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Matt, just a quick one. I know you're an innocent. There's a bit of strong language in this episode. Swearing? Yeah. Okay, I'll brace myself. Matty, Motty, Meaty. Can I call you Meaty? You can, yeah. I mean, you made me sound like a pizza, but I think that's cool. Pizzas are popular. While I've got you, can I ask you a question? Yeah. What do you think of the Queen of Wales?
Well, a long-reigning monarch who inspires respect across the nation and indeed the world. Very diplomatic. So, to be clear, do you want to lead a revolution against her? Absolutely not, no, and I hope no one's suggesting that I would. Well, to avoid being an accessory to that, I would cover your ears now. OK. It's the 12th of October, 1978. The Chelsea Hotel, New York, room 100. Sid Vicious is in bed. He's slowly woken by the sounds of the city outside his window.
He rolls over and stretches. He has no idea what time it is. His head aches, his body aches. He needs to take something to make the pain go away. He needs to fill the void. He reaches out for his girlfriend Nancy, but she's not there next to him. He tries to sit up, but everything feels heavy. He rubs his face with his hand and lies still for a moment, his eyes looking at the ceiling as he tries to recall the night before.
He remembers a drug dealer arriving with sedatives. He remembers playing guitar in a neighbor's room. He remembers shouting. But after that, everything else is a blur. Sid pulls himself up, calls out for Nancy, but she doesn't answer. He hauls himself out of bed. He feels weak at the knees as he crosses to the window. The room is a mess. There's clothes and food debris everywhere. Tiny fruit flies swarm. He must clean up. But first he needs to come round, get his act together, and get what he needs to feel better.
As he opens the hotel room shutters, the room fills with light and noise. What time is it? The traffic's heavy. Sirens blare. He blinks. The low autumn sun hurts his eyes. He needs to get out of here. As he turns away from the window and pulls on some clothes, he notices something. Across the bedroom floor, there's a trail of red liquid. He bends down to see what it is. His heart starts thumping in his chest. It's blood.
Oh, no. Oh, no.
But the only person who ever cared about him, the only person he'd ever loved, is cold. From Wondery, I'm Alice Levine. And I'm Matt Ford. And this is British Scandal. My dad works in B2B marketing. He came by my school for career day and said he was a big ROAS man. Then he told everyone how much he loved calculating his return on ad spend.
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So last time we met this young shop owner with big dreams who just wanted to sell leather t-shirts to people that wanted to buy them. And then he took a little pivot and then he started selling music played by men who wore those leather t-shirts. Yes, which is a great idea. There are only a couple of problems. One, these guys...
can't play instruments or music in any sort of way. And secondly, they are very hard to control. These guys being the Sex Pistols and their manager being Malcolm McLaren, they're kind of his way of sticking two fingers up to the establishment. And oh boy, did they do that in a live TV interview that they swear in and generally insults
Not just one of the nation's best-loved chat show hosts, but basically everyone else watching at home. Yeah, and if you think that that was out of control, you ain't seen nothing yet. This is episode two, God Save the Queen. It's the 2nd of December, 1976. EMI House, London. The day after the Bill Grundy interview. I can't wait to hear this.
The building is surrounded by the press. The Sex Pistols are front page news this morning. Malcolm has been called into a meeting with EMI's managing director, Leslie Hill. Hill is pacing the room, frowning. Malcolm watches him, worried. He has to think fast. He must now do everything he can to keep EMI on side. He's going to need them. Hill points to a copy of the mirror.
You're in every newspaper and I hear you've got a number of gigs cancelled. That interview wasn't our fault. Grundy goaded them. You know he's been suspended. You've created a national scandal. A British scandal. Thank you. Malcolm clenches his jaw. What if Hill terminates the band's record contract? They haven't even released their first single. He has to win Hill over before he loses everything. He looks him in the eye and lowers his voice. Acts as if he's letting Hill into a secret.
Look, John's written a new song. It's even better than Anarchy in the UK. I guarantee it will be a huge hit. What we need to do now is use this publicity to our advantage. He'll sigh. He agrees to talk to the press. He'll play the whole thing down as best he can. He'll try and offer his support. Malcolm takes a deep breath. Thank God for that. It's early morning on the 4th of January 1977. Heathrow Airport.
