Fifty years ago, the Sex Pistols shocked the establishment, generated salacious media headlines, shook up the music industry, and scared local authorities into banning their concerts. They were even celebrated as “Young Businessmen of the Year” for managing to extract large amounts of money from clueless/gutless record labels – these labels effectively paid the band to simply go away and leave them alone. I would recommend watching “The Filth and The Fury” documentary to get a better understanding of this startling episode in music history.

Unfortunately, the Sex Pistols imploded within two years – so I didn’t have a chance to see them in their heyday. But fast forward 20 years, and the band brought their Filthy Lucre tour to Japan. I was living in Hong Kong then, and thanks to my old mate and celebrated author, David Quantick, I ended up spending a night in Tokyo with the Sex Pistols.

At the time, David was a writer for leading UK music magazines, and he’d come to Japan to cover some live gigs. When I met him at his Tokyo hotel, his first words were: “We can either go and see this Welsh indie band, or we can see the Sex Pistols at Budokan.” With apologies to Super Furry Animals, it was no contest, and the Pistols won hands down.

The gig itself was mainly memorable for the sight of a crowd of Japanese fans singing along to “I am an anti-Christ, I am an anarchist” – many of them wouldn’t have been born when the Sex Pistols were in their prime.

After the show, we went to a back stage area, where a rather desultory “after party” was happening – a few beers in a cavernous loading bay. If I recall correctly, The Sex Pistols (minus John Lydon) made a brief appearance, but it was clear they didn’t really want to be there. We soon got word that there was an “after after party” being hosted in a venue “nearby”, so with address in hand, we went in search of further adventures.

Although I’d been to Tokyo before, I’d forgotten that distances within the megatropolis can be deceptive, and “nearby” was somewhat misleading. Also, street addresses in Japan can be very confusing for visitors, and it was obvious we were never going to find the location unaided. Thanks to our taxi driver and some friendly strangers, we made it to the venue, which turned out to be a subterranean night club, occupying several floors.

Before I knew it, I was sitting next to Sex Pistols bass player, Glen Matlock. Next to him were guitarist Steve Jones and drummer Paul Cook. (Lydon, not surprisingly, was a no-show). I got into a long conversation with Glen, mainly about the Filthy Lucre tour, and  also about the band’s “reunion”. I was curious how they got on, given the acrimony that had seen Glen leave the original band in early 1977.

I soon realised that the drinks kept appearing at our table, but the bar staff didn’t ask for payment – so we were drinking on the Sex Pistols’ tab (or the Japanese promoter’s). I wish I’d taken a photo of me sitting alongside the three band members (“for one night only, John Lydon was replaced by an unknown singer…”) but selfie culture was not a thing back then.

A few hours later, the band and their immediate entourage had left. The club manager came over and politely explained that from now on, we would have to pay for our own drinks. Similar Japanese reserve and restraint was on display the next day. I had crashed at David’s hotel room in the early hours of the morning, but he had to depart soon after dawn to catch his flight home. I slept on, but around 10am or 11am, the phone rang. It was the hotel reception politely but firmly suggesting I should vacate the room as soon as possible. I can’t imagine such tolerance and patience being shown in many other places.

Fast forward another 14 years, and I was walking along Melbourne’s Collins Street on my way to work. I spotted a vaguely familiar face having a coffee at a pavement cafe.

“Are you Glen Matlock?”

“Who wants to know?”

Having quickly established my bona fides (and Glen corrected me as to the exact date of our previous encounter), it turned out that he was in town as part of Robert Gordon’s  backing band – an almost surreal supergroup that not even AI could have dreamt up. The Robert Gordon gig that weekend at Richmond’s Corner Hotel was something of a frustrating experience. It felt like the singer was simply going through the motions – his performance was more showbiz posture, and less musical substance. Anyway, it’s nice to see that Glen has found a new home as a member of Blondie (and a reputation for being an amiable grand old man of rock).

Next week: My night with the Buzzcocks