren to form Bow Wow Wow ... but that's another post.

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols (Virgin, 1977) was originally released as an 11-track album, but included 'Submission' as a one-sided 7" single. It was soon added to the album and the 2012 remastered version can be heard by clicking here.

 

[2] See Charles M. Young's feature on (and interviews with) the Sex Pistols - 'Rock is Sick and Living in London' - in Rolling Stone (20 Oct 1977): click here. 

      Asked if he shares Sid's view that sex is boring, Rotten replies: "Love is two minutes and fifty seconds of squelching noises. It shows your mind isn't clicking right." It was a quote greatly appreciated by the writer Aubron Waugh.

[3] It's possible, of course, that Rotten has, in fact, penned an erotic number - even if it was primarily designed to annoy McLaren. Repeatedly singing about going down, for example, suggests an interest in oral sex and when Rotten refers to her undercurrent flowing one can't help but imagine that the song references either female ejaculation or golden showering. Ultimately, whilst I have no idea if Rotten has a penchant for urophilia, it's undeniably the case that he enjoys taking the piss. 

[4] Rotten would like the world to to believe that he almost singlehandedly wrote the songs, only begrudgingly admitting the role played by other band members. But it's hard to imagine that he would have come up with 'Anarchy in the U.K.' without McLaren putting ideas in his head and 'Pretty Vacant' was almost certainly written at the latter's instigation after he was inspired by Richard Hell's 'Blank Generation' (I discussed this in an earlier post that can be accessed by clicking here).   

 

[5] 'Venus in Furs', by the Velvet Underground - a band managed by McLaren's artistic hero Andy Warhol - was originally released on the 1967 album The Velvet Underground & Nico. Readers who wish to listen can click here.

 

[6] In fact, the Sex Pistols - playing their first ever show - opened for Bazooka Joe at Saint Martin's Art College on 6 November, 1975.   

 

[7] 'Whip in My Valise' originally featured as the B-side of the Adam and the Ants single 'Zerox', released in July 1979. It was also added to the 1983 re-issue of the album Dirk Wears White Sox.

      'Beat My Guest' would eventually turn up as the B-side of 'Stand and Deliver', a single released in May 1981, and on the compilation album B-Side Babies (1994) Click here for the first of these tracks and here for the latter. 

A Brief Note on the Resurrection of the Damned and Johnny Rotten as an Artist in Decline

The Damned - Rat Scabies, Brian James, Dave Vanian and Captain Sensible - 

proving that whilst punk rockers never die, they do, sadly, grow old ...

Photo credit: John Nguyen / JNVisuals (2022)

 

 

Readers who, like me, still retain a vague interest in how the story of punk unfolds in its twilight years, will have doubtless noticed a couple of stories in the news recently. 

 

Firstly, the original line up of the Damned have reunited to play live, 46 years after they initially took to the stage, offering us not so much an opportunity to smell once more the sweet scent of a new rose, as witness the sad spectacle of human decay.

 

Their show at the Hammersmith Apollo earlier this week - the first of five UK gigs - was described by Neil McCormick in The Telegraph as a 'cacophony of amateurish noise and chaos', so it certainly sounds like it was fun [1]. 

 

But, ultimately, apart from sixty-something die hard fans, to whom does such a event really mean anything? 

 

Secondly, a sheet of handwritten lyrics by Johnny Rotten has sold at auction for more than £50,000; well over the estimated sale price of between £15,000 and £20,000. 

 

The songs featured are 'Submission' - a track written in mocking response to Malcolm's request for a song with a sadomasochistic theme - and 'Holidays in the Sun' - the Sex Pistols' fourth single, which opens with the memorable line 'A cheap holiday in other people's misery' [2].    

 

Lyrically, neither song is at the same level of brilliance as 'Anarchy in the U.K.' or 'God Save the Queen' and arguably Rotten never wrote anything as good again as this verse taken from the latter:

When there's no future, how can there be sin?

We're the flowers in the dustbin ...

We're the poison in the human machine ...

We're the future, your future! [3]

 

However, even Rotten's weakest songs written as the charismatic young singer of the Sex Pistols look like works of genius compared to the dispiriting rubbish he now offers us as the fat old man fronting Public Image Ltd. 

