1999: Year Of The Clash
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Sure, there was some egotism at the end that ruined the band. And for all it’s worth, the group’s last album -- carefully omitted from the above mentioned five -- certainly was a dud. But that shouldn’t matter. They still re-defined rock and roll, even if they eventually became the tired, bloated rock stars they set out to destroy. But for awhile there, say between 1976 and 1982, the Clash were, without a shadow of a doubt, the only band that mattered.
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1999 is slowly becoming The Year of the Clash. First, a below-average tribute album kicked things off this past spring. Then, to the delight of all Clash fans world-wide, Joe Strummer played a few U.K. and U.S. gigs this summer, and is currently gearing up for another galavant across the States. Epic Records realeased a long-awaited live album in October, with songs compiled from several of the more notable Clash gigs, including the band’s legendary 18-night stand in Times Square, 1981. This month, Joe Strummer will release his first full-length album in just about 10 years, and judging by early reviews, appears the be the strongest record The Man has put out since leaving the Clash. Finally, sometime this year, a 90-minute documentary, “Westway To The World,” is set to be released on video after receiving rave reviews at earlier screenings.
About the only thing to left to complete the year would be a full reunion, but that appears unlikely. Drummer Nicky “Topper” Headon is still struggling with a nasty drug habit, bassist Paul Simonon is content surrounding himself with his art, guitarist and chief tunesmith Mick Jones is attempting to resuscitate Big Audio Dynamite, his second -- and longer lasting -- group since his 1983 ouster from The Clash. And Joe Strummer? Well, as mentioned above, he’s finally getting out on the road again on his own, backed by his young band, the Mescaleros.
And while a reunion may not be out of the picture completely, it’s probably safe to say that many of us hardcore fans prefer to just let the legend stand as is, with no picture of the group trying to regain its former glory. That’ll never happen. Sometimes things get better with age, like fine wine and cheese. And, especially, legends.
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The Clash legend begins in 1976 when, at a chance meeting, Joe Strummer’s pub rock band the 101’ers played the famed 100 Club -- a venue often credited for allowing punk rock bands to get their first gig. Opening for the 101’ers was an upstart, obnoxious group called the Sex Pistols. In the audience that night were a few kids with stars in their eyes and rock n’ roll fantasies in their heads, Mick Jones and Paul Simonon. Jones and Simonon were gigging around in a group called the London SS, which also included guitarist Keith Levine, drummer Terry Chimes, and, at one point, Tony James. The SS were struggling -- the group needed a lead singer. And that night, they found him.
After watching the Pistols’ set, Strummer knew his pub rock days were numbered. “Yesterday I thought I was a crud,” Strummer told a reporter. “Then I saw the Sex Pistols and I became a king and decided to move into the future. As soon as I saw them I knew that rhythm and blues was dead, that the future was here somehow. Every other group was riffing through the Black Sabbath catalogue. But hearing the Pistols, I knew. I just knew.”
So did his future bandmates, who confronted Strummer after a 101’ers show. “I don’t like your group,” a rather blunt Mick Jones told Strummer. “But we think you’re great.”
"With Joe I could see he was a great performer saddled with a duff band,” Jones later told the New Musical Express.
Soon after the 101’ers gig, London SS manager Bernie Rhodes, the man Strummer credits for inspiring the vision and the political edge that would later drive the Clash, confronted Strummer with an ultimatum: join my band -- you have 48 hours. After waiting 24, Rhodes needed an answer. Strummer, as fate would have it, was convinced that the time was right to move on. “’When I was offered this job’,” Strummer told Rolling Stone magazine, “’I recognized it was the chance I’d kinda been waiting for’.”
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Strummer took the chance, and -- without sounding pithy -- what a chance it was. In 1976, punk rock was still very underground and very vilified. The mainstream was dominated by established, big rock-star acts like the Stones, the Who, David Bowie and Elton John. The only time punk music received any press was when the Sex Pistols lambasted Queen Elizabeth, cussed on a television show, or switched record labels. So forming a punk rock band was essentially signing away any hope of getting exposure and selling records.
