The spirit of ’76, ‘77 and all that written large on a stage in M13. I give you Manchester Academy, 24^th September 2024, where punk met heritage rock ’n’ roll, with added panto and theatrical moments, all before an adoring crowd of mostly old ’uns but a few spellbound young faces too.

Two nights after a Glasgow Academy appearance, this was part four of a five-date sell-out tour on the back of a two-evening fundraiser in Shepherd’s Bush in mid-August, and a proper night to remember, and what a way to bring up my 500^th gig (no doubt give or take a few I’ve failed to scribble down since 1980) – a three-quarter reunion of the Sex Pistols taking place just off Oxford Road, marking a rather special personal North West farewell outing for a punter who celebrated his 10th birthday the day before Never Mind the Bollocks first hit the shops.

I’ve been lucky enough to interview Paul Cook and John Lydon in recent years, and both were great company and came over so well. But I’d never managed to catch them live. On the afternoon of this epic show though, moving a stack of Mojo magazines as part of my dreaded downsize reorganisation, I lifted the top of a pile and startlingly had Lydon, Cook, Jones and Matlock staring back at me (some more menacingly than others) from 2008’s reunion. As if asking, ‘You coming, or what?’ It was meant to be.

And while Johnny has his own thing going on right now, deputy Frank Carter does the job superbly. More to the point for me, thankfully I’ve a good mate still savvy enough (and quick and patient enough) to have somehow snared tickets during that sell-out morning rush a few weeks back. Credit due to Prentice James, who was taking in key punk bands at the Electric Circus in 1977 at the age of 14, but missed out on the Pistols… so here was his chance to triumphantly make up for that, albeit 47 years later.

In my case, my first live gig was in the Summer of 1980, aged 12, at a village hall in deepest rural Surrey. I already knew my way around the new wave jungle at that point, thanks to an older brother and his mates, and the band I saw that night – Blank Expression, schoolboys themselves but crucially two years older – exuded punk rock for me, pitched somewhere between the Pistols, Buzzcocks, The Damned, and The Stranglers. They sadly lost their lead singer, my old friend Chris Try, last year, at far too young an age, but back in the day he carried that trademark Lydon sneer to a tee, and Frank Carter too has that quality, adding the energy required here. Mind you, let’s face it, how wrong can you go backed by a band featuring legendary trio Cook, Jones and Matlock?

We headed for stage right front not long before showtime, so were in a prime spot to catch Glen, effortlessly cool as you like, in full flow, even if the initial soupy nowt but bass and drums sound belied the fact that Steve Jones was just the other side of that speaker stack, giving it his six-string all. But from LP and gig opener ‘Holidays in the Sun’ and ‘Seventeen’ onwards there were miles of smiles, frequent audience sing-a-longs, and it was nostalgia central without added schmalz… even if we were inevitably dragged into the dewy-eyed sentimentality of just being there to drink it all in.

Stood in the lobby of the Students’ Union building next door, earlier, looking out for Pren, that line ‘Now I’ve got as reason, and I’m still waiting’ sprang to mind. And any doubts I might have had about the prospect of this line-up were soon put to bed, our pre-show anticipation truly matched by the performance.

Jonesy stepped forward enough through the show to see plenty of him, and eventually the sound improved where we were stood. The Lonely Boy from Shepherd’s Bush and Battersea and his bandmates adored by 2,500 like-minded souls. Meanwhile, as if perched above a gap in the PA’s twin towers, I occasionally caught sight of a super-animated Cook, that craggy visage every bit as recognisable as the glorious trademark pounding beats he supplied. And then there was Frank, seemingly not at all over-awed at any responsibility on his far younger shoulders (okay, he’s 40, but his bandmates are now in their late 60s), adding a full-on live presence and enough youth to make this work. All of that would count for little without a voice, of course, but he pulls that off too, doing his own thing without having to resort to any Stars in Their Eyes take on Lydon. Just the way it had to be – there’s only one Johnny Rotten and only one John Lydon. What’s more, Hemel Hampstead Frank’s antics allow his more illustrious bandmates to just get on with their own thing, heads up and occasionally down no nonsense, mindless boogie (hats off there to Manchester’s late great CP Lee, of Alberto Y Lost Trios Paranoias fame)… and what a glorious racket they all still make.

I can’t recall when Frank first lunched himself into the crowd. Glen didn’t look too worried. Was it at the start of ‘Pretty Vacant’? That was certainly one of many glorious moments, as of course was fellow crowd pleaser ‘God Save the Queen’. Soon, Frank was surfing on a sea of upturned hands, and then he disappeared… but the strong vocals remained. He eventually returned though, and the second time around he helped form a rather chaotic circle out there in the melee (I knew he was there, but all I could really see was a punter with a Rebellion-like punk cockerel cut going round and round, like a demented shark closing in) on ‘Holidays in the Sun’ flip-side ‘Satellite’. Jonesy, peering into the crowd at the end of that number, enquired if ‘Frankie Baby’ was staying put for the next ‘un, ‘No Feelings’. He decided he was , and I’m not even sure if he was back in time for the start of ‘No Fun’. They were certainly having fun though, all four of them I reckon.

The full set? Well, it comprised all of Never Mind The Bollocks, a couple of B-sides and The Great Rock ‘n’ Roll Swindle’s stand-out ‘Silly Thing’ plus first encore ‘My Way’ (Frank owning the vocal like Sid never truly did, his outfield bandmates sat down until the climax). And from the aforementioned opener right through to rousing show-stopper and LP closer ‘EMI’, before a brief exit (I could see Jonesy between stage and dressing room, and he seemed a little stiff, shall we say, the workout clearly punishing, but certainly looked fresher and fitter than a decade or so ago), it was a blast, the set inevitably ending with ’Anarchy in the UK’, still so fresh 48 years give or take a few weeks since it was first nailed in the studio at Wessex Sound. What a great night. Cheers, lads. You’ve been missed. Those with tickets for the remaining show tomorrow night at Kentish Town Forum (Thursday 26 September) are in for a treat.