 

I very much doubt people will be paying tens of thousands of pounds for the handwritten lyrics to 'Double Trouble', for example. 

 

Nor can I imagine that Sebastian Horsley would still describe Rotten as "Rimbaud reborn in Finsbury Park" - with all the intelligence and vision of an extraordinary poet [4] - were he able to hear Lydon moaning about his domestic life and indoor plumbing issues: 

 

What - you fucking nagging again? 

About what? What? What? 

The toilet's fucking broken again 

I repaired that, I told you 

Get the plumber in again [5]

 

It pains me to say it, but I'm tempted to agree with Vivienne Westwood that whilst Johnny Rotten was a sensation when performing with the Sex Pistols, once he was thrown out of the band "he didn't have any more ideas" [6]. 

 

And so he turned inward and began to exploit his memories and feelings; this internalisation being one of the defining characteristics of post-punk. Indeed, Lydon himself has confessed that whilst he invested the Sex Pistols with his intelligence, he poured his heart and soul into PiL. 

 

This may have produced some interesting work at first - I'm not denying the brilliance of Metal Box (1979) - but, ultimately, it resulted in a steady decline of his writing skills, just as age and increased girth have, sadly, led to a deterioration of his ability to sing and perform [7]. 

 

Johnny Rotten at the Cruel World Festival (14 May 2022)

Photo by Alex Kluft

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Neil McCormick, 'The Damned are just as amateur now as they were in 1976', The Telegraph (29 Oct 2022): click here. 

      For those who want a reminder of just how great the Damned were back in the day, click here. 'New Rose' was the first single released by a British punk rock group, on 22 October 1976 (one month prior to the Sex Pistols releasing their debut single, 'Anarchy in the U.K.'). 

 

[2] Both these songs can be found on the Sex Pistols' album Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols (Virgin Records, 1977). Click here to listen to 'Submission' and/or here to play 'Holidays in the Sun'.

 

[3] Lyrics from the Sex Pistols' second single 'God Save the Queen', released May 1977 on Virgin Records, written by Johnny Rotten and © Warner Chappell Music, Inc. The track is credited to all four members of the band; Steve Jones, Johnny Rotten, Glen Matlock, and Paul Cook. Click here to play.

 

[4] Sebastian Horsley, Dandy in the Underworld, (Sceptre, 2008), pp. 57-58.

 

[5] Lyrics from 'Double Trouble' written by Lydon, although the track is credited to all four members of PiL; Scott Firth, Lu Edmonds, John Lydon, and Bruce Smith. It can be found on the album What the World Needs Now ... (PiL Official Ltd., 2015): to play, click here.

      Although the album received mostly favourable reviews, it is, in fact, fucking awful. Middle-class music critics working for The Guardian might find the songs exhilarating, foul-mouthed fun, but I don't.

[6] Vivienne Westood interviewed by Alex Flood (13 May 2022) for the NME. Click here to read online.

[7] This is evidenced by a charmless live performance at the Cruel World Festival earlier this year: click here to watch an excruciating version of 'Shoom' (another track from What the World Needs Now ...).

In Memory of Joris-Karl Huysmans (and His Bejewelled Tortoise)

Caricature of J-K Huysmans (1885)

To be honest, I increasingly find that I have to be in a very particular frame of mind to read 19th-century French authors such as Joris-Karl Huysmans who are a little too Symbolist, too Decadent and too Catholic for my tastes. One really has no wish to end up at the foot of the Cross, be it inverted or upright and I find elements of his philosophy - much influenced by Schopenhauer - highly suspect; suggestive as they are of weakness, rather than a more Nietzschean pessimism of strength. 

However, as Huysmans and I share the same star sign making us astrological kin - and as today happens to be the 170th anniversary of his birth - I thought I might say something in memory of this idiosyncratic writer, notorious for writing against the grain and against nature ...

The first thing that needs to be said is that Huysmans was clever - very clever. And I'm with Eliot on this question: the essential requirement of all good writing - be it prose or poetry - is intelligence. An inspired idiot is unfortunately still an idiot and inspiration won't compensate for (or disguise) a lack of learning and quick-wittedness for long. L'éternelle bêtise de l'humanité was not surprisingly one of Huysmans's pet peeves. 