All of this changed during the Sex Pistols' first major British tour in late 1976. The Pistols already had a reputation for being loud, offensive, and downright obnoxious, so any tour they would launch would be a huge ordeal not only for the band, but for mainstream British society as well. To put it lightly, the reception Marilyn Manson receives in the Deep South would seem like a celebration fit for a king when compared to the controversy that surrounded the Pistols. So the threat of punk rock “spreading” around the British countryside was not a welcomed idea.
With the Clash, the Damned and numerous others in support, the Pistols “Anarchy” tour served not only to enrage locals wherever it went, it also lit a fire under the asses of all the kids decked out in safety-pins, torn pants, mohawks, and other punk rock regalia. The tour is also considered early punk’s crowning achievement.
"It was exciting for us,” Strummer recently told Uncut magazine. “Suddenly there was mad hacks from the tabloids motor-rallying their cars around the coach, racing people to the hotel. There was people singing religious songs when we got off the bus in some godforsaken place in Wales, about 100 of them singing holy songs against our evil presence, it was quite a kick.”
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After the tour, Clash scored a record deal at CBS, a £100,000 contract that called for 10 albums in 10 years. Already armed with several originals and a handful of deadly covers, the Clash took to the studio in 1977 and produced what would become -- next to the Pistols' Nevermind The Bollocks -- the defining moment of punk rock on vinyl.
The album, simply titled The Clash, was recorded over three weekends, with guitarist and song architect Mick Jones discovering an affinity for the studio. The band completed the album with Terry Chimes on drums, though he left the group shortly after finishing the record.
The Clash commonly receives five stars in any review, with critics citing the album’s raw sound and angry, desperate lyrics. Opening with the familiar bass-drum thumping of “Janie Jones,” the band permanently burned itself into the annals of rock and roll history. “He’s in love with rock n’ roll / whooah / He’s in love with Janie Jones / whooah / He don’t like his boring job / Nooa,” Strummer sang -- or perhaps more accurately, spewed -- into the microphone.
From “Janie Jones” on, the album is full of observations on the real world and presented in a direct, straightforward manner. The album was a definitive moment in punk history and issued a glaring counterpoint to the optimistic view of the world taken by punk’s older, mouch more attractive sister, psychedelia. Whereas hippies preached peace and love, The Clash spoke of “Hate and War.”
"Hate and war / The only thing we are today / And if I close my eyes / It will not go away.”
More defining the album, though, was the group’s first single, “White Riot.” Based on the 1976 Notting Hill race riots, the song was an anthem to all the young, bored, poor white kids to rise up against the boring, dull middle and upper classes. Whites, the band preached, could take an example from the black rioters who had the courage to rally against their oppressors.
As strong an album as The Clash was, it remains the group’s second-best effort. The band’s finest moment was still two years waiting, but a major piece to the final Clash puzzle was put into place in early 1978. Though drummer Terry Chimes played on the The Clash, he was not a member of the group. He performed on the album as a favor, more than anything else, as his days with the Clash ended with his abrupt -- but nonetheless necessary -- departure from the band after a few gigs.
Chimes was replaced by Nicky “Topper” Headon, whose powerful drumming anchored the group’s relentless attack on mainstream rock. The first real sign of Headon’s influence on the band is found on the single “White Man In Hammersmith Palais,” which has been hailed as one of the greatest singles ever released. The song begins decrying the dehumanization of black reggae music but ends in a scathing assault against the new crop of so-called punk groups that came out of the woodwork after the Clash and the Pistols blasted open the door: “The new groups / Are not concerned / With what there is to be learned / They got Burton suits / ha, you think it’s funny / Turning rebellion into money.”
Musically, the song is a true tour-de-force, and it still stands as the best piece of music the group ever wrote. One critic called the reggae-tinged song “the missing link between black music and white noise.” Perhaps he’s right because the Clash never aspired to play reggae. They just incorporated it into their music. By doing so, they avoided sounding like a typical white band who wanted to sound black: something the band avoided like the plague.
"My conception of it was ‘Great, a reggae tune, let’s do it like Hawkwind!,” Strummer told British mag Melody Maker. “But Mick was more intelligent. I like it a lot because we’re using punk language, we’re not going ‘Ninky dinky dinky poo’ like the Police were to do a few years later. It was punk reggae, not white reggae. We were bringing some of our roots to it, not trying to mimic someone else’s.”
