Anarchy In The UK (Sex Pistols) | A Common Enemy | 3
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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. Matt, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat. Hello. Hello. You're supposed to say who's there. Okay, who's there? It's me, Alice.

Hi, Alice. Hi. I've got a great story to tell you today. Great. I mean, that's what we usually do. Are you joking? I'm just trying to make it a bit more fun. Oh, no, it was fun. I liked it. No, forget it. No, forget it. Oh, come on, don't be like that. No, no. What, you're not going to tell me? Yeah, I'm going to tell you. Yes. It's December 1977, a side street in the West End of London. Just before midday, Nancy Spungen is on her way home. She totters along the road in high-heeled boots, fishnet tights, a striped dress and a short leather jacket.

As she zips up against the cold, she picks up her pace. She's been to meet her dealer and needs to get back to Sid quick. Her fingers fumble for the drugs in her pocket. It's all right. Everything is nice and safe. Keep those drugs nice and safe, kids. Remember, if you're carrying around Class A drugs, keep them in a zipped pocket. Two nights ago, Nancy and Sid got into a fight. She can't remember what it was about, but yesterday they were on the front page of The Sun. Apparently, Sid trashed a hotel room.

Now they're living someplace new, and Nancy needs to remember where she's going. She's not yet familiar with these streets. It's not like New York. As she weaves along the road, looking at the signs, she stops for a moment to fix her tights. She's got thinner lately, and they don't fit her anymore. But as she bends down to adjust them at the ankles, she sees a car pull up in front of her. That's odd, she thinks, as its back door swings open.

Then, from out of nowhere, someone grabs her from behind. What? They dig their fingers into her waist and lift her body up into the air. Before she can even react, she's shoved into the back of the waiting car. She realizes she's being kidnapped. Oh my God. As the car drives away at speed, Nancy struggles, but she's stuck between two men and they're sitting either side of her, holding her arms tight. She tries to kick, but there isn't enough room.

What?!

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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OK, Matt, if you can cast your mind back as far as last episode... Yes, just about. You will remember we were with Malcolm McLaren. He's got his big dream, his big goal. He wants to get the single God Save the Queen out in time for the Queen's Jubilee. And it's so hard for him. He's got this big vision, but he's trying to manage a group of people that are basically unmanageable. Absolutely. They keep getting drunk...

really drunk. Sid keeps getting into fights. They can't play their instruments, which seems quite fundamental for being in a band. And they keep losing these record contracts that he's fought so hard for. It's absolute chaos. I really feel for him. You say that. I would hold your judgment for just a little bit longer. You might just change your mind. This is episode three, A Common Enemy. It's the evening of Tuesday, June the 7th, 1977, the River Thames.

Malcolm is boarding a pleasure boat called the Queen Elizabeth. He's wearing a smart black jacket with the collars turned up. As he steps onto the deck, he grins. All around him are his friends and colleagues, and more importantly, the music press. In an hour's time, this boat is due to sail down the river in full punk glory. It's all part of the promotion for God Save the Queen. It's been Malcolm's idea for the Sex Pistols to perform on the ship's top deck.

It's intended to mimic the Queen's Royal Progress trip, which is due to take place in two days' time. God Save the Queen has entered the charts at number 11. If anything, the radio and TV ban has just added to the publicity and increased record sales. The plan now is to get the single to number one. There's only one problem. John isn't happy. But is he ever? I mean, John Lydon is never happy. What's changed?

He's complaining about being cold and bored. Fair point. If I was cold and bored, you'd never hear the end of it. I sometimes don't in here. Malcolm tries to talk to him. Just relax, John. Enjoy it. We're going to give the establishment a night to remember. Yeah, but can we do it in coats, please? Would it kill you to give me a hot water bottle while we stick two fingers up? One of your leather t-shirts would do it. Oh yeah, you'd be sweating a treat in that. Yeah.