His first major publication was a collection of prose poems, Le drageoir aux épices (1874), strongly influenced by Baudelaire. This was followed by a novel, Marthe, Histoire d'une fille (1876), which brought him to the attention of Émile Zola. His next works were similar in style: realistic and rather grim depictions of life in Paris.

Again, to be honest, you'd have to have a great passion for French literature or a scholarly interest like the middle-aged protagonist of Houellebecq's Submission (2015), to bother with these books. But on the other hand, his scandalous novel of 1884, À rebours, is a must read - if only for the bejewelled tortoise in chapter four. 

And that's particularly so for lovers of Oscar Wilde; for this poisonous tale of the aristocratic aesthete Jean des Esseintes - a man who rejects both the natural order and bourgeois society and attempts to live exclusively in a perversely sensual yet highly artificial world of his own invention - greatly influenced The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890).

Amusingly - though not for poor Constance - Wilde first read À rebours whilst on honeymoon in Paris and it immediately became for him what it was also for Paul Valéry and, many years later, the punk singer Richard Hell - a bible and bedside favourite.       

See:

Michel Houellebecq, Submission, trans. Lorin Stein, (William Heinemann, 2015). 

Joris-Karl Huysmans, trans. Robert Baldick, (Penguin Books, 2003).

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, (Penguin Books, 2003).

To read an excellent essay by Adam Leith Gollner on 'What Houellebecq Learned from Huysmans', in The New Yorker (12 November, 2015), click here. 

For an interesting note on À rebours and its influence on Oscar Wilde, visit the British Library website: click here. 

For a related post to this one that reflects more closely on the bejewelled tortoise, click here.

Thanks to Thom Bonneville for suggesting this post.

Submission (On Christianity, Islam and the European Migrant Crisis)

Cover of the Hungarian edition of 

Michel Houellebecq's novel Soumission (2015)

These are strange times indeed! 

So strange, that one even finds oneself in agreement with Peter Hitchens - yes, the slightly younger, much less lovable brother of Christopher Hitchens - on an increasing number of questions, including the European migrant crisis. 

For he's right, surely, to argue that we in the West will not solve this apparently insoluble problem, or be in a position to help anyone, if we destroy our own continent with its own unique history, culture and system of values in the process, or simply give it away, as he writes, "to complete strangers on an impulse because it makes us feel good about ourselves". 

Unfortunately, Hitchens doesn't examine this emotional spasm gripping the political leaders of Europe, the media, bleeding-heart celebrities, and, apparently, large numbers of the British public who were moved by a single photo. And, of course, the reason he doesn't examine it is because it's rooted precisely in the Christian moral tradition of which he is such a vocal exponent. Thus Hitchens is on tricky ground and his analysis of current events is compromised ultimately by his own faith. 

In other words, what I'm suggesting is that it is our own idealism - particularly the ideal of self-sacrifice - that is at play here; we are still attempting to imitate Christ hanging on the Cross and commit one final auto-da-fé en masse so that we too can whisper with our dying breath and face turned towards heaven consummatum est. 

It is finished; meaning, our time as a people is finally over; we give up, let those who are younger, stronger, more devout, more numerous, have a go at running things. Michel Houellebecq understands this suicidal and sentimental fatigue and how our will to love has effectively undermined our will to survival. In his novel, Soumission (2015), he writes perfectly convincingly of how a near-future France easily transforms into an Islamic society.   

It's a book that Hitchens has read and admires. But, again, I don't think he quite understands the work or sees why it is Europe has adopted this submissive position; how what he describes as weakness and cowardice is, in fact, the result of our corrosive and toxic virtues including: pity, charity, and humility.

The sad and terrifying fact is that we would rather turn the other cheek and love our enemies, even when they want to murder us, than be seen to be unkind or unjust in any way. Just as Jesus died for our sins, we want to die for the sins of others. And so we hold open the gates and meekly smile and clap hands as hundreds of thousands of migrants push past and give thanks to Allah for the soft stupidity of the kuffar. 

