Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Joe Strummer's Blue Suede Shoes

Jon Doe, MySpace Blog

Hmmm...let's see now...

It's 1978 or 1979 in Vancouver BC (hey, don't expect me to remember everything - shit, we were in the middle a musical/cultural revolution of sorts! ahem...) and The Clash are flying into town to play their very first North American gig ever in our fair city, before they head out to try and conquer the place on their 'Pearl Harbor' tour.

The guys are in town for a week or so before they play the gig and head off. Back in those days the Van. alt. scene was pretty small - a couple of hundred people perhaps; and even that may be slightly overoptimistic. The Clash had a reputation for mixing with their fans; a sort of anti-rock star stance that brought them a very vociferous and dedicated following whenever they rolled into town.

Back then there were only really 3 'big' bands if you were a true punk rocker: The Sex Pistols, The Ramones, and The Clash. So having the guys in town was a very special occasion for us all. Everyone knew where they would be staying, as all UK punk/new wave acts that came to town wound up at the same hotel - The Denman Inn.

The border authorities, purveyors of happiness that they were, had confiscated the guy's wristbands upon their arrival, as they were deemed 'offensive weapons' - which of course they weren't. Millions of people around the world wear them today - but back then I guess they must've seemed pretty shocking to some...We had firsthand experience with this; back then Vancouver police would, after throwing you up against the hood of the cop car, spreading your legs and doing a serious body search, remove any wristbands from you, then be on their merry way...So we decided this was a very UN-cool reception for the guys in the band - hardly what you'd call a warm welcome anyhow - and that we would have to rectify the situation immediately.

Several of us picked up some nice yet serious studs from a head shop downtown and put together a pair of wristbands for each of the guys, while someone else located the other prime ingredient The Clash felt they would need for this tour - a very large bag of premium smoke. Heheh...All these items were delivered by someone down the line somewhere, and the boys were very happy and grateful.

Invites were sent out to the band to come to various parties, gigs etc. before they were to play later the next week, which, whenever possible, they duly accepted. One of those invites was to check out a local young punk band who were to play at our tiny, hole-in-the-wall club of the moment - The Windmill Club, which used to be located on Granville street near the bridge. Luckily for me (although I havta admit to being scared shitless at the prospect) I was the guitarist of this band.

The Rabid was our name, and mayhem was our game :) So Joe Strummer and a few of The Clash crew show up a few minutes before we go on...Joe's looking super cool in shades; they take a table at the back of the club and just chill out.

The highlight of the show was when I accidentally brought a towering stack of Marshall & Fender amps crashing down around my ears after one particularly slick stage move (heheh) - but people were able to get the rig uprighted again, with no damage done....

The very next day a game of football with The Clash had been arranged. This is of course 'world football' a.k.a. soccer to us N.Americans. This always seemed to be a traditional way for most non-N.American bands to chill out, aquaint themselves with the natives (us), & get a little exercise while in town for a gig.

Over the years we played many bands at 'football' but The Clash game was the first and most memorable one. Paul Simenon was particularly dirty; I had Doc Martin-shaped bruises all over my ankles for a few days afterwards, but hell it was a gas! I think Paul's philosophy was if ya can't win fairly - win any way you can...heheh. Boy, could that guy swing a size 11 Doc Martin with lethal abandon & accuracy! I wonder how many other young punks around the country had a slight limp after a Clash visit that month?...Joe had a few kind words for me before kick-off re: the gig the night before; which for a 16 year old guitarist, was pretty damn cool.

These guys just could do no wrong it seemed....After a few hours, in which I seemed to remember The Clash won, the wounded were helped off the field of play & the blood mopped up. Then it was back to home/hotel for all participants in order to get cleaned up for the traditional weekend house party. Needless to say, a great drunken time was had by The Clash & everyone that night.

After somehow managing to scrounge up the cash to pay for my ticket (it was the guest list for me after this experience...) I grabbed a bus on the night of the big gig and duly arrived at the doors of The Commodore Ballroom on Granville street - joining dozens of friends in the lineup - the anticipation was palpable.

As I came to the door and handed over my ticket to the big lug there - the dreaded question came up...'Let's see your ID...' Shit! I never carried ID with me (made it just a little TOO easy for the cops that inevitably harassed you all over town) plus, I was underage anyhow; so a fat lotta good ID would've done me anyhow...

This was a bad situation; here I was, about to see the most important gig of my 16 year old life - and I couldn't even get in the door! This is when I remembered the stories I had heard coming out of England about The Clash helping their fans out...This was, dear reader, desperate stuff! I sent word through people I knew who were working for the promoter to inform The Clash that I was out here and seriously screwed.

Many minutes passed by, but they felt like hours as I watched hundreds of others filing through those damn doors...Suddenly, a tap on the shoulder! 'Are you Jon?' a cockney accent says. I turn around and there is The Clash's tour DJ, and their roadie extroardinaire Johnny Green wearing his weird, oversized white-rimmed shades. 'Yep, that's me' says I. 'Come with us' replies Johnny in a military tone. We march past the door, around the back into the alley, past the bouncer guarding the rear stage entrance like three spiky-haired storm troopers on serious business - straight into the backstage area. Johnny slaps a backstage pass labeled 'Clash:Crew' onto the front of my leather jacket. 'Wanna beer kid?' 'Sure...' So, beer in hand, protection in the form of Johnny Green & the boys, I get to see the whole thing from the stage side. Pretty damn cool.