John Scowls. As darkness falls and the boat sails up the river, Malcolm watches the band take their place on the scrappy stage. The audience are claustrophobically close. Cheap Jubilee bunting hangs behind John's head. Malcolm knows this is going to look great on the front page of tomorrow's papers. All weekend, the country has been enthralled to tradition and royalty. It feels like the whole population have embraced the Jubilee celebration. You can't move for street parties and souvenirs.

What the Sex Pistols are about to do is going to go against all of that. As the boat sails up to Chelsea Bridge and back down to Westminster, the bands start to play, but all they can produce is noise. Malcolm winces at the sound. So do the press. I thought this was the whole point. I was going to say, what band do you think you manage, my darling? Okay, guys, and see, see, see, see, see, see. Sorry, the cellist is out. Can you... The noise from Steve's guitar is nothing but feedback.

Malcolm looks at Sid. He's not even sure if Sid's plugged in. Perfect. They'd better not mess this up. But then as the boat sails past the embankment, something beautiful happens. Steve manages to take control of his guitar. He thrashes out the opening chords of Anarchy in the UK. Paul joins in on the drums. They sound good. They sound great. John leans into his mic. This is it. This is the moment. Malcolm holds his breath. John opens his mouth and screams.

I am an antichrist, an anarchoister. The Houses of Parliament come into view. The Sex Pistols have never sounded better. The TV cameras, the press are all here to capture the moment. Here's a different kind of Jubilee celebration. Malcolm leaps into the air. As the band lurch into the next song, two police boats start to circle the Queen Elizabeth. The noise of the engines drowning out John's voice. He keeps screaming into his mic, defiant.

But it looks like the show is over. The boat is forced to head back to shore. Malcolm can see there's a large police presence waiting at the dock. He quickly shepherds the band away, unseen via a stairwell. But he has no intention of hiding. Someone starts pushing and shoving. Objects are thrown. The police start arresting people. He wants that too. He's desperate for it. Grinning like a ginger Cheshire cat, Malcolm pushes himself towards the throng.

making sure he's right in front of half a dozen police officers. He raises his fist in the air and screams, You bunch of fucking fascists! The policemen immediately grab him and yank him off the boat. They aren't afraid to use force. As they throw Malcolm roughly into the back of the police van, he closes his eyes and sighs. That was the greatest moment of his life. Much like yours, Matt. Yeah, that's a pretty sad life, isn't it? Never been on a date. Never been on a date! That's so sweet! LAUGHTER

sweet date with a lady and held her hand you've not known love malcolm two weeks later the portobello hotel london it's pouring with rain john sid and nancy have been staying here but not anymore they've just been evicted malcolm is standing on the pavement outside the hotel as sid and nancy are dragging their belongings out onto the street and john is yelling at him this is all your fault i can't walk down the street now i don't even have a place to live

Since the stunt on The Thames, the band have never been more famous. But Malcolm's interest in the Sex Pistols has plummeted. He loved that night. Shouting at the police with his fist in the air, getting arrested, being thrown in jail, causing mayhem.

But now he's back to the reality of the day-to-day running of the band. It's no fun. In fact, it's the worst thing it can possibly be for Malcolm McLaren. It's downright boring. It's all record executives and people talking about numbers. What Malcolm really wants is to make a Sex Pistols film.

He's found a potential director, the sexploitation filmmaker Russ Mayer. I don't want to sound like a prude or a loser. What is a sexploitation film? It's a sort of bunch of films in the 60s, 70s that were kind of gratuitously sexy. All right. Good films. Good films. Sort of softcore, I guess. Yeah. Sort of pinnacle of cinema, really. Yeah. I mean, like arty. Yeah. Goodness. Can you lend me one? No.

It's going to be a scandalous, outrageous, offensive punk biopic. And it will make the Sex Pistols and Malcolm live on forever. It'll make the Sex Pistols live on forever, with the occasional flash of some boobs. But right now, he has to deal with John.

