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"At least you're not takin' fuckin' pictures. "The scene has been going on long enough to attract the idiots who believe the papers," he shouts in my ear."They're just tryin' to live up to their image. " Perfectly on cue, the kid is slammed into my chest as another scuffle erupts on the dance floor.little before midnight, my taxi arrives at a club called the Vortex.
The Slits draw an encore and invite their opening act, Prefix, a male group who shave their marble white bodies in emulation of Iggy Pop, to jam on "Louie Louie." The audience likes it so much that several of them storm the stage and nearly succeed in toppling the eight-foot stacks of PA speakers before the security men beat them into submission.
The four major music weeklies – – have mentioned them on the cover of almost every issue for months.
Taking punk lyrics at their literal word, the dailies regularly proclaim the movement the end of Western Civilization.
Heading for the exit, I recognize the Sex Pistols' drummer, Paul Cook, also weaving his way outside.
Unaccompanied, he is wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, straight-legged blue jeans and dilapidated sneakers. Conditioned by six months of reports about the Sex Pistols' proclivity for violence, I half expect him to assault me.