Cinamon Hadley was an American girl working at an Old Dutch Pancake house in Chelsea. She loved to wear black. Black shirt, black pants, black hair, and then on top of it all she wore a silver ankh necklace. One day, Neil Gaiman and Mike Dringenberg (one’s a crazy popular writer before he was popular and the other is his artist for “The Sandman” comic book series) come into have pancakes. When they see her, mouths drop, eyes pop, and pants tighten. There and then, she becomes the inspiration for one of the most iconic comic book characters of all time: Death. Beautiful, edgy, and most of all post-fucking-punk. Cinamon Hadley died today after a battle with cancer, so I thought, let’s get into some post-fucking-punk girls and into a female that challenged the world on what it means to be female. One of the most influential British singers of the rock era. The monarch of mascara. The ice queen herself. Siouxsie Sioux (sounds like: Suzy Sue).
Here’s how it all fucking started: Before the Sex Pistols became what they are, they needed more bands on tour with them cause their set wasn’t long enough. They asked through the crowd and Siouxsie, without a band, songs, or any experience in music, tells them she’ll do it. That’s right. That’s how she did it. And it’s punk as fuck.
One of the most controversial, and requested, moments in television history is the 1976 interview of The Sex Pistols on The Today show with Bill Grundy. Remember that this is 1976 in fucking posho Britain. Here is part of the exchange between Steve Jones (guitarist) and Grundy before they are cut off:
Jones: “You dirty sod. You dirty old man.”
Grundy: “Well keep going chief, keep going. Go on. You’ve got another five seconds. Say something outrageous.”
Jones: “You dirty bastard.”
Grundy: “Go on, again.”
Jones: “You dirty fucker.”
Grundy: “What a clever boy.”
Jones: “What a fucking rotter.”
During that interview if you look in the back, there’s a girl with platinum blonde hair and what appears to be a type of clown makeup, that’s little Siouxie. And still, she’s punk as fuck.
Holy shit! I guess I should talk about the music.
Personally, I’m not a big fan of her albums as a whole, but I really do like her best of. Maybe that’s not a personal enough touch for you, but because this is a punk write up here’s my response: “Fuck you and that fucking shit bag of a rat fucker you call a wife and go sod off somewhere to give birth to that flaming shard you call a haircut” (at this point I angrily bite a half-cooked hotdog, take a drag of a cigarette, wash it down with a mixture of bleach and vodka, and give you my toothiest smile).
Her cover of “Dear Prudence” and “Hong Kong Garden” is something special. There is a reason she’s queen. The former song is not a good taste for the modern liberal stomach, which, when you think of it, makes it all the fucking better. One of my favourites of hers is “Happy House” because it’s one of her more honest. It’s about the image of happiness people project when really, what’s going on inside and behind closed doors, is fucking terrible. Her piece of shit alcoholic father was, well, a piece of shit. She hated to be at home with him. That’s my style anyway, but this is post-fucking-punk man, don’t think too much about it. Just listen and dance. And with the rebirth of the ’80s, this shit sounds even better. Siouxie is guaranteed to have some big hit song on some new millennial movie starring some young and mellow version of Siouxie herself. Barf. Puke. Vomit. Go take a nasty shit, spit on the floor, throw on some actual Siouxie, and dance like you have the power to kick the world a new asshole in steel-toed boots and leather pants. Cheers.