THE BEAT GOES ON

THE BEAT GOES ON

Two Pistols Shoot Off At The Mouth

HOLLYWOOD—I had just rolled back to my place from the Whiskey after having consumed ten Heine kens and 25 Snowshoes (made with Peppermint Schnapps) when I discovered that the club's bouncer had followed me home. I let him into my place. He was kind of a cute football-type, and the dumbest man I have ever met. Nonetheless, we were just getting into some roughand-tumble on the couch when some awful noises started coming from upstairs. I knew it wasn't the gay guys in 6-D, 'cause they only play Barry White. The noises kept getting louder and louder. "Geez," says the bouncer, "what's that horrible commotion? Who the fuck livesupstairs?" I knew if I allowed the bouncer to investigate, he'd beat the living shit out of the little turds listening to their Sex Pistols "Energy in the U.K." import 45.

So I went up there and pounded on the door (which was vibrating from the music inside—so was my head, for that matter). The group of kids assembled inside were beyond belief. There must have been eight assorted leather and safety-pin freaks all living in a one-bedroom plastic cubicle. They were swigging from vodka bottles, sporting architectural hairdos and playing the loudest cuts they could find of The Damned, The Clash, The Ramones and the Sex Pistols. They were slurring their words and chatting about the next punk affair at some porno theater turned punk showcase. Then they offered me some 'ludes and some booze so I wouldn't complain to the manager about their late night party. "Man," I said. "Don't your parents know where you are right now? Why don't you all just listen to the Eagles and wear overalls?"

Exciting Premier of Jan "Houdini" Hammer

Who is this balding bimbo and why has he got his sweaty towel wrapped around the innocent, yet slimy Runaway guitarist, Joan Jett you ask? Believe it or not, this guy ain't your everyday run of the mill bug-eyed child-star molesterl He's none other than Czechoslovakian keyboard virtuoso, Jan Hammerl When Jan's not. dibbling the ivories of his synthesizers he's hanging out in the local magic shops practicing his favorite hobby, and It seems that Mrs. Hammer's favorite son is quite an accomplished amateur magician. For his latest trick turn to page 22.

They bounced in the fog. "Look," I said, "I bet you'd all like it if the Sex Pistols came over here to play so you could all bombard their hotel with weird phone calls and wear your ginchy safety pin gizmoes to their show. But you know they've had plenty of problems with record companies, local Chambers of Commerce, and uptight newspaper people, so it'll be hard for them to get to Los Angeles real soon."

"It don't matter," said a red-headed tough guy. "We like 'em cuz they don't give a fuck, and they don't do nothin'. Just like us! We'll be here when they get here."

The Sex Pistols story is an interesting one, and I'll make it brief. They were discovered by Malcom McClaren, who owns a kinky boutique on the King's Road. Johnny Rotten walked in looking as scummy as possible and McClaren knew he'd fit right into a new band he had in mind. The boys in the Sex Pistols—Rotten, Sid Vicious, Paul Cook and Steve Jones, didn't really do anything except hang out until they formed the band. These are working class men. They shocked the nation when they appeared on a BBC-TV talk show and doled out every fuck-shit-cunt word they could muster up. After the uproar died down a bit, McClaren got them signed for big bucks to an important company, EMI (Capitol in the U.S.), which promptly dropped them.

The Pistols continued to spit, burp in public and play like they were jamming with kitchen utensils. They drank, punched people out, and preached revolution as a solution to British teenage boredom. They next signed with A&M records to much hoopla—signing the actual contract in front of Buckingham Palace, and once again were quickly cancelled.

Sid Vicious is known for having beaten up Nick Kent, respected English journalist for the NME. He also alienated Vivian Goldman from Sounds Magazine with his foul language, and allegedly tried to rape little secretaries at A&M, to which he replied: "I wouldn't touch them bimbos with a ten-foot pole."

Recently the Sex Pistols signed with Virgin Records, described by their manager as "a hippie label. But we took what we could get!" They now have a single Virgin release out called 'God Save the Queen."

The Sex Pistols are in a bind because they have been banned from playing anywhere in England by roughly 80% of the promoters and club owners. Radio stations refuse to play their songs, and television will not touch them with a ten foot pole.

But the street people still rally 'round, have fan meetings and put out an insanelooking magazine. The Sex Pistols played a club in Paris—-the Folies Bergere— and says McClaren: "They were very hot. Parisians love the Pistols mainly 'cause French people hate England."

McClaren makes another point about the Pistols. "These kids," he says, "are not from art schools and universities like the Stones, the Who, the Kinks. These are lower class kids who have nothing else to do. If they weren't in this band, they'd be on the go or robbing liquor stores, or something. There's nothing intellectual about them."

ExcitingClimax Of Jan "Houdini" Hammer

Wah? Wah? What the hay, ovar-dayl That pudgy little devil dog, Jan Hammer, has turned your favorite greasy nuipphet, Joan Jett into your favorite greasy guitar nodule, Jeff Beckll How does he do it? More importantly, why does he do It? We'll never tell; but note the mirrors In the background and turn to page 20 to see Jan turn Jeff Beck back into Joan Jett.

I think McLaren deliberately sabotaged Rotten and Vicious and prevented them from speaking to me—they can play the game if it suits them—so I spoke with the two mellower Pistols.

Paul Cook, the drummer, came on the wire first.

"Would you have $one anything less obnoxiously if you knew that getting a record deal would be a tough thing?" I inquired.

