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The guitarist stops in the middle of the fourth song to announce, "Fuckin' shit! " and plays an ungodly out-of-tune chord that no one else had even noticed in the cacophony. "We never said we were musicians." When the audience becomes restless, she calls them "wankers" (masturbators) and launches into a tune called, "You're My Number One Enemy."The crowd loves it, dancing with even greater abandon – with the exception of one pogo stick who stops in midhop at the sight of my notebook and demands to know what paper I'm from.

The singer, apparently the only one with pitch, has to tune the guitar for her. I say I'm American, not one of the wanking English press.

Roadies onstage and a few fans hurl beer glasses at each other.

The Slits turn out to be an all-female teenage aggregation whose efforts almost any current American rock audience would reward with a shower of bottles.

We’re actually optimistic that people will have privacy 5 years from now than they do today.

And realize that powerful web services like Facebook offer zero protection.It is Malcolm Mc Laren, manager of the Sex Pistols, the world's most notorious punk band who I have flown from New York to meet and see perform. I introduce myself and suggest we get together soon. The dancing is frantic as a band called the Slits sets up.He changes the subject by introducing me to Russ Meyer, the softcore porn king of Supervixens and Beyond the Valley of the Dolls fame, who is directing the Sex Pistols' movie. The style is called pogo dancing – jumping up and down and flailing one's arms around.As a single mom, it was overwhelming at times to stay present while he screamed and thrashed; inconsolable, irrational and escalating. little before midnight, my taxi arrives at a club called the Vortex.

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