The band are due to fly to Amsterdam. Glenn, the bassist, has got here first. He's waiting for the others to appear. He looks at his watch. They're cutting it fine. I'm not surprised. I don't imagine punks to be punctual people. Yeah, I don't think punks put the punk in punctual, as the old saying goes. But you just put the pun into punctual. Thank you.
The last month has been difficult, very difficult. After the Grundy interview, the Sex Pistols have been followed relentlessly by the press. They've been banned from playing 13 out of their 19 scheduled gigs, but Malcolm has still made the band go on tour. To keep them working, Malcolm has managed to swing three potential dates in the Netherlands, but it's an early start. Of all the countries to send them to, my God, think of the things that are legal there, and you're sending this lot over to enjoy it.
Suddenly, the rest of the band arrive. Glenn sees them out of the corner of his eye. They're a shambolic bunch. They stumble into departures looking rough and hungover. Glenn sighs. Being on a plane with a queasy-looking Johnny Rotten is the last thing he needs. Suddenly, from across the concourse, he spots a bunch of photographers. John has spotted them too. He turns to Glenn, accusingly. Who sent them? Not me. How come they always seem to know our whereabouts? I don't know.
So you never think to question how they seem to know our every move. Glenn has had enough. This is typical of his conversations with John. Always trying to provoke him. It makes Glenn feel on edge. Glenn has never got on with John, but now he's really starting to hate him. Give us a smile, Rotten. Hey, Johnny Rotten. John spits at the photographers. Oh, dear, dear, dear. I don't care.
Glenn turns away. He's sick of being a part of this. That night, the Evening News runs a front-page article. They allege that at the airport, the band shocked and revolted passengers on their flight by vomiting and spitting. Glenn is the first to hear about it. His mom has tracked him down at the Amsterdam hotel and has given him an earful about it.
Now everyone in work is calling her Mrs. Sex Pistol, and they think her son's an anarchist. Glenn knows this is bad, that this story might well damage an already fractious relationship with EMI. Sure enough, when John is picked up for amphetamine possession a few days later, it's the final straw for the record label. The Sex Pistols' contract is terminated. It's also the final straw for Glenn. He's made his decision. The Pistols just isn't for him.
It's early February 1977, Soho. Malcolm is in the pub. After a few minutes, Glenn walks in. I can't stand it anymore, Malcolm. I hate John. We're banned from playing everywhere. We just fuck around. All I wanted to be was in a band. Once we get a new contract, things will improve. Until then, the best way to deal with John is to ignore him. But what about these songs he writes? Malcolm knows Glenn has been struggling lately with a new song John has written called No Future.
John has rhymed the words queen with fascist regime. Glenn's no royalist, but he's not too happy calling the queen a fascist either. Yeah, I'm not sure punk's for you, Glenn. Yeah, I was just thinking that. Maybe you'd like to be in Bewitched? Yeah, join the Philharmonic, mate. Pick up a violin. If you don't like people who spit, don't be in a band with them. Malcolm hands Glenn a cigarette. He can't lose Glenn just when he's in the process of negotiating a new contract.
He tries to turn on the charm. I need you to stay, Glenn. You're the only one who can play. I can't go to the record companies and say the Sex Pistols have lost their bassist. That's the other thing, Malcolm. You know they've been secretly trying out Sid Vicious on bass. Whoa. Malcolm narrows his eyes. This is news to him. He didn't even know Sid could play bass. Go in there and fight for your place, Glenn. Stand up to Rotten. Go in there and break down the door. I'm sorry, Malcolm. It's over, mate. I'm going to form a new band. Boys own.
So is this the story of Boyzone? I've had a young lad called Ronan Keating. He doesn't spit and he certainly doesn't think the Queen's a fascist. Very clean cut. Malcolm can't be seen to be losing control. Not when everything is so unsettled. If word gets out that Glenn has walked, it won't look good. On the 28th of February, he sends the NME a telegram. Glenn Matlock has been thrown out of the pistols because he kept going on about how much he loved the Beatles.
Poor Lois, I said. He's thrown out actually like the Beatles and he never closed the fridge door properly. Matt Ford thrown out of British Scandal for saying how much he loved Knott's Forest. Sid Vicious is the Sex Pistols' new bass player. It's a lie, of course. Glenn has walked, not been sacked. But being thrown out of the most notorious band in Britain makes better copy. And Malcolm knows a new line-up might be just what the band needs.
