Spend a little time talking with Steve Jones and you quickly realize his charm—a disarming cocktail of blunt frankness and improbable innocence, swirled with a playful, self-deprecating manner that’s a telling reminder of his hardscrabble, Shepherd’s Bush, London working-class roots—is no act.
The onetime-sometime Sex Pistols guitarist—who helped define the sound and style of punk guitar, and once seemed destined to become but an important footnote to rock history—now finds himself acclaimed as one of the most original and influential personalities in rock radio. His Jonesy’s Jukebox show on Los Angeles’ Indie 103.1 has become an influential tastemaker, showcasing Jones’ disarming personality, and freewheeling play lists that feature beautiful incongruities like Waylon Jennings sandwiched between Bread and AC/DC.
As with his guitar playing, Jones has triumphed by simply being the real deal. And if he’s likely broken every rule in the broadcasting textbook in the bargain—sometimes in a single shift—it’s all part of Jones’ shambling, innocent appeal.
The over-the-top notoriety that quickly overshadowed the Sex Pistols themselves once relegated Jones to a fitting, if distinctly ironic status: Punk icon with no future. While the blazing guitar sound with which Steve powered “God Save the Queen” and Never Mind the Bollocks would launch a musical revolution whose echoes still reverberate loudly through rock music 30 years on, Jones’ own haphazard post-Pistols musical career could be seen as largely a bust. Yet Steve wouldn’t view it that way—he’d more likely argue it was just the way things were meant to be. Indeed, the guitarist/deejay sees the hand of fate in everything from being a Sex Pistol to his remarkable second career in radio, even his own sobriety.
A few months after it’s announced that the Sex Pistols will reunite once again for a series of 30th anniversary shows in Brixton, London, Steve sat down with Gibson to discuss the meaning of it all.
How did you end up in Los Angeles? That move seems the key to so much else in your life.
I’ve been here almost 27 years now. I just kind of drifted through it once and loved it from the minute I came here. Living in London, the weather was fantastic and I liked the openness of it. I used to watch CHiPs when I lived in England, and it was like, “that place looks cool, I wanna go there!” When I first came here, some girl took me to a drive-in movie in a Cadillac convertible and I just fell in love with it from that moment. But it’s changed a lot. Some of the great landmarks have gone, which is a shame.
Is this remotely where you thought you might be in life 30 years after the Sex Pistols break up?
No. I had no idea.
What were your post-Pistols ambitions?
I didn’t have any. Gettin’ high was pretty much my ambition. I wasn’t really happy.
Was there a letdown, a sense that the band may have been a high watermark in your life?
I wasn’t even thinking about that, really. After the Pistols break up—which was partly, a good portion of it, due to me—I’d had enough after we played our last show in San Francisco and I said, “I quit.” Ten years later I regretted making that decision. But I was so miserable at the time. It didn’t have anything to do with the band, which is what I thought it was. I was just not a happy camper. I thought I was havin’ a good time, and I was. I was having loads of sex and doing loads of drugs.
That’s a familiar scenario. Kurt Cobain comes to mind.
I was lucky. I kinda got to a place where I lost everything, hit bottom and had to work my way back up. Unfortunately, he didn’t get to that place, Kurt Cobain. Which I think he could have. When I heard that he’d killed himself, and he was very depressed—I mean anyone who kicks heroin goes into major depression. And you don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. And that’s when people make silly decisions like, “I think I’ll myself.”
What turned it around for you?
I’d pretty much lost everything. Who knows? Everyone’s got their path set for them, and there’s no rhyme or reason to it.
Well, there’s a philosophy for you.
Everything just happens the way it’s supposed to happen. I believe that. I don’t believe there’s a god, like a Father Christmas character up in the clouds. I don’t believe all that b.s. I don’t believe all religions. But things do happen for a reason.
You’re a big believer in fate.
Yeah. Exactly.
Do the upcoming Sex Pistols anniversary shows in Brixton feel like fate?
I’m excited. It breaks it up, a change–and I never thought I’d say this–from having a regular job. And it’s a great job.
Even if at this point the Sex Pistols are the world’s unlikeliest oldies act. At least you don’t have to worry about coming up with a new album.
Though I’d like to.
What’s stopping that?
I don’t know. John’s not big on doing that.
Yet he’s fine essentially selling 30-year-old punk nostalgia, which seems even weirder.
People say “do a new album!” But when you do a new album and they come and see you live, all they really wanna hear is the stuff they know, anyway. It would be nice if we knocked off a couple new things, but I don’t mind just playing the old stuff. It’s not the end of the world if we don’t do new stuff.
Your show has an element of perpetual surprise that’s virtually extinct in radio.
I did play Journey this morning. I don’t know if that was a surprise.
And I remember you playing a lot of Boston early on, much to the distress of a few listeners.
And they were hatin’ it, yeah.
Yet there doesn’t seem an ounce of intentional irony in any of it.
I’m not saying I like Boston just to be “different.” I’ve always said I liked them, even when I was in the Pistols. I didn’t tell too many back then that I liked Boston, but I did! And I loved Journey, too. All them bands. Unfortunately, your Journeys of the world have a bad rap, for whatever reason. Yeah, that one video they did was awful, that one where they’re making like they’re playing their instruments in some dockyard, with some ‘80s chick with the hair and the leather jacket. It was the worst video.
What was the first music you remember hearing?
