The Velvet Underground Versus the Sex Pistols: a Postscript

The Velvet Underground (Sterling Morrison / Maureen Tucker / Lou Reed / John Cale) 

Photo by Gerard Malanga (1966)

The Sex Pistols (Steve Jones / Glen Matlock / Johnny Rotten / Paul Cook)

Photo by Peter Vernon (1976) 

 

I. 

 

As conceded in a recent post contrasting 'Venus in Furs' by the Velvet Underground with 'Submission' by the Sex Pistols [1], the former song is undoubtedly the more interesting of the two. However, that's not to say I would agree with this which arrived in my inbox in response:   

 

Quite why anyone would choose the scuzzy little marketing joke of Sex Pistols over the catastrophic beauty and kinetic mystique of The Velvets is beyond me . . . 

 

 

II. 

 

It's a peculiarly affecting line of criticism; one that could only have been written by a fan of the latter - note, for example, the use of the shortened band name to indicate intimacy and insider status (although there was also an early 1960's doo-wop group called The Velvets and one is tempted to feign confusion just to be irritating). 

 

Clearly, the writer prioritises artistic complexity over what they see as crude commercialism. But what is also clear from the sentence structure and grandiloquent language employed, is that this critic is something of an intellectual and cultural elitist - catastrophic beauty ... kinetic mystique - who uses phrases like this without wishing to signal their superiority? 

 

By dismissing the Sex Pistols as no more than Malcolm McLaren's scuzzy little marketing joke, they also position themselves as someone who can see through popular cultural trends such as punk; trends that lack the depth, authenticity, and high aesthetic value of the kind of avant-garde pop (or art rock) produced by the Velvet Underground. 

 

 

III.

 

Of course, this subjective and judgemental style of writing is one that many music journalists have experimented with and, to be fair, it can be entertaining (even if some readers may find it a tad pretentious) [2]. And one is reminded also of a letter written by a teenage Stephen Morrissey to the NME critiquing the Sex Pistols for their shabby appearance and 'discordant music' with 'barely audible' lyrics [3]. 

 

However, before my anonymous correspondent gets too excited by this - for if he loves the Velvet Underground, he's bound to love Morrissey -  he should note that Morrissey also praises the punk band for knowing how to get their audience dancing in the aisles and compares them favourably to his beloved New York Dolls (another scuzzy group managed briefly by McLaren which, I imagine, my correspondent hates just as much as the Sex Pistols). 

 

 

IV.

 

Ultimately, whilst belonging to two very different eras, the Velvet Underground and the Sex Pistols were both seminal bands and it is beyond me why we should be forced to choose between them. 

 

Having said that, my love and loyalty remains with the peculiars of 430 Kings Road rather than Andy Warhol's Factory and I prefer the comic anarcho-nihilism of the Sex Pistols to the dark poetic surrealism of the Velvet Underground.      

 

  

Notes

 

[1] See 'The Velvet Underground Versus the Sex Pistols: Venus in Furs Contra Submission' (6 Jan 2026): click here.

 

[2] I am sympathetic to Thomas Tritchler who calls for a rethinking of the term 'pretension'; see the third and final part of his post 'On the Malign/ed Art of Faking It' (27 Dec 2014): click here.

 

[3] Morrissey's letter was published in the NME on 16 June, 1976. It was written in response to the Sex Pistols' gig at the Lesser Free Trade Hall, in Manchester, on 4 June, 1976. To read the letter on Laughing Squid, click here. See also Alice Vincent's article on the letter in The Telegraph (23 July 2013): click here. 

 

Giovanni Dadomo: the Snivelling Shit

Giovanni Dadomo giving a superior and slightly sideways look 

to Messrs. Rotten & McLaren on Nationwide 

(BBC TV 12 Nov 1976)

 

 

I.

 

Sometimes, it can take almost fifty years before your brain makes the necessary connection and you finally realise something you really ought to have known at the time.

 

For example, it was only very recently that I twigged that the founder and frontman of the Snivelling Shits was the same Giovanni Dadomo who, in his guise as a respected music journalist, appeared on an episode of the BBC current affairs show Nationwide featuring the Sex Pistols [1]. 

 

According to Dadomo, whilst their music was a bit derivative, the group's aggressive nihilism was more of a concern, as it not only had regrettable real-world consequences, but soon became boring:

 

"Destruction for its own sake is dull, ultimately ... it doesn't offer any hope ..." [2]

 

 

II.

 

Of course, any worries Dadomo may or may not have had, didn't stop him from abandoning his flares and two-tone platform shoes and forming his own punk band the following year. 

 

However, it now seems clear to me - in a way that it wasn't back in 1977 - that the Snivelling Shits were essentially an attempt to parody the movement spearheaded by the Sex Pistols. Disconcerted by the threatening nature of the band (and, one suspects, envious of their success), Dadomo attempted to expose their crassness and musical worthlessness, as he perceived it. 

 

If the New York Dolls were, as Bob Harris famously described them, nothing more than a mock rock band, then the Snivelling Shits were similarly a mock punk band.  

 

Ironically, however, their single 'Terminal Stupid' [3] was an instant favourite (not least with John Peel, who played the track endlessly on his late night radio show) and it is now firmly established as a classic of the punk genre. 