          

Notes: 

Peter Hitchens's recent Mail on Sunday piece entitled 'We won't save refugees by destroying our own country' can be read here. 

Michel Houellebecq's novel has been translated into English as Submission, by Lorin Stein, (William Heinemann, 2015). 

Obviously, Nietzsche - not an author I suspect Peter Hitchens has much time for - identified Christianity as more harmful than any vice over a century ago and predicted what would happen to Europeans as a result of adopting this slave morality and attempting to put it into practice. That we have not repudiated this creed once and for all not only does us no credit, but it brings down a curse upon us. And if Islam despises the Christian West, writes Nietzsche, "it is a thousand times right to do so: for Islam presupposes men ..." [The Anti-Christ, section 59.]

Can't We Talk About This?

John Keane, The Death of Theo Van Gogh (2007)

www.johnkeaneart.com

In November 2004, Dutch filmmaker and provocateur Theo Van Gogh was brutally slaughtered on an Amsterdam street for his part in the making of a short film entitled Submission; a film which, primarily, examined the relationship that exists between Muslims and their God and asks how necessary reform of Islam might be possible when Allah demands absolute obedience to his laws, with no room for doubt or critical dissent amongst his worshipers.   

Having shot his victim multiple times, Van Gogh's devout assailant then cut his throat and attempted to decapitate him in front of horrified witnesses, before finally plunging the knife deep into the dead man's chest. Apparently, among the last words spoken by Van Gogh to his killer were: Can't we talk about this?

Ayaan Hirsi Ali - Van Gogh's friend and collaborator on Submission - writes: 

"It was so Dutch, so sweet and innocent. Theo must have thought there was some kind of misunderstanding that could be worked out. He couldn't see that his killer was caught in a wholly different worldview. Nothing Theo could have said to him would have made any difference."

- Ayaan Hirsi Ali, Infidel, (Pocket Books, 2008), p. 321   

I recount this deeply depressing incident by way of a response to a presentation recently given by John Holroyd on the topic of Islam.

Holroyd, a Dawkins, Harris, and Hitchens hating crypto-theologian, teaches philosophy and religious studies at a London college and is a man for whom these subjects are perfectly compatible, if not, indeed, one and the same thing. His paper, in essence, called for still greater dialogue between the West and the militant forces of Islamic extremism, thereby strangely echoing Van Gogh's naivety in the face of those who hate us, hate all that we love and hold dear, and mean to do us mortal harm.

Now, whilst I concede that it might be good to talk - and that loving one's enemies might be the Christian thing to do - sometimes, unfortunately, there's really nothing further to discuss and inasmuch as this loving of enemies can lead to a reluctance to actively combat the forces of murderous and reactionary violence, then Jesus's teaching might be said to result in immorality and risk the triumph of evil.   

Thus, rather than listen to Jesus, I'd sooner heed Michel Foucault who argued that fascism - whether it be political or religious in nature and whether found in the hearts and minds of others or, indeed, in our own acts and pleasures - must be vigorously resisted as an essential aspect of living an ethical life.

  

Venus in Furs

Are you visiting Woman? Don't forget your whip! 

The masochistic lover  will often fall on his knees and passionately kiss the feet of the woman he adores as his mistress: she whose eyes sparkle with cruelty and who by virtue of her greater power is able to place a spiked heel nonchalantly on the neck of all mankind.

Whatever the truth of her actual status is irrelevant: fur transforms any woman wearing it into a superior creature; be she rich and wrapped in mink, or a simple peasant girl in clothes trimmed with rabbit skin (something that is forgotten in this graceless and charmless age of rubber and plastic).

The figure of the dominatrix obsesses, seduces, and captivates the masochist because she corresponds to his own refined tendencies and mirrors his particular nature; in discovering her, he learns how to paradoxically find and abandon himself.

If, initially, many women are reluctant to accept the adoration of a slave - finding the thought of their lover's submission as well as their own placement on a pedestal like a marble statue distasteful and degrading - nevertheless they know in their hearts that there is no equality or justice in the false virtue of love. 

And, having picked up the whip and experienced the grandeur of their own pale power sweeping over them, they are often more than happy to demonstrate precisely what it means to be at the mercy of a young and frivolous woman ...