Plus the guy's surname is Vicious. You've got Vicious and Rotten. And Glenn. I mean Glenn. Might as well have been called Nigel or Keith.
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It's February 1977. Nineteen-year-old Nancy Spungen walks down a London street. She's barely five foot two, but her black stiletto boots and cloud of messy blonde hair make her look taller. She's only been in London a few weeks, but tonight she's on a mission. Nancy loves bands. She's crazy about them. That's why she's come to London. She's got big ambitions. She wants to work in the music industry, and she wants to snare a famous boyfriend.
Tonight, she's come to find the sex pistols. She checks her reflection in a car window. In her leather jacket, lace top, ripped stockings and tight skirt, Nancy certainly looks the part. As soon as she's inside the club, she spots Johnny Rotten. She goes straight over. Excuse me, Johnny, can we talk? My name's Nancy. I've come all the way from New York. Nancy's had a difficult life. Although she's from a nice suburban home in Philadelphia and loves her mum, she's always struggled to fit in.
She was deprived of oxygen at birth. By the time she was three, she was having therapy for uncontrollable rages. By ten, she was no longer attending mainstream school. Struggling to get the help she needed, she turned to drugs to self-medicate.
Recently, though, she's got clean. Her dream is to be a music journalist or a manager. But right now, all she's focused on is getting John to talk to her. I said, Johnny, Johnny, hi, I'm Nancy. Nancy doesn't usually struggle to get attention, but tonight her charms aren't working, at least not on John. Why don't you leave me alone? Go talk to someone else. Go talk to Sid. Who's Sid? As of today, he's our new bass player.
John gestures towards a tall guy with dark, spiky hair. He's good looking, thinks Nancy. She ruffles her blonde hair, smiles, and goes over to introduce herself. Hi, I'm Nancy. I'm from New York. I love your band. Sid looks at her, takes her in. Nancy smiles sweetly, leans into him and whispers in his ear, You want to do something wild tonight? Pizza Hut Buffet.
Sid doesn't have a lot of experience with girls. Nancy gently wraps her fingers around Sid's hand. She holds it for a moment, looks up into his eyes, and then leads him out of the club. He's got a gig to do. For God's sake. Come on, Sid. It's March 1977, London. The band are rehearsing. Things are not going well. Despite trying hard, Sid is struggling to get to grips with his bass, and Malcolm is shouting at John.
No future sounds like an advert for a bank. But if we call it God Save the Queen, it's going to look like we've recorded the national anthem. It's the point. It's the point.
Since being dropped from EMI, Malcolm has entered into a bidding war with two other record labels, A&M and CBS Records. A&M have won. They're an American record label founded by Herb Alpert and Jerry Moss, with Burt Bacharach and Carole King on the roster. Right, so why are they signing the Sex Pistols? OK, so just a little bit of background on A&M. So they had a UK managing director called Derek Green, who had worked there for a really long time, but had got a bit bored.
And so basically he was looking for something to excite him. He'd heard the Sex Pistols demos and it reminded him of the sort of rebellious songs he liked back in the 60s. So it's piqued his interest. The Sex Pistols are still very different from Burt Bacharach and Carole King. Yeah, and he doesn't completely know that yet because he hasn't actually met them. What? So he's not met Johnny Rotten? He's not had the pleasure. Oh.
Oh, I think Derek's going to live to regret this. Only time will tell. Malcolm has agreed with A&M that the first single will be called God Save the Queen. Good. It's an explosive song with a really provocative lyric. God save the Queen, she's not a human being, and there's no future in England's dreaming. It's all in the delivery, right? Yeah.
This is the sort of version A&M would have loved. That's my best assembly voice. It's very easy listening. It's like the Sex Pistols on the pan pipes. Hearing the lyrics has given Malcolm an idea. Why not release the single on the week of the Queen's Silver Jubilee? It's going to be huge. Street parties bunting. The whole British establishment out in force.
Perfect opportunity for the Pistols to inject some anarchy into the whole charade with their version of the national anthem, the punk anthem. There's just one problem. When John wrote the song, he called it No Future, and he won't budge. Why can't John understand how important this is? So frustrating. They could make a real difference with this song. He grabs John by the arm and goes right up to his face.
