I can't believe it's Rott's Butter
Back in the 1970s, the musical and cultural landscape of Great Britain was flipped firmly on its arse by a movement.
It was a movement soundtracked by sloppy, snarling guitars, adorned in torn denim and spawning countless imitators. It's name, of course, was punk.
At the forefront of this movement, if history serves us correct, were the Sex Pistols; a bunch of rag-tag, socio-anarchich antichrists who struck fear into the hearts of the establishment as they embarked on a single-minded mission to rebel.
What were they rebelling against? The government? Society? The overblown pomp of prog-rock?
No my friends, the Sex Pistols and their safety pin-pierced brethren were actually rebelling against really bad butter.
At least, that's the best reason I can come up with to explain former Sex Pistols frontman, John Lydon (or Johnny Rotten, as it were), parading around a field in his welly-bobs as the star of a new commercial for 'Country Life' butter.
It was a movement soundtracked by sloppy, snarling guitars, adorned in torn denim and spawning countless imitators. It's name, of course, was punk.
At the forefront of this movement, if history serves us correct, were the Sex Pistols; a bunch of rag-tag, socio-anarchich antichrists who struck fear into the hearts of the establishment as they embarked on a single-minded mission to rebel.
What were they rebelling against? The government? Society? The overblown pomp of prog-rock?
No my friends, the Sex Pistols and their safety pin-pierced brethren were actually rebelling against really bad butter.
At least, that's the best reason I can come up with to explain former Sex Pistols frontman, John Lydon (or Johnny Rotten, as it were), parading around a field in his welly-bobs as the star of a new commercial for 'Country Life' butter.