Sinister: Straight To Heaven

[P F]

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 at missprint.org. To unsubscribe
     send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
     majordomo at missprint.org.  WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister
 +-+       "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper           +-+
 +-+  "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
 +-+    "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000     +-+
 +-+  "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000  +-+
 +-+  "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001   +-+
 +-+               Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa                 +-+
 +-+               Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut!                +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+