Word: sid
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What does a swastika mean? During World War II, it meant the mechanical annihilation of an entire race of human beings--an act motivated by the highest form of vanity. But on the t-shirt of Sid Vicious, who knows what it means? It is shocking, stomach-twisting, and if nothing else, it is some kind of self-glorification that Vicious and his followers need...the self-glorification he saw in old war documentaries when he was in grammar school, ripping out toilet seats during recess...
...where the angst either emerges, or turns the knife inward. This is where confused fools lose themselves in their symbols and overdose, and it is where artists use their symbols, change them, flex them, adapt them, to express their angst. It's facing reality: Iggy Pop is a fool, Sid Vicious is dead, Johnny Rotten is dying, and Patti Smith is fucking with the future.*CrimsonLaura J. Levine...
...warhorse "Substitute," bringing a feral edge to Boyce and Hart's familiar "Stepping Stone" and Faces standard "Whatcha Gonna Do About It." These old songs, worn by rehearing and rote performance, take on a new quality, derived from Rotten's conviction that they really matter, at least to him. Sid Vicious contributes two sock-hop numbers--"Something Else" and "C'mon Everybody"--and a rollicking remake of "Rock Around the Clock." Punk rock wants to be fun and these tracks succeed in being just that. As Johnny Rotten once said, "Rock and roll is supposed to be fun. You remember...
...album closes with Sid Vicious's "My Way," already a punk classic. Sid hams it up in a thickened, quavering voice until Steve Jones's guitar breaks the song into the desperately vital punk mode. The poignancy of the lyrics, in light of Vicious's early death, need not be belabored here. Just let "My Way" stand as a testament to his visceral understanding of the punk aesthetic...
WHICH BRINGS ME to a long overdue obituary for Sid Vicious. Sid Vicious had the extraordinary good fortune of the very, very few who are born into an artistic movement that mirrors their inner sensibility, whose untrammeled self-expression jibes exactly, as if predestined, with the zeitgeist. He was the quintessential punk, with his chalk-white, emaciated body, his spiked hair and suicide-scars and drunken, fun-loving leer. When he danced the pogo, it became the rage; when he pieced together his clothes with safety pins, that device became the emblem of an entire subculture. He realized that...