"We haven't done nothing that wrong," he replied. "We don't want anyone telling us what to do, is all. Right now the whole of England is all jacked up for the Queen's Jubilee, ya know, her 25th wedding anniversary or something. Jubilee is boring, man. It's real boring. Everything is London is boring. I'm just sittin' it out. I like reggae music, it's good, man. There's a roughness and a simple beat to it all, and that's real nice. And the reggae singers are talking about sick societies and general unfairness, too."

"Well, what about bands like The Clash, The Damned and The Vibrators?"

"Yeah, well we kinda opened the door for all of them bands and now they've sorta sold out. They've got record deals and have changed quite a bit, too. I don't like 'em."

The president of Sire Records (home of the Ramones), Seymour Stein, had gone over to look at the Pistols and perhaps make them a deal. I asked Paul how it went with Stein.

"Yeah, welly we didn't like him. He was all full of ego. He was so New York, it was disgusting. Naw, we won't sign with Sire. It's just a small label anyhow. Stein just wanted to come off being trendy and it didn't work on us."

Paul passed me over to Steve Jones, the guitar player. Steve was full of a lot more piss and vinegar.

"What are you doing these days Steve?"

"Nothing.. There's nothing to do here."

"Well, which bands do you like to listen to?"

"None of them. I only like to listen to us. The only other band I ever liked was the New York Dolls. The Clash and The Damned have all softened up,"

"What are you going to do tonight?"

"I'll probably go see a girlfriend. It don't matter too much, I'll fuck anything. Them groupies we've got, we all fuck them. They're all right, I guess."

"What did you think of Paris when you went over?"

"It's boring. It's real boring. Them birds don't talk English so I had nothing to say. They are tasty looking birds, though. Say, what do you look like anyway?" the beasty little nurd wanted to know. I told him.

"Yeah; well we'll be in America real soon. I hope I'll see you, and I'll give you a good stuffing."

"Gee, fine," I said. "That'd be real great."

A good stuffing, indeed. Rosemary or sage?

Darcy Diamond

You Asked For It, But Aren't You Sorry Now? Dept.

Todd Rundgren demonstrates the kind of ingenuity that won him your votes as producer of the year for 1976 in CREEM's annual readers poll. Let's all promise to do a better job In 1977, eh?

The $27 Snap On Face Phenomenon!

SEBASTOPAL, CA—A$27 wazzit?! Heyyyyyy, don't smirk, pedro, it's just a rock band with another crazy name (y'know, like BJodwyn Pig or Juicy Lucy), except this one's been kickin' around hubbub in Northern Cal. for so long their tootsies are inflamed.

Despite the fact that the $27 Snap Ons had one of the first "home-grown" singles (still selling like hotcakes), the band's main exposure has been through Jerry Lewis Telethons and Sonoma County Battle of the Band contests. Too bad. Their first single displays the savagery of early Stones coupled with Lou Reed phrasing (Heterodyne Records, 648 Leo Drive, Santa Rosa, CA, 95401), and a terrific album has just been completed. If only one-tenth of the ruck & rog bands with major label contracts sounded this speedy gonzales, you'd never again have to stifle a yawn while thumbing through the latest releases.

$27 yuks come tumbling from these guys. A typical Snap On promo kit includes a bumper sticker, TV Guide, one slice of pizza, and a fly swatter. Not only do these guys kick ass, but they should be writing for Blonsky's Beauties, too!

Dumb name. Clean sound. Funny stuff. Seeing as how rock is bubbling under Lawrence Welk at the moment, the $27 Snap On Face could easily make a surprise sweep. The grapevine sez home run.

Robot A. Hull

EGG FOO TOO YOUNG?

Not in most states, but vocalist Roger Chapman and guitarist Charlie Whitney of the Mercury Records bondage bound band, Streetwalkers, better watch their chopsticks |ust the same, when they go parading about with this delectable won-ton platterl This Formosian Femme is only eighteen years old and her name Is Ann Chen, but you'll never get her address out of us. Besides posing on the Streetwalkers' new Ip cover in the above pictured mondo-bondo costume, which she designed herself, "specially for going to pop concerts," Ms. Chen is featuring her fried noodles In the forthcoming James Bond thriller. The Spy Who Loves Me. Who could ask for more? Solly, Cholly.

Don't Crush That Fender, Hand Me The Paulverizer

AXELAND, U.S.A.—Where would Jimmy Page be if it wasn't for Les Paul, "the kid with the broom handle" as Gibson Guitars puts it? Paul invented the solid body electric guitar in '41 when Page was just a gleam in his abalone inlay. His Les Paulverizer—a four-track box mounted on^ his axe, plays recorded bass, drums, etc., while he plays lead. "Hook it up to a vacuum cleaner and do seven rooms at once!" he elbows his crowds' ribs. .

Real name: Lester Polfus. Age: 60. Les has come out of retirement several times to trill his fingers ("I was the first, POSITIVELY!," he slaps B.B. King in the face). He's a self-taught wiz who claims to have conquered feedback while he plays carnival music—the gypsy tunes that usually accompany the guy spinning 10 plates on a row of poles—and anything but rock (he hates the "thump-thump tedium" de-

spite liking Clapton, Betts, Beck and others). Nevertheless, he "discovered" one rock legend in a bar in the boonies 10 years ago. He tried to sign Jimi Hendrix to his label but couldn't find him. Then one day Jimi's mug stared back at him from the Are You Experienced? cover. Paul's reaction: "For Chrissakes, that's the Ubangi!!!" When you've got a guitar, who needs a spear and loin cloth?

Clark Peterson

5 YEARS AGO

Panty Raid

Alice Cooper's new album, School's Out, prompted a Federal Panty Raid since the disposable women's panties included In the package hadn't been properly fireproofed. You can, however, wear the panties on your head.