I've got you a two-year deal with A&M. I've just got you a £75,000 advance. Go with me on this one. And with that, John hits him right in the face. So that was a no? It was a maybe? I mean, for John, it's probably a yes. It doesn't change Malcolm's mind, though. In fact, it makes him even more determined. God Save the Queen is going to rock the establishment to its core. It's Thursday 10th March 1977, Buckingham Palace Road, London.
It's the band's official signing day with A&M Records. Malcolm has arranged to have the band turn up in a limo and sign the A&M contract with Derek Green outside the home of the queen herself, Buckingham Palace. Malcolm, as always, wants to make the biggest impact possible.
The band have spent the journey larking about, making fun of Malcolm. Everyone is in high spirits today, even John. That's good. Maybe no one will get punched in the face. Malcolm's enjoying this. He's proud of himself and the boys. They've all come a long way and no one, for once, is arguing. A trestle table has been set up outside the palace. On it is the A&M contract. As the band leap out of the limo, they wave to the assembled photographers who jostle to get the perfect shot.
Isn't this great?
What's going on here? Nothing, we're just signing a record contract. It's just a lemonade stand. Malcolm thinks quickly. It's time to go. Today the band have got to do a press conference and a meeting at the record label. They need to choose the B-side for the new single. Now is not the time to get arrested. Is there ever a good time? In the next three weeks I don't have a slot. If you could fit me in at half four I'd happily get nicked. He guides everyone back into the waiting limo, waving at the policeman as he goes.
But making sure that before they leave, the photographers get a good shot of the band next to the copper. A few minutes later, Malcolm sits back in his seat as the Sex Pistols limo pulls up outside the Regent's Palace Hotel Piccadilly. His plan is to make this press conference brief. He doesn't like the band giving interviews. I wonder why. He worries that it ruins their mystique. And they punch people. And they swear on live TV.
He ushers John, Sid, Steve and Paul into the Apex room. It's packed with reporters from all over the world. It's also packed with free booze. Oh, come on, Malcolm, man. Stop giving free booze to the Sex Pistols. It's the last thing they need. It's like gremlins and water after midnight. What an analogy! It's John who takes the journalists' questions. Malcolm starts whispering the answers in his ear. But this just makes John's answers stilted and he turns sullen. Malcolm starts to wrap things up.
It's only then that he notices Sid, who has a bottle of vodka in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other. It's not even midday and he's already sunk half of the vodka. Malcolm's heart drops. He has to get everyone out of here fast. A very drunk Sid and a sullen Johnny Rotten makes for a dangerous situation.
Malcolm tries to get the band out of the press room and back into the limo, but they're stuffing their pockets with the bottles of free booze on the way out. It's like herding cats. Cats love free booze. You ever let a cat stay in a hotel room? They will clear out the minibar. The minute he's found one member of the group, he's lost another one. He kicks himself for agreeing to do this press conference. What was he thinking? He should have just done the photo outside Buckingham Palace and left it at that.
Eventually, he bundles everyone back in the car, now to get them to the record label on New Kings Road. As the limo heads towards Chelsea, Sid starts to argue with Paul. Then they have a fist fight. Sid's shoes get thrown out of the limo window and Paul gets a black eye and a bashed up nose. No one listens to Malcolm when he screams at them to stop. Why don't you throw someone's shoes out the window? I actually think it's more acceptable to punch someone in the face. Really?
You've got water in my socks now, man. The rules according to Matt Ford. The driver behind is going to wonder what the hell's going on. It's very, very dangerous. By the time Malcolm and the band reach the record label's office, Sid is barefoot and Paul is covered in blood. Here they come all barefoot and bloody. It's like a double act. Barefoot and blood face. Malcolm sinks into his seat. He thought he could control them, but it's quickly becoming clear to him that nothing he does works.
He might be the manager of the band, but the more he tries to manage, the worse things get. A&M Records, King's Road, 12 noon. Malcolm and the band head inside the building. As soon as Sid gets into Derek Green's office, he passes out drunk in a chair. Good start. Malcolm stares at him. What does he look like?
He's pissed and has no shoes on. John gets hold of a nearby flower in a vase and throws it into Sid's lap. Malcolm and Derek Green try to get everyone else to sit down. They need to make a decision on the B-side for God Save the Queen. But no one's listening. John has started to spray graffiti on A&M's walls. And Steve has disappeared entirely. It's complete chaos. Malcolm has lost all control.