It's all right for you. You can disappear into the background, travel everywhere in cabs. We're sitting targets. Everyone knows what we look like and everyone hates us. Well, don't walk around wearing pink spiky hair and ripped leather jackets. Comb your hair, stick on normal clothes, you'll blend in, John. The answer, John, is a cardigan, my friend. Especially in that weather. On June the 18th, John was attacked. Two of the tendons in his hand were severed. He's blaming it on Malcolm.

You're the lead singer in the most talked about band in Britain. You're number two in the charts. Lots of people love you. So why aren't we number one then? Great comeback. Malcolm rolls his eyes. He knew this was coming. Rod Stewart's latest song, I Don't Want To Talk About It, has kept the Sex Pistols off the number one slot. And to add insult to injury, Rod Stewart has all the tendons in his hand. He's known for it. I don't know what that means. Don't think about it too long.

But both Malcolm and Richard Branson believe there's been a conspiracy to prevent the Sex Pistols reaching the top. Wait, are we having a spin-off this scandal into another scandal? Wow. We could do a six-parter on that, Matt. Malcolm knows there's something going on. The music establishment aren't about to let a song like God Save the Queen get to number one. But he's not about to add any more fuel to John's fire. He looks at him wearily. He needs to get this lot out of his hair.

How about I get you out of the country? Fancy playing some gigs in Scandinavia? Will you be coming with us? No, not this time. Malcolm hopes this will end the conversation. But John isn't finished. If I've sold so many records, how come I don't have a house? When we come back from Scandinavia, I want you to buy me a house.

And one for Sid too, so I don't have to put up with him. What's incredible about this is they genuinely were living in squats and stuff. They weren't very well looked after at all. So this isn't being a diva. I never thought that I'd be feeling such sympathy towards John. Malcolm can't believe this. Who does John think he is? Mick Jagger? He sighs. Fine, fine. I'll buy you a house. Right now, he'd agree to anything. The sooner Malcolm can rid himself of John Lydon and his incessant demands, the better.

It's incessant demands for shelter and running water. And to not be cold. It's August 26th, 1977. Rock Garden, Middlesbrough. Sid is about to go on stage. He's looking at himself in a mirror.

He pulls at a spot on his face. It bleeds. Oh, never pull at them. Do you never pull at them? Well, I do, but you're not meant to. They leave scars. And it forces the pus back in, doesn't it? You squeeze it, the pus goes down, actually. You're kidding. No, true. That's an amazing fact. Yeah, sorry about that. But so satisfying. Yeah. Especially if it hits the mirror. Oh, man. That's potentially the grossest thing I've ever said. Oh, if you could only see my pockmarked face right now.

Having played a number of successful gigs in Scandinavia, the Sex Pistols are now back in the UK. Because most councils have banned the group from playing live, Malcolm has come up with the idea of the Spots Tour, which stands for Sex Pistols on Tour Secretly. Nothing to do with Sid's face. Nothing to do with Sid's face. The plan is to announce dates under assumed names and then let word of mouth spread the news that it's the Pistols.

How on earth would that work? Well, I guess they go to promoters and they say, oh, we're a cool band. We're called the Fish and Chips. We'd love to play your club. And then let word get out through, you know, the grapevine. To think that you could do that before the internet. Who do you tell just running to the street and go, it's not really Fish and Chips, it's the Sex Pistols. I guess so. Oh, damn it. I really liked Fish and Chips. This means they have to get in quick and get out fast before anyone's arrested.

It's so funny you get arrested for that. Hello, is that the police? Yes. That gig was advertised as fish and chips and it's the bloody Sex Pistols. It's happened to me three times this month. What do you mean, who are fish and chips? They're a fantastic two. They're like Foster and Allen, but more food-based. Malcolm isn't here, so there's no one keeping an eye on things. He came to the first gig, refused to come backstage and hasn't been back since. He's too busy organising a Sex Pistols film, or that's what he's told Sid.

