Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Saw "The Filth and the Fury," a movie that sneaks up on you and has you finding yourself thinking, How can I further the cause of rock 'n' roll and combat oppression and conformity in every little thing I do each day? An oddly sad movie, what with the tender moments between Sid and Johnny, staring rapturously out the window of their bus to nowhere at the ceaseless scenery of garish and tragic America. And as always, the dirty din of the electric guitar, delirious, ecstatic. It's curious how good it sounds bad, and how much better it sounds worse. There were recordings of their raucous, early rehearsals. Awful, awful, awful, and yet great, great, great. And at that infamous last show, with Steve Jones playing those two idiotic chords over and over and over, when there was just no use, when it was all long ago gone, when it already seemed like it all had been a dream, and been distilled into a black, bitter pill of a bad joke. That's when it sounded best.