Never Mind The Rotten: Sex Pistols With Frank Carter ROCK the Hollywood Palladium (Review)

Sex Pistols
Hollywood Palladium (4K-cap)
Los Angeles, CA
Oct. 18, 2026

“Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?”

Those were the last words uttered by John Lydon, then Johnny Rotten, at the Sex Pistols’ final show January 1978, at Winterland in San Francisco some 48 years ago after their ill-fated, infamous, and chaotic 7-show initial tour of the U.S. South and Midwest. The band was falling apart, and their rallying cry of “No Future” seemed especially apt, as Svengali manager Malcolm McLaren whisked them off to Rio de Janeiro, replacing the recalcitrant Rotten with real-life train robber Ronnie Biggs.

The original group reunited several times after that, bassist Glen Matlock returning for the late Sid Vicious, most notably for the excellent 1996 “Filthy Lucre Tour,” cheekily admitting to a shameless cash grab for a total of 72 shows in Europe, the U.S., Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Japan and South America from June through December.

The current iteration, which came together in 2024 for a series of U.K. shows performing the 1977 foundational punk-rock masterpiece Never Mind the Bollocks, includes Frank Carter, a 42-year-old Brit hardcore punk vet and sometime tattoo artist, who has fronted bands including Gallows, Pure Love and the Rattlesnakes. Rolling into a sold-out 4,000-capacity Hollywood Palladium, at part of the 24-date “50 Years of Punk Tour,” (which was initially delayed because of a Steve Jones wrist injury) the newly cocked Pistols replaced anarchy with a tightly choreographed, 70-minute, 14-song set staged between a backdrop of two speakers titled “Nowhere” and “Boredom” that thrilled and delighted a crowd of all ages, bearing T-shirts from The Damned, Buzzcocks, Misfits and Bad Brains to Led Zeppelin and the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Bookended by “Holidays in the Sun” and “Anarchy in the U.K.,” was it shameless karaoke, as Lydon has so contemptuously put it, a celebration of punk’s incredible half-century persistence or something in between? Replacing Rotten’s sneering sarcasm with fervent cheerleading, the clearly delighted-to-be-there Carter MC’ed the maelstrom with aplomb, deftly organizing pogo jumps (for their cover of Paul Revere and the Raiders’ “[I’m Not Your] Steppin’ Stone”), and mosh pits, including a brilliant females-only one for “No Feeling,” which he described as the greatest punk song of all time.

Carter brought the infectious energy, but it was the band itself which has evolved into a propulsive classic rock band, guitarist Steve Jones’ Tony Iommi-meets-Johnny Thunders wall of sound, buttressed by a kick-ass, well-oiled rhythm section in Matlock (who is credited with the melodies on many of the original songs) and powerhouse drummer Paul Cook. Politics were thankfully kept to a minimum, except for a reference to that guy in the White House, appropriately enough, during “Liar.”

It was hard not to get swept up in the rapturous crowd reaction, gleefully yelling along to “I’m not an animal” on the screed, “Bodies,” or “I am anarchy” to the set closer. Whether it struck you as a band that once threatened to disrupt the entire rock ‘n’ roll food chain, a brilliant reinvention or a nostalgia act, it was clear the crowd lapped it up and that the intent of the Sex Pistols in 2026 is to have fun—something in awfully short supply these days. In fact, the set piece of the entire show is the cover of the Stooges’ “No Fun,” an elongated version which allows Carter to introduce the rest of the band, who proceed to take the spotlight with – punk apostasy!— individual solos (all very good and Jonesy can really play).

Yes, these Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductees have turned out to be honest-to-goodeness rock ‘n’ roll torchbearers with a brand that survives even their bitter diatribe against the now largely defunct “E.M.I.” Malcolm McLaren, wherever he is, is maybe having the last laugh.

In the end, my only quibble was that Carter kept his jacket on for the entire show, hiding the brilliant ink tapestry which makes his body a living work of art. But that’s just a small complaint. And no, I didn’t feel cheated one bit. No future, indeed.