Something that really had an effect on me was the guy, who was older than me, that lived next door to me in Shepherd’s Bush. He had a single of “Purple Haze.” I was like nine or ten at the time and I would hang out with him. He was about 15 or 16 and he would play it on his little record player. And I kept saying, “Play that again, please, play that again!” I was obsessed with it.
Being from Shepherd’s Bush, were the Who sort of neighborhood heroes to you?
Not really. I was too young to grasp the Who. Later on, I figured out they was from so-called Shepherd’s Bush. But I was at their last show with Keith Moon, the one they filmed at Shepperton studios (1978 performances of “Baba O’Riley” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again” included in The Kids Are Alright documentary). It was a great, great show!
Did Pete have an effect on you? The “Steve Jones sound” always struck me as Townshend’s tone tempered by Mick Ronson’s economy.
Mick Ronson was definitely a big influence. I was a mad Bowie fan growing up, with the glam and all that. And the Faces. Ronnie Wood was one of the guys I loved growing up as a teenager. Pete Townshend was definitely an influence, but not as much as Mick Ronson and Ronnie Wood. The Faces were like my band. The Who had already been goin’ a long time. I’m not takin’ anything away from Pete Townshend; he’s a fantastic guitar player and brilliant songwriter. It was just that those other bands – and Roxy Music – them three bands were my favorite bands growing up. I’d go and see them everywhere. And Mott the Hoople. Mick Ralphs was a great guitar player. And I liked Free, even though that was a little before my time. I thought Paul Kossoff was a great guitar player, too. Status Quo, there was another great band.
Did the Pistols seem like a logical extension of that history? The hype was that you were consciously destroying it.
To me it was like the next step. The New York Dolls were an influence on me as well. I actually saw the New York Dolls opening up for the Faces. I was just there to see The Faces and I happened to catch the Dolls and I thought, wow, these guys are wild! I’d never seen anything like it. The Faces were kinda loose, a party band and they were always drinkin’ and stuff, but the New York Dolls, those guys were like out of control kind of stuff that I’d never seen before.
When John Lydon was on your show last year, he tried to downplay a lot of the Pistols mythology by saying something very wise: that if you were true to yourself and your art—no matter if he liked it or not—then you were his friend, not an enemy.
People are so ready to sell their souls these days. No one stands up and says, “No, screw that, I wanna do it this way.” People don’t do that anymore.
Isn’t that the essence of what “punk” really meant, once upon a time?
Or even the hippies. They kinda did the same thing. They said, “No, we’re doin’ it this way, ‘cause we don’t like the way things are.” It wasn’t much different other than the length of their hair and the flared pants. Or in the ’50s. All generations need to be rebellious.
The current one can seem rebellion-challenged.
I know. It bothers me. The parents and the kids go to the same concerts, which is wrong.
Tell me about picking up the guitar.
Actually, it was three months before we did our first gig.
That’s still hard to believe.
But it’s true. I’d twiddled about with a few guitars beforehand. That was when I was assigned to be the guitar player, ‘cause I was the singer and I didn’t like it. So we auditioned singers and we got John and I got slung in the deep-end on the guitar. And it was about a year after that that we recorded Never Mind the Bollocks. So I’d literally been playing about a year. There again comes fate. Just like the guitar. I never thought about really playing the guitar. I’d had fantasies about being in a band, but you know….
How did you approach the guitar from that perspective?
I was 18 or19, and had various guitars that I’d “lifted” without paying for. But the one that I started playing was the one that Malcolm McLaren actually brought back from New York that he got off Sylvain Sylvain, which was the white Gibson Les Paul. A ’74, I think it was, a white Custom.
Rumors persist that you’ve sold more than one of those.
That is true. But I never said it was the original. It might have been mine for only a month, but it was mine.
Who influenced your playing initially?
Ronnie Wood. I wanted to be like him, sound like him. But obviously it didn’t come out that way. But what did come out was me own sound.
A Les Paul Custom still seems like a posh instrument for the Pistols.
Well, I didn’t know what it was! I thought it was a guitar. I had no idea about musical instruments, really. When I’d go and see bands I’d look at what they were using, so that’s what we wanted. We didn’t know what it was, you know?
I assume you’ve gotten a bit more sophisticated.
Well, I’m definitely not one of them “NAMM guys,” ya know. I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than listen to all that crap. I have no idea. I keep it really simple. I’m digging acoustics and want to get a J-200. I’ve thought about getting an old one, but they’re like 18, 20 grand. But the new Gibson acoustics are really nice. I’m actually in the midst of getting one, an all-maple one. And I said, “Can you make it look old?” So they’re doing whatever they do. Make it look like it’s from the ‘50s. I’ve only got into acoustics because of doing the radio show. But I do enjoy acoustics now. Other than that, I’m pretty happy with the white Les Paul. Always had one and think I always will. Mid-‘70s are like the best years. It’s not an investment thing, but you get a mid-‘70s and they’re always pretty much the same; sound the same, the neck’s good.
What happened to the original Les Paul that Malcolm gave you for the Pistols?
It’s weird. I don’t know what happened to it. I believe this woman’s got it. And I’m not gonna say where she lives, ‘cause I would like to get it back. She actually called me to verify it so she could sell it. It was kind of our dodgy manager at the time who took it upon himself to get rid of all our equipment, ‘cause he reckoned we owed him money. It kind of went from someone else to her. And I said, to be honest with you, it was kinda taken from me and she got kinda sentimental, felt for me, and wanted to know if I would buy it back. I had a look at the pictures and it actually does look like it. That’s how it was left six months ago. But I don’t know if it’s the real one, or if I’m gettin’ taken for a ride.