As Sid hears the crowd building up outside, John appears. He pushes Sid out of the way, checks his own profile in the mirror. John used to be Sid's best friend. They were inseparable back when they went to Hackney College together. But now things are different. Sid knows John wants the band to be more professional, that John resents him because he's still not very good at playing bass. I'm on John's side in this, because if you're in a band, you should be able to play the instruments. And the bass, basically anyone can play it, from what I gather. LAUGHTER

So you can't. You just go bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum. It's the least hard of all the instruments, isn't it? Did you just do that with your voice? So if in doubt, you could just do it with your voice. Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum. Hang on. I don't know if you've ever said anything more controversial on this podcast. I probably haven't and I probably never will. So enjoy it, everyone. And any bass players out there can stick it. Can you imagine if our numbers just plummet? It's like, oh my goodness, most people were bass players that listened to British Scandal.

But Sid also knows what he's good at. He's good at making a scene and his stage presence is something else. Yeah, but just learn the bass as well. It's not one or the other, is it? You can have all that and be good at the bass. Come on, Sid. When the band gets on stage, the energy is electric. The audience go wild. They pogo like crazy. It's the dance Sid invented. As John struggles to be heard without a proper microphone, Sid whips up the crowd.

He lets them spit at him, throw their beer. What? What's the thing with spitting? It's disgusting. That is one of the things that really gets to you about punkdom, isn't it? I don't mind the hair, the clothes, mucking about, dancing around, but don't, like, flub... Reducing a whole movement. Spitting is just insanitary. He shakes his spiky hair, sweat flies as he moves. The audience love it, and Sid can feel them responding to his every gesture.

As he swaggers around, bass hanging low on his waist, he looks across at his old friend. Is John enjoying this as much as him? But then Sid gets pulled off stage. The audience rip at his clothes and tear the T-shirt off his back. Like a zombie film. Should have worn leather. It feels like they're feeding on him, yanking his heart out and eating it. All this looks and feels fantastic. It can't feel as good as a nice night in, a curry and a cup of tea.

Anyone who was at this gig will talk about this for weeks, months, maybe even years. But when they finish playing, John accuses Sid of pulling focus. I'm the lead singer. People should be looking at me. Don't try and out-rotten rotten. When Sid tries to reason with him, he won't listen. And Steve and Paul make it known that Sid's bass playing left a lot to be desired. Like John, they want the group to sound good too. They're thinking about their future.

Back on the tour bus, Sid flops down in his seat. He can't even turn to Malcolm for help. When Sid gets to his hotel room, he's alone. He doesn't eat, doesn't sleep. Bad, bad move. Staying in a hotel gets an on-room service. Lovely. I have a ham sandwich. Do you really? Yeah, I love having a ham sandwich on room service. No, you don't. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just sit in bed, have a ham sandwich and a cup of tea. Oh my God, that's very cute. Sid feels like his public persona is taking over.

His real self is disappearing, and along with it, so are his friendships. But what else can he do on stage other than cause a scene? He calls the only person he can trust, Nancy. "Hello?" "It's me, Syd." "Hi baby, I miss you. When are you coming home?" "Soon. I love you." "Oh Syd, I love you too. Hey, when you come back, I've got an idea. Why don't we get married?" Syd rests his tired head against the phone. He listens to Nancy's voice. "Maybe she's right."

Maybe that's what he needs to do. Get married, settle down, be with his girl. Then he can quit pretending.

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It's September 1977. Malcolm is in the back of a cab in a traffic jam on the way to Heathrow Airport. He's anxious. He's supposed to be on his way to LA to meet US record company execs. He drags on a cigarette. He needs to make his flight. There's no time to waste. In order to get the Sex Pistols film off the ground, Malcolm has to raise a budget of £400,000. So far, he's got backing from 20th Century Fox, Virgin, and the impresario Michael White.

