Yes, a great man is dead. The news shocked. So young - well, 50 is not quite young even now: but it needn't be a dying age in the millennial developed world. I don't know the details of his death - no matter. His life was important. There are those who'll tell you that the Clash were always worse than second-rate: that they lacked the epoch-defining quality of the Pistols. I listen to that case with respect, as long as it's respectfully made. Often it isn't. Still, my editor, for instance, will probably tell you that Lydon was like Presley or Martin Luther: an intuitive genius of the culture. And many, following this path, will find little to say for Strummer. The Clash are seen as derivative of the Pistols (but what's wrong with derivation?); as calculated and self-concsious rather than instinctive pixies of misrule; as men too addicted to their gender. There is something in all this. But the thing is, I don't really *like* the Pistols. When did you last listen to them? You did? No matter - I didn't. But the Clash: when did I last listen to the Clash? Not recently enough. But when I was a boy with a more innocent head, fewer tunes and clearer skin than today, I would gradually collect instances of their handiwork. A country fan, pop promoter and would-be nurse taped me, not just the LPs (he edited !SANDINISTA! specially) but the B-sides. Those were slightly emptier days in a way - I mean, if someone gave you a tape, you *listened* to it. Maybe I was just young. Anyway: 'First Night Back In London'. 'Jail Guitar Doors'. '1977'. And that one with which we'd greet each other in a pub or a kebab shop, 'Groovy Times'. "The housewives", he'd say, "are all singing it". Forget the band rivalries, the inter-punk competition clubs - though me, I backed the Clash for that title then and I do now; even the Buzzcocks trailed a ways behind. Think of the band's, and the man's, actual qualities. Some of them seeming negatives, things you had to make yourself kind of like: the raggedness, the sprawl, the endless dub versions. Some of them better from the start: the politics, they were always ambiguous, never quite up front enough for a lad who took Homage To Catalonia to provincial football matches; but they were more present than almost anywhere in the pop tradition. The wit - look at the scurrying scribbles of the lyrics on the London Calling LP. The rock thrills: think of the drum and the guitars at the start of 'Safe European Home'. The range, a rare thing for me to enjoy: the way they essayed gospel, ballroom dancing, electric guitar waltz, reggae, country, disco and the rest, cheek by jowl, like they were making 29 PROTEST SONGS without any mention of Busby Berkeley. And further back, it comes to me now: the visceral rush only childhood can instil, the mystery and drama of 'London Calling' itself, throbbing repeatedly into me before I was seven years old. That was the Clash. Strummer himself, remarkably, was more appealing than all that. Try to catch him on a documentary - I'm thinking of Don Letts' WESTWAY TO THE WORLD, which they'll surely repeat some day now. I watched that in wonder: not so much at the band's exploits, but at the man's latter-day presence, his astounding charisma when placed in front of a camera. He drawled, but he didn't mumble: he wanted to *talk*, like a dear old pal uncorking a bottle of wine. He talked as few pop stars could. I can't quite remember what he said. I know he talked about emotion and affection. It was all passion and wry glory - but it wasn't just dumb raw feeling, there was such intelligence too, somewhere, in the way he slowly wrapped phrases around the memories that started flying back at him once the cameras rolled and they asked him a question. Maybe it was the slow sincerity of his voice; maybe the cautious look in his eye. I don't know. I knew I had rarely seen a greater pop interviewee. Stronger, deeper fans will pay their tributes elsewhere. I can't be, don't want to be, one of them. The Clash are not my favourite band of all time; Joe Strummer was not my favourite pop star ever. But he was a lot - my favourite punk, the wryest rebel, a man whose chunky clang and rasp played in the background in times I'll never get back now. And a good man, surely, in a hard world. __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. 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