Shooting Stars

The Pistols emerged onto the St George Cross bedecked stage to the strains of There’ll Always Be An England.

Great sections of the beered- up audience are singing along to Vera Lynn: Now that’s what I call bizarre. Isn’t the phrase “patriotic punk” an oxymoron?

“There will always be a fucking England”, Lydon sneers, betraying the ambivalence shared by those other celebrated Irish Brits, Stephen Patrick Morrissey and the brothers Gallagher.

A seemingly nervous Steve Jones and Glen Matlock pause to exchange glances then slam into a jubilantly seething Pretty Vacant.

In his cartoon hunting outfit – “I’ve just got back from a little bit of pheasant shooting” – Lydon resembles old man Steptoe auditioning for The Wind in the Willows. As he stalks around the stage hitching up his comically oversized strides, he’s the consummate entertainer.

Everyone has this sussed by now: the latterday pistols are three parts vaudeville to one part vitriol. But if it’s counter cultural cabaret you’re after, come on down.

Now they’re cranking out Holidays in the Sun’s rebounding riff and it’s well and truly ‘Sing-a-long-a-johnny’ time. The Situationist slogan “cheap holidays in other people’s misery” sounds a bit limp these days- but that’s entertainment. Back in ’77, the line brilliantly nailed the divide between wage slaves and punters, but tonight we’re all enjoying a (rather pricey) holiday in other people’s celebrity.

As the patriot- friendly intro suggests, the Pistols have morphed into a great British tradition for tourists and natives alike: a punky version of the changing of the guards, or the opportunity to gawp at Beefeaters. Tonight a festival atmosphere prevails as we all grab the chance to “see some history”.

And then there’s the music. Brixton Academy’s customary sonic mulch does the band few favours, but these Chuck Berry meets the New York Dolls tunes are virtually indestructible.

“Innit nice to hear some decent pop music?” quips the artist formerly known as Rotten.