Malcolm and the band are also providing £25,000 themselves. But even with funding from these illustrious sources, his budget is short. To cover the costs, he's going to get the Sex Pistols a deal in America. Since their days with A&M, the band have been working on an album. If Malcolm can get a deal for it with a record company in the US, then he can get them to back the film. Since the release of God Save the Queen, the film is all that Malcolm can think about. In the current script, the band play themselves.

This will capture them at the height of their powers and at their most attractive. But time really is of the essence. Malcolm is worried that one of them might die. And that's not a great pressure to have. So what's your time constraint, Malcolm? Yeah, end of the month, but also whatever happens quicker, actually, before one of them die. He's so sure of this that when he purchased Sid's house, he only bought one with a seven-year lease.

If Malcolm doesn't make this film soon, it may well be a missed opportunity. He only bought one with a seven-year lease, so he's already planning that Sid's going to die. Yeah, he literally said to the estate agent that they won't need a long lease because Sid will be dead. So dark. The road clears. Malcolm sighs with relief. If the driver puts his foot down, he might just make the plane.

He reaches into his bag and grabs his passport. Time to bring the sex pistols to the USA. Of course, what he hasn't bothered to do is mention anything about the US record deal to Virgin and his old friend Richard Branson. Not again. I think this is going to be a problem. I think something Malcolm could learn about is communication. Yeah. It's late September 1977. Malcolm's office, London.

Richard Branson is pacing the floor. He's just found out that Malcolm has got the Sex Pistols an American deal with Warner Brothers. This goes against the contract Malcolm has with Virgin. He tries to stay calm, but his patience with Malcolm is wearing thin. Fair enough. When the Sex Pistols signed the deal with us back in the summer, we had it in the contract that the US rights would go to Virgin. We did not. Malcolm, we spent a great deal of time and energy negotiating this.

But I want to do a deal with a different record company in every territory. But a US deal is crucial for Virgin. You can't just ignore the contract. So sue me. Don't be ridiculous. You know I can't do that. So then there's nothing you can do about it, is there? Branson's face reddens. He's furious. He's been fair up to this point, but Malcolm really is taking the piss. The man seems to have no morals in business or in life.

Face it, Rich, it's a case of you need us more than we need you. You know, it still grates on me that we've made you look cool. Burn! Harsh. I like Branson's jumpers. And with that, Malcolm flops into his office chair, lights a cigarette and smirks. God, he's unbearable. There's nothing more that Branson can do. He's been outwitted. As he storms out of the office and onto the street, he seethes. He will never, ever forgive Malcolm for what he's just done.

It's December 1977, West End, London, just before midday. Malcolm slowly walks down a side street. He's dressed in a long blue raincoat. From a distance, he and a friend are following a woman with a halo of blonde curly hair. It's Nancy Spungen. In the last two months, Malcolm hasn't stopped. The Pistols' new album, Never Mind the Bollocks, reached number one. Thanks to his deal with Warner, the film now has its budget, and the Pistols are due to go on a US tour in the new year.

Even John is enthusiastic about that. Like all rock stars, he wants to break America. But there's one little problem. Sid Fischer's. Just get the guy a bass for Christmas. And like one of those play along books. I think it might be a bigger problem than that. He and Nancy have grown inseparable. Their life together is chaotic and fuelled by addiction. They're a danger to each other.

Yesterday, they appeared on the front page of The Sun after having a fight, and Nancy has been telephoning her family and telling them that she and Sid are married. Malcolm knows it isn't true, but Nancy's been using it as a way to extract money to fund her and Sid's drug habit. As far as Malcolm can see, Nancy is the problem. She's the one providing Sid with heroin. Today, he's going to sort that problem out once and for all. Malcolm walks a little faster. He starts to gain on Nancy, getting closer to her.

Suddenly, she stops, bends down to pull at the ankles of her fishnet tights. This is it, he thinks. This is the moment. Malcolm holds his breath. Is he really going to do this? Will this even work? Malcolm turns to his friend. They exchange a look. Moments later, a car appears out of nowhere. It's now or never. If this works, Malcolm could be rid of Nancy for good. If it fails, it could turn Sid against him. He takes a step forward, picks up the pace, and lunges.

