C
ontrary to any prejudices you may have about John Lydon, the former Johnny Rotten’s favorite choice of beverage is pineapple juice. In the middle of a Zoom call from his London home, where he reports he’s been “boiling alive” as England experiences a heat wave, Lydon pauses the proceedings for a refreshing refill. “Heeeere’s Johnny,” he snarls when he returns. And after a swig of the fruity nectar, he proclaims, “It cleanses the system,” while flashing a toothy grimace.
Lydon, best known as the Sex Pistols’ loudmouthed voice of punk anarchy and Public Image Ltd.’s caterwauling proclaimer that anger is an energy, turned 70 in January, but in many ways he’s still the same scabrous truth gobber he always was. He still sports plaid made of clashing colors (today, a variety of blues with … salmon?) and maintains a shock of red hair, which complements well his most prominent sign of aging: uncharacteristically rose-tinted glasses. He also still smokes like a chimney.
“Well, I’m still here, aren’t I?” he chortles between cigarette puffs. “I’d rather die early and happy, than a 90-year-old in misery, chewing his fingernails. I ignored all the medical advice in the world. So I intend to continue the same way.”