As Joe comes off the stage after the encore, I'm just kinda standing there. What does one say to the voice of your generation as he steps towards you with his sweaty Telecaster in hand? 'Cool shoes Joe' was all I could muster! heheh... Joe had on these bright blue suede Brothel Creepers - the kind English Teddy Boys always wore. Very 1950's - very cool. These baby's were just not available anywhere in Vancouver at the time - so I guess the shoes were the only comment I could come up with in my semi-confused state. :)

A little later on as everyone was preparing to leave, Joe, bringing this straight-looking dude with him, makes a beeline towards me. 'This is Sandy Pearlman. He's our producer.

There's no room in our cab, so I want you to take him back to our hotel in another cab, ok?' says Joe. 'You won't let me down, right?' 'Don't worry Joe, I'll get him there man...' I reply. So...out the back, hail a cab down, jump in with Sandy Pearlman (producer of 'Give Em Enough Rope') and a friend of mine called Grant - and off we speed into the wet neon night.

Arriving at the hotel, Sandy ambles off upstairs to see the band (we assume) whilst me and my pal sit in the lobby waiting to see if anyone needs directions to the big after-gig party. After 30 minutes or so, Joe strides out through the big brass elevator doors with a few of the crew holding a brown paper bag in his hand. Joe throws it into my lap...'Here ya go..' I open it up, and there inside sit a pair of blue suede Brothel Creepers! 'Shit, thanks Joe!'

We order half a dozen cabs at the front desk, I hop in with Joe and a few others and off we go to the big party.

I nearly crippled myself trying to wear those damn shoes for a few weeks. Joe had an imposing & charismatic personality - a born leader really - but he was a little guy.

Those shoes were murder for a 6 footer! I later begrudgingly donated them to a much shorter friend who could actually wear them.

That person went on to become a very wealthy manager of several world-reknown musicians.....I wonder if he still has them? One day I'll have to look into it... :) Jon.

Toronto Star: Warren Kinsella part 1

Toronto Star Dec. 24, 2002 - by Warren Kinsella

..I met Joe Strummer for the first time on the night of Oct. 16, 1979 in East Vancouver. Two of my Calgary punk rock buddies, plus my girlfriend and I, were loitering on the main floor at the Pacific National Exhibition (PNE). We had pooled our meagre resources to buy four train tickets to Vancouver to see the Clash in concert. Their performance had been extraordinary (and even featured a mini-riot midway through). But after the show, we had no money left and nowhere to stay.

The four of us were discussing this state of affairs as the band's roadies were on stage packing up the gear. Suddenly, Topper Headon, the drummer for the Clash, appeared. He was looking for another band member, but he asked us where we were from and what we thought of the show. When he heard that we had no place to stay, he said, "Well, you'd better come backstage with me, then." Sprawled out in a spartan PNE locker room, Strummer was chatting with lead guitarist Mick Jones and bassist Paul Simonon.

They were all stoned and grousing about an unnamed promoter of the Vancouver show who had refused to let them play until he was paid his costs. The Clash, like us, had no money. That made us love them even more. Strummer, with his square jaw and Elvis-style hairdo, didn't seem to care about the band's money woes. While Mick Jones flirted with my girlfriend, Strummer started questioning me about my Clash T-shirt.

It was homemade, and Strummer was impressed by it. I could barely speak. There I was, talking to one of the most important rock 'n' rollers ever to walk the Earth — and he was acting like a regular guy. Like he wasn't anything special. `They wrote songs that emphasized that politics were important.'

Toronto Star: Warren Kinsella part 2

Warren Kinsella - Part 2 - (author of Fury's Hour.)

Twenty-seven years ago, just over two weeks after an infamous "riot" during their performance at what's now called Toronto's Hummingbird Centre, punk superstars The Clash played the Pacific National Exhibition in Vancouver. When the show was over, young Warren Kinsella and three of his punk buddies from Calgary had no place to stay.

They loitered after the show, got invited backstage, and while fans of Vancouver's own DOA spray-painted THE CLASH SUCK! DOA RULE! on the band's bus (the British punks had angered the local band by denying them a sound check), Clash vocalist Joe Strummer offered to let Kinsella and his buddies stay with them, while admitting that they had no idea where they'd be sleeping either.

Two and a half decades later, Kinsella is a lawyer, a famously litigious political pundit, and a political consultant for the federal Liberal Party, but he remembers that moment vividly, and recalls it in detail in his new book, Fury's Hour, which gets its title from an oft-quoted Clash lyric — "Let fury have the hour/ anger can be power/ you know that you can use it!" He calls his book a "(sort of) punk manifesto" and the book is a lot like punk — foul-mouthed, passionate, ranting, a bit tedious in spots, but heartfelt and undeniable, if you can bring yourself to overlook a few things.

