Giovanni Dadomo, Sounds, 2 October 1976

The Sex Pistols, The Clash et al: Punk Rock Festival, 100 Club, London

High Dummy Count Flunks Punks

By far and away the most discordant sounds to be heard during the 100 Club's two-day 'Punk Rock' festival last week were the crunch of bone on bone and the clatter of broken glass. Violence, in other words, was the hideous keynote.

Monday's flow of events was interrupted about half-way through when simultaneous brawls broke out on both sides of the stage. Things were quickly brought under control, however, and had it stopped there — with the major casualties being a broken table and a score or so of beermugs — one could have dismissed the night's least enjoyable spectacle as unfortunate and almost inevitable at an event where lots of kids drink a little too much in a cramped and darkened room. No fun, to be sure, but hardly unique.

Unfortunately this was not to be, Tuesday bringing with it an even nastier outbreak of violence which resulted in at least three people receiving hospital treatment and a number of arrests. A side effect of the two nights' events was that the club's directors have now banned groups like the Pistols from ever playing the 100 Club again, therefore reducing the number of central London venues available by some hundred percent.

A great pity, right? But then who can blame them really — like attracts like, and the chances of such incidents ultimately resulting in a fatality must have been a major factor in the club's decision. Result? Everybody loses — club, bands, and audiences.

So who's to blame and, even more important, how can such unpleasant events be avoided in future?

Considering that their set on Monday night was exemplary in its professionalism, it seems almost unfair to lay most of the blame at the Pistols' door. Unfortunately it happens to be true that most of the band's current notoriety stems directly from their image as young villains, something their PR has exploited to the hilt (consider only the staged punch-up photo which appeared on the cover of Melody Maker a few weeks back). Almost inevitable therefore that they should attract all manner of fringe psychopaths and that this idiot minority (like those people who've made insecurity an integral part of the live reggae scene) should screw things up for everybody.

What it boils down to is this: it's all very well to preach the causes of nihilism and anarchy and wear armbands marked 'chaos' as long as all it is is the latest fad. Trouble with 'anarchy' though is it's no hula hoop — it hits back. I'm sure John Rotten no more relishes the thought of having his head split open at his next gig than I do. But the terrifying truth of it is that right now it's a highly likely probability for both of us.

My apologies therefore to all the people who played good rock 'n' roll those two nights (and I'd include the Pistols alongside Chris Spedding, The Vibrators, The Damned and The Clash) but the truth of the matter is I just don't feel up to reporting it. Because all I can think about is a girl with an eyeful of broken glass.

A tragedy is what it is, a fucking tragedy.

Christ knows if it'll help by saying this but I'm sure the pressure would cool considerably (and remember — the bands are in as much danger as those people on the floor) if the aura of aimless violence surrounding the Pistols and their followers were eased out. Maybe they could concentrate their energies on something constructive — like fucking or destroying the BBC, for example. Because if all the indignation about the mess the world's in only results in some poor chick getting her eye chopped up, then count me out, I just don't want to know any more.

And I know I'm not the only one.