After the release of “White Man,” the band headed back into the studio to record the follow-up to The Clash. Because the Pistols split a few months earlier in ’78, the Clash now -- for better or worse -- were the defacto leaders of punk music. In other words, a whole shit-load was riding on the album, and the band knew it.
"We want to release an album that’s ten times better than the first one and then one that’s ten times better than that,” Strummer told the press in 1978. “Because records cost so much we want to make damn sure that every groove on that record has something brilliant in it. If takes a year to do that, then let it.”
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To aid the Clash’s marketability, CBS enlisted American-born producer Sandy Perlman, much to the band’s dismay. Perlman, best known for his work with arena-rockers Blue Oyster Cult, was brought in to smooth over the group’s rough edge. The Clash, CBS felt, seemed too crude and abrasive, enough so that the label did not release the album in the US until 1979. With a name-recognizable U.S. producer, CBS just might be able to market the Clash to the finicky and fickle American audience.
The resulting album, 1978’s Give ‘Em Enough Rope, did not exactly live up to the intentions the group had for it. Although it contained some of the band’s most consistent live staples, “Safe European Home,” “Tommy Gun,” “English Civil War,” and “Stay Free” (which still remains the most personal and passionate Clash tune, both written and sung by guitarist Mick Jones), much of the album appeared to retread and reuse familiar topics and song structure.
"Guns On The Roof” sounded like a slower version of “Clash City Rockers,” which itself was a rip-off of the Who’s “I Can’t Explain.” “All The Young Punks” was a failed attempt to become punk rock’s “All The Young Dudes” because the song lacked the charisma and accessibility that made the aforementioned glam rock anthem the powerful masterpiece that it was.
That’s not to say the album was a disappointment, it just did not live up to the first. However, it did break into the Billboard top 100, leading to the band’s first American tour in 1978. The group sold out many shows, and Rope was named album of the year by several magazines, including US mainstream mogul Time. And on the Rope tour, the Clash -- Jones and Strummer particularly -- fell in love with America.
Rope not only brought the group a new land -- America -- to conquer, it also left them without a manager. Bernie Rhodes, the man Strummer continues to credit with envisioning and building the Clash, fell out with the group over the amount of control he had on them. Rhodes consistently battled with the band over style, songwriting, shows, and money, he was often considered a Malcolm McLaren clone. But while McLaren exercised nearly complete control over the hapless and directionless Pistols, the Clash would have none of it.
After Rhodes scheduled some shows the band could not possibly make -- they were putting the finishing mixes on Rope -- the group knew he had to go.
"Bernie had announced that the Clash would be playing at the north London venue [the Harlesden] early in September,” ex-roadie Johnny Green wrote in “A Riot Of Our Own: Night and Day With The Clash.” “The gig had had to be rescheduled because Joe and Mick could not get back from New York in time. At this point the Clash, who felt they had been made to look like they didn’t care about their fans, had determined to get rid of Bernie.”
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In 1979, without a manager, the Clash headed back to the only place they felt secure: the studio. Armed with a handful of new songs and a few covers, the group christened a new rehearsal studio with the demos of what would later become the group’s defining album, London Calling. And with punk rock, as Mick Jones described it, “painting itself in a corner,” the group knew changes had to be made.
In the early stages of recording London Calling, roadie Johnny Green recalls that the band knew it was on to something special. “New material came in quick bursts. It was worked up from Mick’s chords. Topper [Headon] tried them against different rhythms. Bass was added, then finally Joe’s words… It soon became apparent that the new material was taking shape so fast that we needed to slap it down on tape.”
The Clash called on former Mott the Hoople producer -- and current boozehound -- Guy Stevens to produce the London Calling sessions. Stevens brought in a newfound chaos and extreme enthusiasm to the recording process which pushed the band to its creative limits. The new record, which had ballooned into a double album, was bursting at the seams with incredible material. From the opening call-out "London Calling" to the unlisted top- 40 hit “Train In Vain,” the record was an instant classic. Other highlights include “Jimmy Jazz,” the rockabilly “Brand New Cadillac,” “Rudie Can’t Fail,” which influenced nearly every current ska band in the world, and “Clampdown.”