 

He may have come across as a twat on Nationwide when confronted by Messrs. Rotten and McLaren in all their flame-haired glory, but, to be fair, Dadomo was obviously a talented and witty lyricist, as recognised by members of the Damned who asked him to co-write a couple of songs with them [4]. 

Sadly, Dadomo died in 1997. It's been suggested by some that he was the poor man's Nick Kent, but that seems unfair and a little unkind.

 

In a memorial post on a Facebook page dedicated to the Snivelling Shits, he is described (presumably by one who knew him) as a "beautiful human being; literate, musical and hilarious" as well as sensitive and highly intelligent [5].

I'm sure all of that - and more - is true. But he wasn't a Sex Pistol ...  

 

Notes

 

[1] The Sex Pistols and their manager Malcolm McLaren appeared on the BBC TV show Nationwide on 12 November, 1976. As well as being interviewed by an irritated Maggie ('I don't have a safety pin through my nose') Norden on the punk phenomenon, the band were shown performing 'Anarchy in the UK' (recorded at the BBC studios the day before). 

      Click here to view the exchange between Norden, McLaren, Rotten, and Dadomo on the BBC Archive (on Youtube).

 

[2] As can heard in the above exchange linked to, Malcolm - perhaps rather predictably - countered this by declaring: "You have to destroy in order to create, you know that. You have to break it down and build it up again in a different form." 

[3] The single 'Terminal Stupid' was released in late 1977 on the independent label Ghetto Rockers. It was later included on the album I Can't Come (Damaged Goods, 1989), described by one reviewer, Dave Thompson, as punk "at its most pristinely putrid". Click here to read Thompson's review on AllMusic. And click here to play the magnificent 'Terminal Stupid'.    

 

[4] Dadomo co-wrote 'I Just Can't Be Happy Today' with Captain Sensible - released as a single from the album Machine Gun Etiquette (Chiswick Records, 1979) - and 'There Ain't No Sanity Clause' with Rat Scabies, Captain Sensible, and Dave Vanian, released as a single in November 1980 (Chiswick). Those who wish to hear the version of this latter track recorded by the Snivelling Shits (and included on the album I Can't Come (1989)), should click here. 

 

[5] This Snivelling Shits Facebook post was published on 4 July 2015: click here. It is reproduced on punk77.co.uk - click here.

 

Notes on A Glam-Punk Childhood

20th century boy (c. 1973)

I. 

1977 - the year of punk - may have been of crucial importance in shaping my tastes, attitudes, and ideas, but it certainly wasn't the beginning of my long love affair with pop culture. 

Thus, whilst the first album I ever bought may have been Never Mind the Bollocks, I'd been buying singles since 1971, when Benny Hill released Ernie (the Fastest Milkman in the West), an innuendo-laden comedy song that was the Christmas number one that year and which has remained a much-loved favourite with many of those who remember it, including former prime minister David Cameron.  

The second single I remember spending my pocket money on was Crazy Horses, by the Osmonds, which reached number two in the UK charts in the autumn of 1972 and proved that even clean-living Mormons can rock out. Looking back, it's clear that the song was ahead of its time with its concerns to do with the environment and fume-spewing motor vehicles smoking up the sky. But even back then, I hated cars and knew that - like my father - I never wanted to drive.

It was the following year however - the year of glam - that I really started buying singles on a regular basis; by Slade, by Sweet, and - of course - by Gary Glitter, whom I adored and had a large poster of on my bedroom wall. I spent many, many happy hours stomping around in my older sister's platform boots and singing along to the smash hits released by the above in that golden year of 1973, including: Cum on Feel the Noize, Blockbuster, Ballroom Blitz, Do You Wanna Touch Me, Hello Hello I'm Back Again, I'm the Leader of the Gang (I Am), and I Love You Love Me Love.           

What was it about these artists and their songs that appealed so powerfully to the ten year old child (and, if I'm honest, still appeal even now) ...?


II.

Obviously, the outrageous clothes, make-up and hairstyles caught my eye and I was seduced also by the camp nature of their performance - even if I had no idea then what campness was. But, mostly, it was the music: loud, fast, tribal and ridiculously catchy - making you want to pogo up and down years before Sid Vicious was credited with inventing the dance.

There was also something distinctly British and working class about glam. Perhaps it was the fact that it didn't take itself too seriously; that, like punk, it seemed to be more in the theatrical tradition of music hall and even pantomime, rather than serious rock with its roots in rhythm and blues. It was about dressing up and messing up and having a laugh - not perfecting one's skills as a musician or soulful songwriter.

As "Whispering" Bob Harris sneered after a performance of Jet Boy by the New York Dolls on the Old Grey Whistle Test in November 1973, it was mock rock - sexy, stylish, superficial, and shiny - not something that real music lovers and old hippies such as himself needed to take seriously (the Dolls, of course, formed the bridge between glam and punk - as the fact that they were briefly managed by Malcolm McLaren in 1975, prior to his involvement with the Sex Pistols, perfectly illustrates).


III.

Those cunts who now sneer with politico-moral correctness and a sense of their own cultural superiority at the music, the fashions, the TV, and pretty much every other aspect of life in the 1970s need to be told (or in some cases reminded) that it was more than alright - it was better. 

Or, at any rate, despite all the boredom, blackouts and bullshit of the time, people were happier and I'm pleased to have been born (and to have remained at heart) a 20th century boy.