The Vicious White Kids - Live At The Electric Ballroom Nancy was born in Philadelphia (in Greek it means "brotherly love") in the States (in my same year but ten months earlier) to a Jewish family.
At just three months old, her pediatrician prescribed her sedatives for restlessness.
Deborah Spungen (her mother) recounted that Nancy at that time "did nothing but scream!"
By the age of five, she possessed an intelligence quotient above the average of her peers.
At eleven, she was expelled from school for being deemed "hyperactive" despite being considered a bright girl.
At fourteen, she attempted to take her own life with a pair of scissors, cutting her wrists, and was taken to psychotherapy sessions.
At fifteen, she was diagnosed with a form of schizophrenia by her psychiatrist.
After graduating, at sixteen she attended the University of Colorado for a while.
At seventeen, after running away from home, she began working as a stripper in New York to make a living and there she met the stars of the music scene like the New York Dolls, Aerosmith, and the Ramones.
At eighteen, she followed the drummer of the NYD to London, where she met the Sex Pistols, initially drawn to John Joseph Lydon aka Johnny Rotten who (not at all interested) dumped her for Sid Vicious with whom she started a relationship, becoming an inseparable couple.
In '78, back in the States, she briefly became a backup singer for "The Vicious White Kids," the new band formed by Sid after the Sex Pistols had disbanded.
She was just twenty years old when in the fall of that '78 she was found dead under the sink in a room at the Chelsea Hotel, stabbed in the abdomen with the same knife she had given to Sid the day before; he was the one who called the police, who found his fingerprints on the weapon.
Four months later, Sid died from a heroin overdose, he was only 21 years old.
#chiaroscuro Nancy Laura Spungen & Simon John Ritchie alias Sid Vicious photographed by Steve Emberton in '78
"À l'école de la poésie on n'apprend pas plutôt on se bat.
Mozart est mort seul, accompagné à la fosse commune par un chien et des fantômes.
Renoir avait les doigts crochus de rhumatismes.
Ravel avait dans la tête une tumeur qui lui suça d'un coup toute sa musique.
Beethoven était sourd.
Il fallut quêter pour enterrer Béla Bartok.
Rutebeuf avait faim.
Villon volait pour manger.
Tout le monde s'en fout...
L'art n'est pas un bureau d'anthropométrie!
La Lumière ne se fait que sur les tombes..."
(Léo Albert Charles Antoine Ferré)