That's a good plan. I mean, graffiti in the walls is way too far. If people put their feet up on the desk in an office that I work in, I'm like, what are you playing at? It's not graffiti in the walls.
In the toilet cubicle, he twists one of his red curls around his finger. There's no way he can control the Sex Pistols. They're like a wild bunch. They all hate each other. Glenn's already left. John is difficult. And as for Sid, Sid's a liability. He remembers his days at the shop with Vivian. Things were easier then.
But then he also remembers how bored he was. He loves the Sex Pistols. It's exciting. And he's so fired up about God Save the Queen and the impact it could have. It makes his heart race. Maybe the best thing to do is to view this whole thing as an art statement. It's just like the shop. You have some fun, make a mark, then change the sign on the front door.
If he can just harness this moment, get God Save the Queen out, maybe then he can make the anarchist statement he wants and get out before it's too late. He hears a crash. Malcolm rushes out of the loo to see what's happened. There is Sid soaking wet and bleeding.
It appears he's tried to wash his bleeding feet and has broken a sink and a window in the process. I mean, how do you do that? How do you break a sink and a window just trying to wash your feet? You've not been doing it right. So I try to wash them with a hammer again. Malcolm feels sick. We need to get out of here. Malcolm knows if they don't leave now, he's actually in danger of losing another record contract. He gathers the band and they head outside onto the street.
He's greeted by an angry limo driver. I'm not taking you lot anywhere ever again. Well, there goes your five-star Uber rating, mate. Malcolm calls two cabs and looks at his motley crew, who stand around on the pavement, laughing, staggering and swearing. Sid is leaning against a wall, barely conscious. All right, I'll drive you just this one last time. Malcolm looks up at the A&M building.
At the windows, he can see the staff watching him with open mouths. They've never seen anything like it. Derek Green is there too. He does not look happy. Malcolm runs his hands through his hair. Please God, don't let today ruin everything. It's the early hours of Saturday, the 12th of March, 1977. The Speakeasy Club, London.
Sid and John and their mutual friend, Jar Wobble, decide to celebrate their new record contract and let their hair down a bit. That's a great nickname. Better than mine. When I was at school, I still have eczema and I went through a period of being quite flatulent and my English teacher called me Scratch and Sniff.
That's not true. It is, yeah, Mr. Wilshaw. In fact, you know, I met up with him a few years ago. I said, do you remember calling me that? He was like, no. I was like, I've been telling people that for years. It's the greatest thing a teacher's ever said to a student. The greatest thing? Yeah, it's great. Just the cheekiness of a teacher saying that to a student. You're like, you couldn't do that now. And I loved it. I loved him for it. Scratch and sniff.
The Speakeasy is not the sort of club for headline-grabbing punks. It's known as the place frequented by the old guard, establishment music figures and journalists. When Sid walks through the doors, his presence alone turns heads. He's wearing a ripped T-shirt, a chain around his neck and tight jeans. But as he looks around, he feels his face burn. The place is packed with showbiz folk and musicians. They're looking at Sid, and they're looking down their noses at him.
He rubs his hands together. He feels hot and awkward. He doesn't want people staring at him. I don't form a band and walk around half naked. Sid might look the part, but deep down, being in a room with all these famous people makes him feel uneasy. He wishes his girlfriend Nancy was here. She gives him confidence. She believes in him. Since they met a month ago, he's fallen deep in love. He's also started to take heroin. Okay, one of those things is a lovely detail. The other is deeply troubling.
Nancy scores it, then they take it together. It makes Sid feel good, makes him feel less anxious and unhappy. It has the same effect on Nancy. They shoot up, relax, and talk. Nancy's a good listener. She's had a difficult life, just like him. People don't understand her, and they don't understand him either. He's found his soulmate. Sid downs another drink and curls his lip, pushes his hands through his spiky hair. He wishes he was at home with his girl.
Then John pipes up. You know who that is, Sydney? It's Bob Harris. Harris is the presenter of the Old Grey Whistle Test, a rock music show on BBC Two. He's known as Whispering Bob Harris due to his laid-back voice and hippie muso style. John shouts over to Sid, pointing at the DJ. You should ask him when we're going to be on his show. Sid frowns, trying to concentrate. He's not even sure who John's talking about. But Jar Wobble doesn't seem to need encouragement.
