Sex Pistols At The Royal Albert Hall
Published
530pm, and I’m early for the show. What to do, what to do? Find some food? Go for a beer? I’ve got an hour to kill. But I’m too excited to venture too far from the venue. Once again, I rely on trusty Google, and it does me well yet again. This time, it introduces me to ‘The Queens Arms’… ‘a quiet local pub for residents’ and a ‘…quieter than normal’ descriptive on the map.
So, let’s hop foot it along the road, parallel to Kensington Gardens and head to the pub for a swift one. The sun is setting between the high rises just off Prince’s Gardens, and I am only a few hours away from watching history in the making. I am en route to watch the Sex Pistols play the Royal Albert Hall. The way the setting sun light is defused by the hazy spring air makes the whole experience feel almost fairy tale like. Did I tell you, I’m only hours away from watching the Sex Pistols play the Royal Albert Hall!
Hang on. This looks interesting. The Queens Arms is not a quiet pub for locals… unless 200 locals have all accumulated outside the pub to enjoy the polluted London air together? Without my glasses on, it looks like I can see humans with odd shaped heads, colourful trousers and what appears to be straps and clompy great feet. What kind of locals are these alien beings?
They’re punks! That’s what they are! As the length of paved street between me and said aliens diminished, the odd shaped heads is actually spiked hair, mohawks and back combs! Tartan trousers are the order of the night! Braces fallen by the way side and a marketing event that would make Doctor Martens proud is unfolding before me. This is where it’s at pre gig, for sure.
I couldn’t possibly cover all the over heard conversations during my 15 minute queue at the bar, and the time taken to drink my 7 quid pint. But, as if I was in a Dolby Atmos theatre, ‘Pistols’ stories were infecting my brain from all directions. By the looks of some of the punters, time hadn’t been too kind, and neither had the effects of those golden years of punk. But what an amazing welcoming friendly crowd! All there to share their experiences, no matter how distorted they’ve become by the passage of time and mind altering chemicals. This was their night. The home team was playing.
The Royal Albert Hall. Vastly cylindrical, and impressive in stature, stands boldly surrounded by £5M apartments and neighboured by the faint sounds of the strings from the Royal Academy of Music.
A passer by summarises it all ‘excuse me?’ The suited gentleman said to me, ‘I assume there’s an event this evening in the Albert Hall judging by the crowds, may I ask if you know who is playing?
‘The fucking Sex Pistols mate!’ I shouted as I spat on his well polished shoes!
That was a lie, I did’t say that at all. I said it was the “Teenage Cancer Trust’ week with a mixture of performances from music to comedy. ‘Good show’ he said as he strutted off towards Knightsbridge.
I’m still feeling as if I’m in a gentle dream world. Even as I walk through the doors to collect my ticket, I am greeting by aged staff, polished shoes, and bright red blazers. The bars, selling wine, cocktails, craft beers and freshly baked pastries. Is this the place that punk thought it would have the honour of playing when the Sex Pistols rose to fame in 1976? I don’t know, you’d have to ask them. But, considering at about a third into the evenings headline set, Frank Carter, front man for the show, explained that Steve Jones had never even been to the Albert Hall before, would suggest it wasn’t on the agenda 49 years ago.
So, on with the show as they say. Let’s get straight to it! (Or is it too late for that?)
This show, along with the rest of the weeks performances, is all in support of the Teenage Cancer Trust charity. A totally amazing charity, that has been supported by this event now for 25 years. It being more than just a music gig, the evening was to raise awareness and to accept donations in order to help the trust continue with its incredible work and support they provide for younger people who get diagnosed with cancer. 7 per day apparently, according the rather bumbling duo from Absolute Radio. Come on guys, you would have thought you could have learnt who was playing, and the main sponsor back stage was Dominos Pizza - did you really need to read that from hand held Q-cards?
The Molotovs get the night going, with a somewhat mixed influence performance. Body language of a mod, vocals of punk, covers of David Bowie and a fringed haircut from front man Matt Molotov that would inspire Mr Majeika. Accompanied by a ’13 year old Prince Harry look-a-like’ on the drums, and the brightest red boots keeping bassist Issey Carts connected to the stage, they made a hell of a noise! Attitude, charisma, and a decent sound from the Rickenbacker paired musicians got the crowd moving.
Their 9 song set didn’t appear to last for too long, as most songs were pretty short and punchy. A credible performance, that certainly got the intrigued crowd interested.
A short interlude, once again presented by the Q-card reading radio duo that gave more detail into the charity’s excellent work. A respectful audience were bought to tears at times by some of the video shorts of the work and support the trust dishes out daily to those that need it. It was heart warming, and emotionally moving.
This I think actually presented a challenge for the audience, but, also, for the performers. Entering the stage next was the gang from Hastings, Kid Kapichi. Just over ten years into their time together, they did well to bring the crowd back to the excitement of music. Heavily riffed songs, played notably louder than the previous act, they did a sterling job of reminding people that they came to rock out (or is that punk out?). If Kid Kapichi were a wine, you’d be getting essence of Madness, hints of The Jam and an accent of Punk (quite literally at times). The band leave stage to an accommodating applause and the lads really did well to maintain the momentum.
Once again, the crowd falls silent as the VT rolls with a brief overview of a very recent storey, a storey belonging to 24 year old Grace. A true rocker, and front women of VENUS GRRRLS. Now cancer free, the VT detailed her amazing journey. To a standing ovation, Grace, along with a host of other young survivors deservedly took a bow along with selfies to mark the occasion. Hard hitting, as it was meant to be, the atmosphere was a touch somber as people reached for their phones to donate to the cause.