However, the album’s strongest statements came not from the pen of Strummer and Jones, but from bassist Paul Simonon. Simonon penned and sang the reggae-drenched “Guns Of Brixton,” a tale of surviving the mean streets of London. The song has been sampled and covered umpteen times, and offers a shining glimpse into the Clash’s soul.
Released stateside in January, 1980, London Calling burst into the U.S. mainstream thanks to “Train In Vain.” The song was left off the album sleeve due to a scheduling mishap, but it broke the band in America. All was well, but mainstream success began planting the seeds that lead to the group’s eventual demise three years later. On the many supporting tours for the album, the band essentially started splitting into two camps: Joe Strummer’s ideology and Mick Jones’ rockstar leanings. The Clash often fought over set lists and whether to include the group’s early songs, like “White Riot,” over new ones like “Train In Vain.” Strummer apparently won the early skirmishes and “White Riot” made the band’s 1980 American tour, but trouble was definitely brewing.
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Dischord or not, in mid-1980 the Clash entered the studio again to record the follow-up to the now mainstream London Calling. Instead of following a successful double album with a traditional single, the band opted for the opposite end entirely. The resulting album, Sandinista, spanned not two LPs, but three. The band, it seemed, knew no creative limits. Within three pieces of vinyl, the Clash touched on rap (“Magnificent Seven”), psychedelia (“Mensforth Hill”), reggae (“Junco Partner”), marimba (“Washington Bullets”), and nearly every other musical genre (save country) known to man. Perhaps it was too much -- and certainly in 1980 it was -- but now, Sandinista is often referred to as one of the most daring and expansive records ever made.
Although Strummer conceded that the album should have been limited to a double, he credits Jones for pushing the band further. “Jonesy was always on the button when it came to new things,” Strummer told Uncut magazine. “That stuff we made the week after he came back from Brooklyn with those Sugarhill records -- it all still rocks. This was 1980. And I’ve got to say the next year, when we played Bonds in New York, the Brooklyn audience bottled Grandmaster Flash off our stage. Now they’re all ‘hip hop wibbly wibbly wop, it don’t stop,’ with the funny handshakes and all that.”
"Listen, the bottom line on Sandinista is that you can dance all the way through it,” Jones said at the time. “The only thing is that you have to dance a certain way.”
To get CBS to even issue the record, and sell it at a discounted price like London Calling, the group struck a deal that left them without royalties for Sandinista until it sold 200,000 copies. Even though the album sold moderately well, it never sold 200,000 while the group was still together. Interestingly, it was the only Clash album that sold better in the U.S. than in the U.K.
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Because of the lack of money Sandinista made, the band could not afford a major world tour to support it. Instead, with Bernie Rhodes back in tow (he rejoined the group in early 1981), the group organized a bit of a compromise by setting up a seven-night residency at New York City's Bonds International Casino, a club located in Times Square. While a seven-night stand is hardly as massive an undertaking as a full tour, this being the Clash, chaos insued.
After the band's first gig at Bonds, the NYC Fire Department closed the rest of the shows due to overcrowding. Bonds' capacity was 1750 people, but the NYFD claimed that the promoters oversold the first gig by nearly 2000, as upwards of 4000 fans attended the show. In a compromise with the city government, the Clash agreed to play 16 consecutive nights -- and sometimes twice in one day -- to account for all the fans who otherwise would have missed the shows. The experience left the group exhausted, but world famous. When the NYFD shut down the first show, the Clash fans nearly rioted and held up traffic in Times Square. It was the first time since the days of Frank Sinatra and the Beatles that a group of music fans caused such a ruckus.
Following the Bonds shows, the Clash's popularity continued to rise. This, in turn, caused the internal squabbles in the band to simmer and, in less than two years, boil out of control. Mick Jones's lust for rock and roll stardom was becoming more and more apparent as he began to take more care of his image and his guitar playing. "A good guitar solo in the right place, a little bit of tension added to the show -- there's nothing wrong with having respect for the stage, because you're out there entertaining," Jones told the New Musical Express in 1981.
Jones's comments clashed (pardon the pun) with Strummer's ideological beliefs of what the Clash needed to focus on. The internal struggles between Jones and Strummer were not aided by drummer Headon's growing drug addiction, which eventually tore the band apart.
