After The Kingfish: Meeting the Pistols
DOA/Sex Pistols Tour Chapter 14: January 9, 1978
NARRATOR:
After the ticket riot outside of the Taliesyn in Memphis and the near-riot inside Randy’s Rodeo, a simple punk rock music show finally took place. One of the best Sex Pistols concerts of the tour took place in Baton Rouge at the Kingfish. The band seemed ready to rock and roll, and delivered the goods.
As one of the best shows of the Sex Pistols tour was coming to a close, things got weird: The crowd started throwing money at the stage. The show suddenly ended when some of the Sex Pistols stopped performing to pick it up! I’ve never seen anything like this before or since. (Although people were throwing all kinds of things at the stage at later shows.)
There’s a really good article about the Baton Rouge show that gives a very detailed account of the night. It reveals a bit of an inferiority complex, it seems that the writer thinks the Kingfish show was left out the film D. O. A.: A Rite of Passage, and was neglected for the most part by the media because nothing outrageous happened, and because it was Baton Rouge. In reality it seems that the Warner Brothers security detail was successful (for once) at preventing Forcade’s film crew from getting into the show.
https://alexvcook.blogspot.com/2013/01/throw-something-at-em-sex-pistols-in.html
This was the first time I felt threatened by the Vietnam vet bikers serving as the Sex Pistols’ security during the tour. (San Francisco was much worse—stay tuned for that mess!). As it says in the PUNK Magazine page above, tour manager Noel Monk threatened the English journalists who confronted him at the bar, and took great joy in telling the reporters to fuck off or else get their asses kicked. These English journalists were in no shape to fight with a bunch of huge, badass biker gangsters: They were short, pot-bellied, middle-aged men who never saw the inside of a gym.
There was a bit more to the post-show incident mentioned in last week’s newsletter:
ENGLISH JOURNALIST: This is no laughing matter Mr. Monk. We’re prepared to report this to your record company.
NOEL MONK: The record company?! Listen, if you assholes have some sort of problem with me, step on up and we can handle it like real men!
Monk pointed at his chin while a couple of the biker security detail grinned, hoping for a fight.
ENGLISH REPORTER #1: Is that what you want Noel? You want a piece of me?
ENGLISH REPORTER #2: We’ll give you what you’re asking for if that’s what you want!
NOEL MONK: Fine by me. And after we beat the living shit out of you, I’m gonna say that you swung at us first and it’ll be your word against ours. Who do you think the record company’s gonna believe?
Noel and the bikers leered at the reporters, who had no choice but to retreat.
We’ve all seen security at concert events act like thugs. It’s nothing new. But this was a case where it was a random, overzealous security guard beating someone up: Noel Monk was a little guy with a Napoleon complex, acting like a petty tyrant. If a club hired someone like this to run security, the customers would learn to avoid the place and there would be lawsuits. So “The Mad Monk” got away with this shit. They routinely broke cameras, beat up young women and young men, all in the name of the big, bad Sex Pistols. (What, they couldn’t defend themselves? I’m sure they would have done alright, but this kind of stuff made them look weak in my opinion. Yes, they were under threats and all, but many bands try to control their security detail and prevent fans from getting injured by out-of-control bodyguards.)
Roberta and I called a cab to take us back to the hotel, but we waited for a long time and it didn’t show up. While we waited I saw the Warner Brothers security goons beat up a concert-goer outside the Kingfish. They looked at me, as if to say: “You’re next!” When Malcolm suddenly appeared and invited us to join him on the tour bus, I was glad to get the fuck out of there.
Of course, Noel Monk refused to allow us on the bus (the asshole!). But Malcolm insisted. After all, Roberta was a personal friend. So Noel capitulated. (Lucky for us he didn’t know we were associated with Tom Forcade… yet.) But Noel had to have a few words for us first:
“Listen, I saw the two of you at the press conference. I don’t what you do or who you’re with. But, I don’t want any bullshit here, no photos, no writing, got it?”
Roberta and I agreed and got on the bus. But of course I took notes on what happened! Screw that guy! He needed a lesson in the First Amendment.
Being on the bus was really interesting. It was far from luxurious, but it was large, with tables and chairs and sleeping quarters. Nice. Rotten sat at the front and obviously enjoyed having Roberta onboard. (She was probably one of the few females who ever took a ride on that bus.)
I remember that Roberta and I ended up in the back of the bus with Sid Vicious, guitarist Steve Jones and drummer Paul Cook. A couple of the biker security detail eyed us suspiciously. Sid suddenly pretended to interview Steve and Paul as if he was a member of the media (I think he was trying to impress Roberta):
Sid: “So tell me guys, how does it feel to be the backing band?”
Paul flipped the bird and Steve jumped on Sid and gave him some soft punches. Sid played along and yelped in mock pain. Next question!
Sid: “Mr. Jones, can you tell us where you developed your distinctive guitar style?”
Steve: “I stole it all from Johnny Thunders. Now shut up, Sid!”
He went back to play-fighting with Sid. It was a short distance to the hotel, so we soon entered the hotel. I was hoping to find a chance to interact with Johnny Rotten but he was the first person off the bus and went straight to his room.
The Sex Pistols and their security detail thought it was odd that Roberta and I were somehow staying in the same hotel as the Sex Pistols. This was Tom Forcade’s doing. His assistant, Maureen McFadden, had worked at The Bottom Line: A high-profile music venue on Mercer Street (not far from the Mercer Arts Center that launched the New York Dolls before the building collapsed, which helped lead to CBGB, a few blocks away, becoming the East Village venue of choice for up-and-coming rock bands). Maureen had a contact at Warner Brothers Records who fed her inside information about the tour—including the band itinerary, such as which hotels the band would be staying at. Roberta and I had inside access like few other people on this short tour.
As the article from PUNK Magazine #14 above points out, there was a bit of interaction between Sid Vicious, Roberta and I while everyone was getting to their hotel rooms. Sid was like a big kid: a bit goofy, out for fun and a good time, and a bit naive and innocent. He really just wanted to have a bit of fun with us. I would have enjoyed play-fighting with Sid, but his biker bodyguards were giving me the stink-eye. After what I witnessed at the Kingfish? Sorry, Sid! I’m not going to play any games with you tonight…
I remember getting a good night’s sleep after Roberta and I enjoyed our Close Encounters With The Sex Pistols. It was the worst hotel room (more like a cheap motel!) we stayed at during the tour, but in a way this was the best event: We were getting to be friendly with the Sex Pistols. We got to meet them in person (unlike the mainstream journalists who weren’t allowed anywhere near them), and they began to become familiar with us. Even Noel Monk seemed to be getting used to us.
Buy a copy of Sean Howe’s amazing biography of Tom Forcade below if you’d like to learn more about the mysterious man who produced the D. O. A.: A Rite of Passage punk rock film, and the guy who supported PUNK magazine until the end. It’s an astonishing story!
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NEXT: DALLAS!
Thanks! The story gets weirder as it goes on... So stay tuned!
Another good story! Thank you, John. I enjoy reading them all. - James A.