Grabbing Nancy by the waist and clamping a hand over her mouth, he shoves her into the back of the waiting car. What is he doing? This is appalling. With all her strength, Nancy twists in the back seat, but Malcolm holds her tight. As they speed along, Malcolm spits words into her ear. We've all had enough of you. You're ruining everything. You hear? It's the end of the road. You're going home.

Nancy thinks of Sid, of their life together here in London. It's all she has. There's nothing for her in New York. And how would Sid survive without her? She's never going home, even if it kills her. She shakes her body from side to side, but it makes no difference. Malcolm holds her fast. But then, the car is forced to stop at a red light. Nancy sees her chance. She grinds the stiletto heel of her boot into Malcolm's foot. He cries out, and she shoves him back and pulls at the car door. It opens.

She can see the road. She scrambles fast like a crazed cat, pushing her body over Malcolm, clawing to escape. Malcolm tries to grab her by the hair. It's rough. His fingers dig into her scalp. But she's free. As she stumbles out of the car, she falls onto the hard road. Malcolm jumps out behind her, tries to grab her. But Nancy does what she always does in these situations. She makes as much noise as possible. Good. She screams, cries, waves her arms around. She's like an animal.

People stop what they're doing and stare. Malcolm retreats. Just stay out of my sight. He jumps back into the car and quickly disappears. Nancy slumps onto the pavement. She puts her head between her legs and tries to steady herself. She can feel a pain in her shoulder and there's blood on her lip. Terrified tears stream down her face. She's never liked Malcolm, but she's never seen him like this.

The man is evil, mad. She has to warn Sid. She has to get him away from this terrible force. This season, Instacart has your back-to-school. As in, they've got your back-to-school lunch favorites, like snack packs and fresh fruit. And they've got your back-to-school supplies, like backpacks, binders, and pencils. And they've got your back when your kid casually tells you they have a huge school project due tomorrow.

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He lifts his bass guitar from around his neck and collapses into a chair. His head rests against the wall, sweat runs down his back. He moans, in pain. He can hardly move for it. How he wishes he could block it out. The Sex Pistols have just played their first gig in the US. This is the first date of a nine-day tour, which will involve them travelling back and forth over six states in the middle of winter. It's been Malcolm's Idea.

In order to generate excitement, confrontation and maximum press exposure, he's booked the band on a tour of the Deep South in the hope that they'll play to real people. No New York or L.A. for the Sex Pistols, but things have gone badly tonight. Any dreams that the band are improving have been dashed. Steve's guitar was out of tune, Paul's timing was off, and John shouted, "'Aren't we the worst thing you've ever seen?' at the audience."

The Sex Pistols have not conquered America. As for Sid, he's only got one thing on his mind. Handsome with John Room service. He's only human. He pulls himself to his feet. Slow and unsteady, he has to get out of here. He throws on his jacket and heads for the door. No one notices that he's gone. As he wanders outside, he spots a group of girls hanging around. He recognizes one of them from the gig. She's got dark hair, heavy eye makeup, and bright red lips.

He knows she's the right type. She'll have what he wants. As he approaches her, he thinks of Nancy. Wonders how she is. Wishes she was here with him. She'd help him now. Sort him out. Nancy didn't want Sid to go on tour. She begged him not to. But what could he do? She told him what Malcolm tried to do to her. He thinks about it and it hurts. He thought Malcolm liked him. He thought he was a friend. The girl with the bright red lips introduces herself. She seems alright. But Sid is only after one thing.

He whispers into the girl's ear. Can she get him what he's looking for? The girl takes him by the hand and leads him away. He doesn't bother to tell anyone where he's going. He needs to find a dealer fast. He needs to block out the pain. The pain of missing Nancy. The pain of feeling inadequate. The pain of having his friend and manager betray him. The pain of being Sid Vicious.