He jumps up out of a seat and heads straight over towards the bar. Sid watches him go. What's he up to? Within minutes, all hell breaks loose. Jar Wobble throws a punch at Bob Harris, and all the glasses stacked on the bar go flying through the air. It's like a scene from the Wild West. Sid pushes back his chair. He doesn't know what's happening. He's too drunk to tell, but it doesn't matter. He wants to be in the thick of it. His heart pounds in his chest. Sweat forms on his top lip.
This is exciting, stimulating. He licks his lip clean and grabs a nearby bottle. Holding it by the neck, he smashes it. He forces his way into the crowd and wields the broken glass as a weapon. Sid loves fighting. It makes him feel something, something deep down. Just watch a film instead, mate. Have a night in, get a Deliveroo, and chill the hell out.
It's 2pm, Tuesday the 16th of March, 1977. A&M Records, New Kings Road. Malcolm is standing outside, chain-smoking cigarettes, pacing up and down. He's been called into an urgent meeting with Derek Green. As he heads inside, his heart beats, as the band's behaviour on Thursday got back to the office in LA. He's worried. When he's ushered into Green's office, Green doesn't say anything. He just hands him a letter. Malcolm looks down at it,
What's this? He can see lawyers' names embossed on the paper. These guys are real heavyweights. What's going on? Green speaks. That letter is from Bob Harris' lawyers. Apparently Sid Vicious attacked this man with a broken bottle. He's had to have 14 stitches in the head. They want to sue. Malcolm scrambles for words. He doesn't know anything about this. He speaks quickly, not thinking what he's saying. Just tell them boys will be boys. That's what my grandmother would say. What, when people need 14 stitches in the head?
Derek Green can barely contain his anger. It's incredibly serious. It's clear to me, Malcolm, that you have no control over the Sex Pistols. I'm sorry, but I have no choice but to terminate the band's contract. Malcolm takes a breath in. He can't even listen to this. He can't lose another record contract. He needs to get God Save the Queen out there for the Jubilee. It's everything he's been working towards. He has to think fast. You've already pressed the single. It'd be financially reckless to let us go now.
A&M will not be releasing God Save the Queen. We're going to destroy all the copies we've pressed and the masters. I'm going to give a statement to the press at 6.30 today. Then I'll go over your head. I'll call your bosses in LA. Derek Green's face reddens in anger. He stands up. It was my decision to sign the sex pistols and it's my decision to let them go. This meeting, Malcolm, is over. Malcolm looks Green straight in the eye. He seems deadly serious.
This is really happening. The pistol's contract with A&M hasn't even lasted a week. Malcolm's dreams of blowing up the establishment on the day of the Queen's Silver Jubilee might well and truly be over.
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It's the 21st of March, 1977, Notre Dame Hall, London. Malcolm is watching the Sex Pistols play for a film crew. He bites his nails. Terrible habit. Awful. And the skin around it. He's anxious. It's not a public show and there's only a small audience, which is just as well as it's Sid's first gig as the new bassist. He's really getting into it, throwing himself around in an aggressive way. And he looks great. John is at the top of his game too.
The film cameras love him, but all this will be for nothing if they can't get another record deal. So far, Malcolm has made £125,000 through his thwarted deals with EMI and A&M. Buy some nail clippers. Which is great financially, but that's not what drives Malcolm. Not deep down, anyway. Time is running out. If Malcolm wants to get God Save the Queen into the charts of the Jubilee weekend, he'll need to move fast. Very fast.
He suddenly notices that Sid has disappeared from the stage. Where's he gone? He goes to look for him and finds him in the toilets. He's throwing up. Is something wrong or is he just pissed? For American listeners, that means drunk, not annoyed. Yeah, smashed. He takes him to one side. Why aren't you on stage? What's wrong with you? Sid sits down. He shivers. He tells Malcolm that he's not feeling very well. His skin is itchy, his muscles hurt, and he's got a pain in his stomach.
He confesses that Nancy has been scoring heroin and they've been shooting up together. He's worried he's caught something from sharing the needles. Oh, man. Malcolm is horrified. He had no idea. He knows from his time working with the New York Dolls that heroin ruins everything. I mean, understatement of the year. Yeah, surely you'd know that without working with me. I feel like I haven't managed a punk band, but I also have that innate knowledge.
