- Culture
- 10 Jun 22
PiL played to their demographic at the National Stadium, in a show that felt like a victory lap for the legendary punk star.
The National Stadium, the boxing-ring-turned-music-venue that crouches alongside the canal, at first might seem like an odd place for a punk concert. Walking through the doors felt a little bit like stepping into an '80s hockey movie, the teal cinderblocks seeping with high school nostalgia, the sloping rows of seats a gentle reminder of its glory days.
In that way, it's almost an apt location for Public Image Ltd. — the band fronted by the Sex Pistols legendary provocateur, Johnny (Rotten) Lydon. Similar to The National Stadium, it's a group that has faded a bit under the bright light of time, less of a cutting-edge phenomenon, now on something more akin to a victory lap than a culturally definitive tour.
We arrived a few minutes before the supporting act, Dublin psych-rock band MELTS, and thus decided to take in the scenery. Between the mainstage and the bar was an open-air parking lot, now packed with PiL fans taking in the last rays of sunshine before the band went on. Walking underneath a sign labeled 'Ringside Club,' we entered what could only be described as a prom-dancehall, a few disparate fans wandering throughout the space, pouring their Heineken's into plastic cups.
Hearing the scream of electric guitars through the walls, we rushed back in to catch the post-psych-rock sounds of MELTS. The lead singer seemed to transcend during the set, his eyes closed as he rocked back and forth in step with the distorted guitar, bowing his head and raising his fist to the air when it came time to sing.
The crowd, an older bunch who pulled their Sex Pistols t-shirts from the back of their dresser drawers in preparation for the event, flocked the stage, crowding the square in the center of the room where, in The National Stadium's prime, the boxers used to fight. Having twisted my ankle a half hour before, I decided to nurse my pain in the upper rows of the seated area, distracted by a middle aged man with spiked blonde hair and a Ramones shirt hitting his vape in front of me. The hazy smoke drifted up into the rafters, refracting the burnt-orange of the stage lights in a strangely beautiful way.
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MELTS, bid the audience adieu — priming the audience for the arrival of Mr. Rotten himself. The man in front of me stood up and began to make his way to the "pit," disappearing into the ever-growing crowd.
Then, it was time — as PiL took to the stage, the crowd erupted into applause, catching the first glimpses of the legend himself.
It's always strange, seeing somebody who has reached the level of icon in person. It materialises something that had always existed as a near myth, bringing your world closer to the ones of magazines and documentaries. Especially when the image of that person, young, reckless and at the forefront of counter-culture, was so different to the reality in front of you. It's not a bad thing, it's just time.
Decked out in white trousers, a custom PiL button up and red and yellow suspenders a. la the Spanish flag, the singer smiled wryly out at the crowd, soaking up the applause like sunshine.
"I might be blowing my snozzle tonight," he drawled into the microphone upon taking the stage. "I promise it's not monkey pox." My first thought; 'wow, he really does sound like that.'
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The band kicked off their set with 'Religion,' Lydon spreading his arms and spitting into the mic with the ferocity of a preacher, spreading the gospel of PiL to the enraptured audience. His days of riotous live performance may be over, but he still channeled the Johnny Rotten spirit in the way his face would contort with each word, overcome by the darkly dissonant guitar and introspective lyricism.
The band would go on to perform classics the likes of 'This is Not a Love Song,' 'Public Image' and of course, 'Rise' — their years as performers overcoming them to put on exactly the kind of show the audience wanted: a gentle nostalgia tour guided by their favourite rabble-rouser.
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