It's the 8th of January, 1978. Randy's Rodeo, San Antonio. You know, Randy's Rodeo in San Antonio. Can we not just play New York, Malcolm, please? John runs his hands anxiously through his hair. The Sex Pistols are about to hit the stage. The audience is made up of 2,000 rowdy Texans. As soon as the audience see them, the missiles start to fly. John takes a step back as an empty beer can lands at his feet.

He's not even surprised by this anymore. Can I just say, doing this sort of gig in England is bad enough. People spit at you. You're doing this in a state where guns are legal. True. Very true. I mean, just be thankful that they're drinking out of cans, not bottles, I suppose.

In the last five days, the band have played two gigs and travelled hundreds of miles. They've been stuck together in a freezing cold bus and then on a plane that was struck by lightning. It really feels like if there is a God, he's telling them not to do these gigs. John is nearing the end of his rope.

Steve plays the opening notes of God Save the Queen and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels goes flying through the crowd. John leans into his mic as he watches the bottle hit a sheriff in the audience. Acting fast, the sheriff pulls out his gun. Matt, why are you always right? Yeah. The crowd scream. John looks to his bandmates, panicked. Shit. Paul hits the drums hard. Steve turns up his amp. Sid shouts. They've only just got on stage and already there's a near riot. John's heart pumps.

He raises his eyes to the heavens. And is immediately struck by lightning. Now, if that's not a sign. As he starts the next song, a member of the audience jumps on stage. John steps back to avoid him, but he lunges forward at Sid. Sid, without even thinking, hits the man over the head with his guitar. The audience go wild. Some are shouting, some are cheering. Sid attacks again. He's full of crazed energy and anger. He screams.

John turns to look at him, dismayed. This is no gig. It's a bear pit. When it's all over, the band pile back onto the bus. They're due to drive through the night to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. John sits down in his seat. He stares out of the window, resting his head on the glass. He notices it's snowing. America looks beautiful tonight. The snow dampens the sound. Things haven't been quiet in John's life for a long time, and it feels wonderful. This place reminds John of the films he saw as a kid.

He really likes it here. If only he wasn't in this piss-poor situation with people he hated, this could be enjoyable. I can't believe Johnny Rotten is the sensible one. The romantic one. The band have a number one album and they were starting to play okay. But this stupid crazy tour with its mad venues and Sid's drug habit have all conspired to bring them down. He closes his eyes. He knows whose fault this is.

Maybe the time has finally come to do something about it. It's seven days later, Malcolm's hotel room, San Francisco. Malcolm is listening to John, Steve and Paul argue. Sid is lying in Malcolm's bed, recovering from a drugs overdose. Things have never been so bad. Last night, the band played a gig at the Winterland Ballroom, San Francisco. It was due to be the last date of the U.S. tour.

In front of an audience of 5,000, Steve's guitar kept cutting out and Sid was barely coherent. At the end of the gig, John turned to the audience and said, Ever get the feeling you've been cheated? He then threw his mic down and stormed off.

The cause of the problem? In the last few weeks, 20th Century Fox have pulled their funding from the Sex Pistols film. Once they read the script, they had second thoughts about the content. And so Malcolm came up with a new plan. He told the band he wanted them to go to Rio and to record a single with the great train robber, Ronnie Biggs. What? What sort of idea is that? You've got to be joking. He actually has a beautiful voice, Matt. And he's a whiz on the glockenspiel.

This has set the cat among the pigeons, and that's why John and Steve and Paul are arguing. Malcolm's had enough.

You're behaving like Rod Stewart, you know that. By which he means they're behaving like egotists. Yeah, I guess so, rather than what we think of, which is like standing on stage and letting middle-aged women throw their pants at you. Steve and Paul want to go to Rio. It's only you that's got the problem. John turns to him, a look of pure hate on his face. It's Ronnie Biggs, Malcolm. Ronnie Biggs. He's a thug. Once again, Johnny Rotten, voice of reason.