Malcolm has paternal feelings for Sid. He genuinely likes him. He's a nice kid and although he might not be the best musician, he's got tons of charisma. He might not be the best musician. He's putting it lightly. He doesn't even know which way up it goes. He can't plug it in. The Sex Pistols cannot afford to lose him, especially when Malcolm's looking for a new record deal. This could spell disaster. He looks at Sid, puts his arm around him. We'll get you some help, I promise.
Malcolm is starting to realize that Sid is a lot more vulnerable than he thought. He promises to keep an eye on him. It's early May 1977. Malcolm is in a bad mood. He's on his way to the offices of Virgin Records. He looks out of the window and sees the sun shining. It's almost summer and he still hasn't got God Save the Queen ready.
So now he's decided to make his last play, to try and make a deal with Virgin Records boss Richard Branson. Ooh, Richard Branson. Virgin Atlantic, Virgin Cola, Virgin Radio. We know him, don't we? Yeah. Not personally. Branson, with his beard and hippie style, is everything Malcolm despises. He's posh, the son of a barrister and ballet dancer, well-educated and younger than Malcolm. But over the last few days, the two have managed to thrash out a deal.
Virgin have promised an advance of £45,000 against delivery of three albums over a two-year period. In return, Virgin have agreed to get God Save the Queen out in time for the Silver Jubilee. But now there's a problem, and that's why Branson has asked Malcolm to come in and see him. Malcolm walks into Branson's office. He wraps his cashmere jumper around his shoulders and straightens his back. I hate that look. Men with jumpers over their shoulders.
It always looks bad. You're not preppy, are you? No, and the sleeves are to go over your arms. That's what they're for. It's not a neckerchief. I don't think he's misunderstood it. I bought this really weird scarf. It's got this huge bit down the back and these sort of arms that go around my neck. He's not going to take any nonsense. He's determined to do this deal no matter what Branson throws at him.
So come on, what's the problem, Richard? Listen, Malk. Malk! Awful. Even if I was mates with him, I wouldn't call him that. It doesn't sound... It sounds like milk. Listen, Malk, God save the Queen, I don't think we're going to put the virgin name on the record label. We're happy to release the single, that's all fine. It's just, it's better if we do it this way. But Malcolm hits back. He won't be pushed around by the younger Branson.
Branson frowns. Malcolm sucks in his cheeks and looks down his nose at Branson's scruffy outfit. He pulls his cashmere jumper tighter around his shoulders. He grabs the phone on Branson's desk and calls the number, hands him the telephone. Branson puts it back down on its cradle.
That won't be necessary. We'll do what you want. That would have been like, he'll have called the operator and just gambled. His mate. Yeah. There you go, that's them on the phone. It always makes that noise. That's the ringtone at Barkley Records in France. It's the 17th of May, 1977, London. Malcolm is storming his way through Soho. Is he ever in a good mood? No, he sounds like he's always annoyed. But hey, that's punks for you. That's punks.
Richard Branson has officially signed the Sex Pistols to Virgin Records and they're days away from releasing God Save the Queen. It's what Malcolm has been working on for months. He should be enjoying a glass of champagne. Instead, he's dealing with a whole load of problems. In order to get God Save the Queen into the top ten for the Jubilee week, the release date has been set for the 27th of May.
But workers at the pressing plant have downed tools in protest at the singles content. And there's also trouble with the plate makers. To modern ears, if you're a young person who streams music, this sounds like Victorian England. The plate makers would press the vinyl and none of this stuff makes any sense to anyone under 30. Downing tools. It's like, do you mean like tools like on the menu on your Mac? No, no, actual tools.
They've got wind of the cover sleeve artwork and they're refusing to make the plates for printing. Right, so what was the problem with the cover sleeve? So on the cover is a picture of the Queen with a safety pin in her nose, which is obviously highly shocking. Again, it feels like such a quaint thing to be offended by. No one puts a safety pin on the nose of the Queen. Even in an image. Because they're not actually, must stress, they didn't actually put a safety pin on the Queen's nose, then take a picture of it, then put it on the cover art. What are they suggesting? That the Queen's nose is some kind of nappy? Yeah.