It passes 9pm, and the packed out venue starts that unified crowd anticipation. That murmur of excitement, the collective frustration of ‘shall I visit the toilet now and risk missing the band or leave it until later and risk the chance of an accident?’. We’ve all been there!
And it happens… the auditorium lights go out, leaving a faded deep blue to embrace the stage as gentle orchestral music aims to match the more traditional music goers of the Albert Hall. The keen would actually recognise the score… less orchestrally traditional than one might first seem…
And we’re off, lights go up, revealing the wonderfully bright yellow and pink limited edition Marshall amps. The boys confidently walk on stage, with very little said, but a confidence that says ‘yes, we’re the Sex Pistols’. ‘Holiday in the Sun’ kicks off with front man Frank Carter kicking the arse out of the air, shaking the mic stand and giving it large on the pipes. His distinct accent matches the theme of the night and blends into the bands discography as if it was part of the creation.
The simple sound of thumping bass, Les Paul and drums, doesn’t need anything else. It’s loud, it’s totally in ya face. It’s simple chords played right in your ears, accompanied by nearly 50 years of crowd support!
The voices, enthusiasm and commitment from loyal fans is a wonder to be a part of. Everyone here feels as if this night is something out of this world, and we’re not even 4 mins into the gig yet!
With so much enthusiasm I might add, that the fella next me and his pal, threw their beers in the air, and with a leap far too spritely for people of their age, bounced over the seated barriers and fell onto the standing stalls in order to run to the front. I did feel for the young steward as she looked bewildered as how to deal what she saw limping past her. But, in fairness, what could she do amongst hundreds of punk fans all forming an increasingly large circle pit in front of the stage.
There is no pause to the pace as ‘Seventeen’ is blasted out. The usual centre stage crowd is finding it impossible to stand still, especially when Carter is on top of them crowd surfing singing ‘I’m a lazy sod…’
‘New York’ is fired out, and that’s the first 3 songs in the past. As is tradition (as the media crew get hustled out the pit), the front man breaks silence and addresses the crowd. With thanks to the crowd and praise to the Teenage Cancer Trust, it isn’t long before ‘Pretty Vacant’ is delivered out of the musicians finger tips. Just ‘wow’. The crowd, the aggression in the delivery, the clarity of the rhythm. I think I counted 6 people going overhead at one point, all simultaneously! Carter being one of them!
Now it’s a party, and the atmosphere of the punk scene is back! I had to admit, I had some doubt as to whether that raw feeling of punk could be created in such an iconic high class venue, that was supported by Aldi and Dominos Pizza. But this is where Frank Carter excels. Not original, and perhaps for some not needed. But, for others, myself included, this was an utter joyous experience of raw power, attitude, nostalgia, hope, laughter and for the chance for anyone that wasn’t around in the 70’s, to hear that era for the first time.
I’d have to check my notes, but, I think I’m right in thinking another 2-3 songs fly by. The circle pit is encouraged to get bigger. ‘The biggest the Royal Albert hall has ever seen’ we’re instructed to try to create. With Frank walking the crowd, as in, he was walking along the shoulders of the crowd at times, he made the voluminous venue appear like a small Friday night club. During ‘Silly Thing’ Carter is actually in the middle of the circle pit, still managing to belt out the lyrics whilst being surrounded by loyal fans (with more green hair than I’ve ever seen in one place!)
We’re into ‘God Save the Queen’, and the steady Steve Jones and Glen Matlock hold the fort on stage so well. Solid and professional, they play together better than most people ever could. All the while, Frank is being one of the crowd and exudes endless energy.
The Stooges ‘No Fun’ flies by, along with ‘Satellite’ and ‘No Feelings’. The circle pit gets bigger, the chugging of palm mutes continues, and Frank’s clothes continue to get more dishevelled, despite him telling us ‘my mum always told me to tuck my shirt in’
‘E.M.I’ is always a crowd pleaser. To be fair, any song this evening has been a crowd pleaser as the band rip through their classics and Carter delivers each song with such attitude and power. He really has made this band to be back on top, and be the band of the moment in 2025. The Pistols tour throughout the rest of the year will only get more in demand as the fans get to experience what it is that they do so well.
Time for a break. No, not from me! I mean the band, it’s nearing the end of the show, and there is a 2 minute breather before The Sex Pistols return to stage for 2 final numbers of the night.
‘Imagine this is like a Cold Play gig, but just much better’ sends giggles around the venue as Carter thanks the band for changing his life. A heartfelt meaning from the man who appears so angry in his delivery. A gentle version of ‘My Way’ is covered, as the lights on people’s phones twinkle around the room.
It’s nearly time, and even thinking about it, the goosebumps raise up on my arms, as I remember the final number being delivered to 5000 hungry fans. ‘Anarchy in the UK’ could not be more relevant in 2025, and the crowd know it. It couldn’t be more enjoyed by any crowd. A clear anthem that means so much to many, and to now, multiple generations enjoy this classic noise written all those decades ago.
And so, the evening of March 24th, 2025 draws to a close. The Sex Pistols with Frank Carter have done it. They’ve magically bought together 15 songs, multiple generations, nearly 5 decades of history, reignited cultures and welcomed new fans to the cause.
The Royal Albert Hall, opened in 1871, this evening home to the Teenage Cancer Trust, supported by Aldi and Dominos Pizza, compared by the Q-cards at Absolute Radio wasn’t the place I expected to find the a movement from the past. A culture from the 70’s, iconic and perhaps once thought diminished. Just because only a few people still have the hair to dye green, doesn’t mean the spirit isn’t still wanting a place to dwell. And tonight, that spirit found a home.