Steve and Paul look at each other as John jabs his finger in Malcolm's direction. Malcolm turns to them. You two are up for Rio, aren't you? They nod, then walk out of the door. John has failed to convince them at least. John now turns his fury on Malcolm. You're out of your mind, Malcolm, and you have been for years. Oh, stop. Don't be so dramatic. All you've ever cared about is cheap headlines, and all that does is water down anything serious or good that comes out of what we do.

"'I'm not a joke. I'm not a novelty act. I won't betray everything I stand for. I won't betray what the band stands for.'" "'I love him. Go for it, John!' Malcolm takes a step closer to John. His eyes blaze. "'What the hell is this? Since when did Johnny Rotten get so high and mighty?' Then he remembers Vivian's words to him back when he installed John as lead singer of the Sex Pistols. "'That kid'll give you trouble,' she said. "'He's clever. He'll run rings round you.'" Malcolm pulls a hand through his hair."

Johnny Rotten will not destroy him or everything he's worked for. Time to tell him once and for all. He takes a step towards him and smirks. What you stand for? Listen to yourself. You don't stand for anything. You're in a punk band. We're going to Rio with or without you. And with that, John cocks his head to one side. He's scarily calm. It's unnerving. Then it's over. Goodbye, Malcolm. I quit. Great. He turns on his heels and walks out of the door.

Malcolm watches him go. His gamble has failed. It's the 3rd of February 1978, Jamaica. John has just landed at the airport from London. As he steps off the plane, he feels the tropical heat hit his body. It's immediately comforting. After everything that's happened over the last few months, this is just what he needs. A rest, a holiday, a chance to recuperate and get over the trauma of what happened in America.

Malcolm, Steve and Paul have gone to Rio to record with Ronnie Biggs. What, they actually did it? There's a video. Oh, man. Is this exploitation? He has no idea where Sid is. As he makes his way through passport control, he thinks about everything that's happened in the last four weeks. He thinks of the band's last day together, how they left San Francisco and then went on to New York, how he had no money and had to phone the record company to help him get back to London. He shudders at the memory. His hate for Malcolm is now his driving force.

He enters the airport concourse, pushing his trolley in front of him. He looks around. The person who's supposed to be meeting him today doesn't seem to be here. He chews his lip. What if he's forgotten? What if he's changed his mind? What if he's talked to Malcolm? John's heart starts to beat. He feels anxious. That's how he's always felt lately. He never knows what crazy thing might happen next. Since he met Malcolm McLaren, the ground under his feet has never felt solid.

But as the bright sun shines on his face, he spots a smiling man, waving in his direction. It's a driver, and he has a card with his name on it. It says, John Lydon. Rather than Johnny Rotten. His true self. Mr. Lydon, let me take you to the car. Your friend's waiting. John smiles back. Relief floods his body. There's no need to be anxious. He follows the driver outside. The palm trees blow a little in the gentle breeze.

and parked up is a 1940s Rolls Royce with a flat roof. This is a far cry from the school bus he traveled in across America. As he reaches the car door, it opens. A familiar voice calls his name. John, welcome to Jamaica. Am I pleased to see you? The man is wearing sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt. John grins. They shake hands.

And it's great to see you too. John has a new friend. And in Malcolm McLaren, he and Richard Branson both have a common enemy. He's got a little deal with Branson. Oh. But you knew that from the second I did the voice, right? Oh, yes, yes. It was purely just enjoying the fact. Mm-hmm. Can I talk to you after class? Sure. Bye.

This is the third 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 add 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 of our dramatizations are based on historical research. 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 Sam Ader. Script editing by Joseph Lidster. Our associate producer is Francesca Gilardi Quadrio Corseo. Our senior producers are Joe Sykes and Russell Finch. Our executive producers are Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis for Wondery.

The missiles are coming.

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