Now the single's release date looks to be in jeopardy. By the time this thing comes out, it's going to be like the Golden Jubilee. You just hope that she's still in post. There's no point in the single being released late. It won't have the explosive effect that Malcolm wants. There's no time to mess about. And that's why he's on the way to secretly meet bosses at Chrysalis Records. What, so he's going to meet another record company? Yep. There can't be any record companies left that haven't been involved in the process.
Do they all own it? I don't understand how this is going to work. He's a man possessed. Yeah, he's on a mission. Malcolm pushes the door of the club where he's due to meet the record bosses. He takes a deep breath, looks around. He will get this record out on time, even if it kills him. An hour later, Richard Branson is trying to get hold of Malcolm. He's phoned and phoned, but he's had no luck. So he decides to go down to Malcolm's office.
Look, I need to speak to Malcolm. It's urgent. I'm sorry, he's out this morning. It's very important. I need to get hold of him. If you could just tell me where I can find him. He's in a meeting with Chrysalis Records. Don't tell him that. Just grassed him up. Branson can't believe this. Here he is dealing with strikes at the pressing plants and God knows what. And Malcolm McLaren has gone marching off courting another record company. At that moment, Malcolm comes back into the office.
Branson rounds on him. I hear you've been meeting with Chrysalis Records. Is that true? Linda, I told you not to say anything. Sorry. I need to get the single out by the 27th of May. Otherwise, we won't chart in time. God Save the Queen has to have maximum publicity. Is that all you care about? Publicity? What about the music? I love that it's Branson saying, is that all you care about? Publicity? A man who used to, like, strip naked to promote an airline.
The music? They can't play music. Branson has met some managers in his time, but Malcolm McLaren is something else. So why is it then, Malcolm, why are you in the business if not for the music? I'm in it to break the rules, and if you break the rules, you change the culture. You change society. Branson feels uncomfortable. This guy is mad.
but he hates to admit it. He likes to break the rules too. Sometimes he'll wear a stonewashed jean with a brown shoe. Yeah, some days I wear a different jumper. He might look like a peace-loving hippie, but he's a rebel at heart. Branson turns around, heads for the door. Give me 24 hours. Branson leaves Malcolm. First he goes to the plate makers, then he goes down to the pressing plant. Using his laid-back style and plenty of charm, he talks them round.
They agree to get back to work. The single is back on track. Using his charm, i.e. press it or you don't get paid, mate. Such a charmer. He is wearing a wooden necklace. It's endearing. It's the morning of the 27th of May, 1977. God Save the Queen has officially gone on sale on the Virgin label. Amazing. So he's done it. Malcolm actually got it done. I'm so over this single. LAUGHTER
Malcolm is in his office. He's had quite the month. In fact, he's had quite the year. And now he and his team are about to toast their success. The phone rings. It's Richard Branson. Please tell me this is going to be good news because my poor little heart can't handle any more jeopardy. Or another record contract? No, no more record companies, please. Branson's voice is far away.
The line is crackling. He sounds like he's calling from a phone box. Malcolm, it's Richard. We've got a problem. Oh, no. Malcolm's heart sinks. Will this never end? That's what listeners of British Scandal think. It's the single. W.H. Smith and Woolworths, they're refusing to sell it.
What? And that's not the only thing. They're not going to play it on the radio either. God Save the Queen by The Sex Pistols is effectively banned. This is the second episode in our series, The Sex Pistols. If you like our show, please give us a five-star rating and a review and be sure to tell your friends. You can listen to new episodes one week early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app.
Subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Amazon Music, the Wondery app, or wherever you're listening right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app to listen for free. In the episode notes, you'll find some links and offers from our sponsors. Please support them. By supporting them, you help us offer you this show for free.
Another way to support us is to answer a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. A quick note about our dialogue. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but all our dramatisations are based on historical research. And a quick note about our accents. I'm trying my best. If you'd like to know more about this story, books include England's Dreaming, Sex Pistols and Punk Rock by John Savage...
The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren by Paul Gorman, Anger is an Energy by John Lydon, and I Don't Want to Live This Life by Deborah Spungen. I'm Alice Levine. And I'm Matt Ford. Sarah Woolley wrote this episode. Additional writing by Alice Levine and Matt Ford. Our sound design is by Rich Evans. Script editing by Joseph Lidster.
Our senior producers are Joe Sykes and Russell Finch. Our executive producers are Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis for Wondery.
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