30 years later, "Bollocks" is still hotter than a pistol

The Summer of Love had "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." For the Summer of Hate, it was "Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols."

Released in the United States on Oct. 29, 1977, the album is still considered the ranting bastard of anti-social misfits — hardly as "important" a work as the Beatles' costumed opus. But 30 years after its release, the impact of the Sex Pistols on rock 'n' roll is undeniable.

"Never Mind the Bollocks" — the vortex of the punk rock movement that roared from 1976 to 1978 — is a staple in any serious rock fan's collection. It's ranked as the 41st greatest album of all time by Rolling Stone magazine. It's influenced, well, just about any act that's come in its wake, from U2 to Guns N' Roses to Nirvana to Green Day.

The influence goes beyond sound. The album's Dadaist cover — cut-out letters glued together like a ransom note — has become a graphics standard. The "punk" look — spiky hair, ratty striped T-shirts, torn jeans and a smirk — remains in vogue.

And while "Never Mind the Bollocks" never debuted in the Billboard Top 100, it's gone double platinum. Not that that means anything.

Mainstream acceptance, lasting popularity and influence — the band was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006 — were never on the minds of singer Johnny Rotten, guitarist Steve Jones, bassist Sid Vicious and drummer Paul Cook when they embarked on a crash-and-burn career.

Or even when the band recorded the "album."

"It's really a collection of singles," says Ira Robbins, editor of Trouser Press, an influential (and now-defunct) New York rock magazine that covered the punk explosion in the 1970s. "The album had dribbled out all that year, between the 45s and demos and bootlegs floating around. It was anticlimactic when it finally came out." Perhaps. But perfectly punk.

Unlike the Beatles, who guarded "Sgt. Pepper" like a secret until its release date, the Sex Pistols' knack for scandal turned "Bollocks" into a public mess.

The band's attention-seeking manager, Malcolm McLaren, owned a London boutique with his partner, Vivienne Westwood, that specialized in "anti-fashion" — everything from fetish gear to trashy rock clothes that defined the punk look.

To him, the Pistols were mannequins he sought to dress up in controversy.

EMI signed the band a full year before the record came out but dropped it after numerous rude stunts, including the backbreaker: Guitarist Jones allegedly vomited on old ladies at Heathrow Airport in London.

"I don't understand it," Rotten said, after the band was released. "All we're trying to do is destroy everything."

A second label, A&M, signed the band in March 1977, only to drop it after Vicious trashed the company director's office and vomited on his desk.

The scandal continued even after the band signed with Virgin Records, which would eventually release the disc. The BBC banned the band's second single, "God Save the Queen," because it was seen as an attack on Queen Elizabeth II.

To celebrate the song — and the queen's Silver Jubilee — the Pistols chartered a boat to perform live while sailing down the Thames. That is, until police raided the boat.

The summer's stunts sparked a backlash against punk rockers, including Rotten, who was ambushed by a gang and wounded in a knife attack.

But it increased the notoriety of the band — and turned a grass-roots happening into an international movement.

"We suddenly felt that we weren't alone," says Cheetah Chrome, guitarist of the Dead Boys, which came out of Cleveland's early punk scene.

"In the 1970s, Cleveland was a lot like England. The economy was really bad — and more than that, we hated what had happened to rock 'n' roll."

The '70s saw the rise of arena rock. The bombastic style was marked by plodding songs, aloof rock stars, guitar jams and escapist lyrics that dabbled in post-hippie mysticism and other trippy stuff.

Rotten, renowned for wearing an "I Hate Pink Floyd" T-shirt, was seen as a nihilist, hellbent on destroying rock. But to Chrome, he was reviving the music's rebellious spirit. "When I heard the Pistols, I thought they sounded like the Who," he says. "Them and the Ramones were doing what seemed right to anyone who'd grown up loving rock 'n' roll — and hating bands like Emerson, Lake & Palmer or Yes."

No doubt, says Robbins.

"The Sex Pistols were revolutionary in what they were saying and doing and singing about," he says. "But the music was hardly revolutionary: They had a tremendous guitar player, great drummer, unique singer and some amazing pop songs."

The songs — combined with the stunts — opened the floodgates for bands that saw rock 'n' roll as dying under a sea of flickering lights and longhaired guitarists wallowing in endless solos.

"Rock was a bunch of pretentious, overblown (expletive)," Ramones guitarist Johnny Ramone, now deceased, said in a 2003 interview. "We loved rock 'n' roll. And we wanted to keep it real simple."

Ramones ditties such as "Teenage Lobotomy" and "Blitzkrieg Bop" were simple and by no means political. But like the Pistols, they sought to overthrow a rock world that had killed the three-chord, three-minute song.

It was songs, not albums, that defined punk. Dozens of bands with little in common musically — other than being misfits — suddenly exploded with hundreds of songs.

Some incorporated reggae, like the Clash. Some sassy pop, like Blondie. Some sounded quaintly retro, like Elvis Costello or XTC.

"Every band sounded different and unique in their own way," Robbins says. "And yet they were all part of this larger phenomenon, one of the most productive ever in rock 'n' roll."

That phenomenon also had a look, one that started when New York punker Richard Hell stuck safety pins to a ripped T-shirt. By 1977, the Sex Pistols were so packaged like this year's model — by McLaren and a salacious media — that you could see the end was near. For the band, and for punk.

"When we arrived in London in 1977, punk was already just about fashion," says Chris Bailey, leader of Australian punk legends the Saints. "The Sex Pistols were a great band, but you could see that the whole thing was becoming a marketing ploy."

Rotten felt the same way. The singer displayed disgust at the circus surrounding the band, not to mention its ringleader, McLaren.

That was coupled with Vicious' drug abuse and McLaren's insanely bad attention-seeking scheme to have the band tour America's Deep South. They went where they were hated — and it led to the band collapsing onstage.

On Jan. 14, 1978, after a mess of a show in San Francisco, the Pistols played their finale — with Rotten ending it all by telling the crowd, "Ever get the feeling that you've been cheated?" Maybe.

But 30 years later, "Never Mind the Bollocks" still leaves rock fans satisfied.