100 Greatest Songs of the 70’s #2 Sex Pistols – God Save The Queen

Released: 1977

Almost anyone who embraces the idea of destiny is a fool or a liar, or both. Usually pre-ordainment is the sum squared of money, privilege or access to the right people and resources; the idea that somehow a dream fulfilling waypoint is out there for you if you just wish hard enough belongs on a t-shirt.

Dreams are a feature of the greatest song the Sex Pistols ever made, except it’s the wrong kind of fantasy, not one of aspiration but of a nation in a shared coma, one soothed into obedience by the spectacle (Guy Debord’s version anyway) of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee, in which the population marked twenty five years of loyal servitude.

The Pistols were on their third label by the time actual celebrations were meant to take place in May 1977. Just prior to this 25,000 copies of God Save The Queen had been pressed up on behalf of A&M, only for the label to then order their destruction and contractually release the band just a few months after their divorce from EMI. By this point, with Sid Vicious having replaced the too-proficient Glen Matlock on bass, their situation was no longer under anyone’s control, a status which pleased both Lydon/Rotten and Malcolm Mclaren, both men who saw the chaos in the mould of some febrile, opportunistic art installation.

Now ensconced with Virgin, once they found factories willing to press up the product and print the sleeves – and shops who would stock it – the delayed plans for it’s release were put into motion. Already banned by the BBC and destined to be a number one although mysteriously the charts would have Rod Fucking Stewart at top spot, it landed on May 27th, a week or so ahead of the main celebrations, which the quartet then gleefully contributed to by playing a boat party on the Thames that climaxed with skulls being cracked, albeit typically not theirs.

Lydon has since disappointed revolutionaries everywhere on an almost constant basis. Whilst musically it retains even now a visceral knife edge via Steve Jones’ bludgeoning guitar and Paul Cook’s blasting drums, God Save The Queen he’s since revealed was not a coded message encouraging regicide. Instead his retort to eager seditionary zeal was “It’s vaudeville, it’s burlesque. It’s not a rampant anti-royal statement. Far from it.”

What this song for the dreaming boiled down to in effect then was a kick in the face for Britain’s youth, one designed to spark them into rejecting what fate the establishment dealt. These handcuffs – as they are now – were made from apathy and locked with a key of self limiting delusion – and when the grey men who own this country talk about fulfilling a destiny, this is what they mean.