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The Clash entered the studio again in 1982 to record their final album with their classic line-up. The tension was already brewing as Jones had declared an ultimatum on the final mixes: do it in New York and I'll turn up. After some give-and-take, the group eventually settled in on Jimi Hendrix's Electric Ladyland studios to record Combat Rock, which became its highest selling album.
Combat Rock is a bit of a paradox. Not as strong as London Calling but much more focused than Sandinista, Combat -- a straightforward single LP -- contains some of the most experimental work of the band's career. There's nothing mainstream about "Ghetto Defendant," a ragga-sized anthem featuring spoken word poetry by famed beat writer Allen Ginsberg. Nor is "Sean Flynn" going to heat up the airwaves. Yet, because of the success of "Rock the Casbah" and "Should I Stay Or Should I Go," Combat Rock is often criticized as a commercial sell-out.
Overall, Combat Rock is a definitive Clash album, with only one or two weak points. The album does boast a few gems, notably the slow, plodding bass drive of "Straight To Hell" and the comical "Red Angel Dragnet," based on the classic Robert DeNiro movie "Taxi Driver."
The album was the group's best-selling effort, setting off more tension between Strummer and Jones. The ill will was heightened immensely by drummer Headon's departure, due to his inability to control his drug habit. Headon was replaced temporarily by original drummer Terry Chimes, but that partnership lasted only throughout the band's world tour, which culminated in the Clash playing support to the Who during that group's first farewell tour.
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With the Clash the heir apparent to the Who and ready to conquer the world, the conflict between Strummer and Jones seethed to a boiling point, resulting in Jones' sacking and the band's demise. Strummer and Simonon booted Jones out in 1983, claiming that the guitarist had "drifted apart from the original ideas of the Clash." With Jones no longer in the fold, Strummer did not have anyone to argue with and finally had things his way. Unfortunately for Strummer, things never really panned out.
Without Jones, the Clash had no musical edge, no chief songwriter, and no creative tension. As strong as a frontman as Strummer was, Jones was his anchor, providing the calm yin to Strummer's maniacal yang. The Clash wilted without the presence of Jones, a fact proved obvious on the band's final album, Cut The Crap. Recorded with a new drummer and two rookie guitarists, Crap -- save one single, "This Is England" -- is literally that: crap. Strummer knew halfway through the recording of the album that it was a disaster and broke up the band. Sadly, Bernie Rhodes, now Strummer's writing partner, pushed to release the album. Crap eventually saw a 1985 release, but by then the band was no more.
Ironically, after his sacking, Mick Jones continued to pioneer new forms of music with his inconsistent Big Audio Dynamite. In 1985, the same year Cut The Crap was released, BAD became the first British band to score a top ten hit that included a little-known technique called sampling. BAD, though, lacked the charisma and presence that made up the Clash. Although BAD had some minor hits in the late '80s and early '90s, the band is currently at a standstill, as Jones can find no takers for the group's newest album, Entering A New Ride.
Former bassist Paul Simonon went back to his artwork after the Clash disbanded in 1985, only briefly recording again in 1991 with Havana 3 AM. Simonon's latest artwork adorns the Clash's new live album, From Here To Eternity.
Drummer Topper Headon has never been able to shake his heroin habit and at one point spent some time behind bars. It has been rumored that Headon's drug sentence in 1995 cost the Clash a chance to reunite and headline Lollapalooza, but Strummer and Jones continually insist that a reunion will never take place.
As for Strummer, when the Clash ended, he tried his hand at acting, and landed a starring role in the 1986 dud "Straight To Hell." Strummer put together a masterful soundtrack for a 1987 film called "Walker," briefly joined the Pogues, put out an average solo album in 1989, and now is set to release his second solo outing, Art, Rock, and the X-Ray Style. The album was recorded with the Mescaleros, Strummer's current backing band of 20-22 year old kids.
Indeed, 1999 is the Year of the Clash. With the live album, the tribute, a documentary, and a general influx of interest, the legend of the Clash seems to be alive and well. Let's just hope that like a fine bottle of Dom Perignon, the Clash only grow stronger.
RODEO ROB | An expert on all things "alt," Rob spends his days covering the energy industry and his nights covering the DC-area bars. Raise yer glass especially high to this man, for he has contributed to this site constantly since its creation four years ago.