In his book Kinsella attacks the sort of orthodoxies that painted punk in a corner, but makes a statement that punk, by its nature, is and remains implicitly left-wing, even to this day. "Green Day," he tells me "are the single largest opposition to George W. Bush and the war in Iraq — which says something about the sad state of the Democratic party." But, I ask, isn't that denying the subtle but undeniable conservatism that was also at punk's heart, if only in its rabid rejection of hippies and the '60s?

"You're right" Kinsella concedes. "You can't have orthodoxies about it. (The late) Johnny Ramone was, and always will be, a Reagan Republican. And whenever I tell people that they're like, what? And was he any less a punk? The Ramones would not have happened, and possibly punk rock wouldn't have happened, were it not for Johnny Ramone."

I was at The Clash's Toronto "riot", and remember it just as fondly as Kinsella does his backstage brush with Strummer, but I can't help but wonder if it isn't a bit absurd — insulting, even — for a fortysomething guy with a hotline to "Canada's natural ruling party" to be talking like an angry 16-year-old, and telling real 16-year-old Blink-142 fans how great his music was, and how much their sucks, by stark comparison.

"Guilty as charged," Kinsella says. "When I pushed Joey (Shithead, DOA lead singer) on it, I said come on, we're kidding ourselves. Like most subcultures, it's a youth-oriented movement, or sound. And he said no, it's not. He asked, 'Do you feel pissed off about stuff, still?' I said, yeah. 'Do you still like the music?' Yeah. ... It's different — it changes. You're not the front of the show, necessarily, but you still have that punk tendency to say 'Fuck you'."

Toronto Star: Warren Kinsella part 3

JOE STRUMMER

The sticker affixed to the London Calling album shrink-wrap, 23 years ago this month, boldly declared that the Clash were ìthe only band that matters.î If that is true ñ if it was more than record company hyperbole ñ then Joe Strummerís death on Sunday, of a heart attack at age 50, was a very big deal indeed.

It wasnít as big as John Lennonís murder, of course, which came one year after London Calling was released, and shook an entire generation. Nor as newsworthy, likely, as the suicide of Nirvanaís Kurt Cobain in 1994. No, the impact of the sudden death of Joe Strummer ñ the front man for the Clash, the spokesman for what the Voidoidís Richard Hell called, at the time, ìthe blank generationî ñ will be seen in more subtle ways.

For starters, you wonít see any maudlin Joe Strummer retrospectives on CNN, or hordes of hysterical fans wailing in a park somewhere, clutching candles whilst someone plays ëWhite Riotí on acoustic guitar. Nor will there be a rush by his estate to cash in with grubby compilation and tribute discs. Punk rock, you see, wasnít merely apart from all that ñ it was against of all that.

Punk rock was a specific rejection of everything rockíníroll had become in the 1970s ñ namely, a business: an arena-sized, coke-addicted, utterly-disconnected-from-reality corporate game played by millionaires at Studio 54. Punk rock, and Joe Strummer, changed all of that. They were loud, loutish, pissed off. They were of the streets, and for the streets. They wanted rockíníroll to matter again.

I met Joe Strummer for the first time on the night of October 16, 1979, in East Vancouver. Two of my Calgary punk rock buddies, plus my girlfriend and I, were loitering on the main floor at the Pacific National Exhibition (PNE). We were exhilarated and exhausted. We had pooled our meager resources to buy four train tickets to Vancouver, to see Joe Strummer and the Clash in concert. Their performance had been extraordinary (and even featured a mini-riot, midway through). But after the show, we had no money left, and nowhere to stay.

The four of us were discussing this state of affairs when a little boy appeared out of nowhere. It was near midnight, and the Clash, DOA and Ray Campiís Rockabilly Rebels had long since finished their respective performances. Roadies were up on stage, packing up the Clashís gear. The little boy looked to be about seven or eight. He was picking up flashcubes left behind by the departed fans.

We started talking to the boy. It turned out he was the son of Mickey Gallagher, the keyboardist the Clash had signed on for the bandís London Calling tour of North America. His father appeared, looking for him. And then, within a matter of minutes, Topper Headon appeared, looking for the Gallaghers.

Topper Headon was admittedly not much to look at: he was stooped, slight and pale, with spiky hair and a quiet manner. But he was The Drummer For The Clash, and had supplied beats for them going back almost to their raw eponymous first album, the one that had changed our lives forever. We were in awe.

Topper asked us where we were from and what we thought of the show. When he heard that we had no place to stay, he said: ìWell, youíd better come backstage with me, then.î

Sprawled out in a spartan PNE locker room, Strummer was chatting with lead guitarist Mick Jones and bassist Paul Simonon, along with some Rastafarians and a few of the Rockabilly Rebels. They were all stoned, and grousing about an unnamed promoter of the Vancouver show, who had refused to let them play until he was paid his costs. The Clash, like us, had no money. That made us love them even more.

(written retrospectively on Joe's passing)

Joe Strummer, with his squared jaw and Elvis-style hairdo, didn't seem to care about the band's money woes. While Mick Jones flirted with my girlfriend, Strummer started questioning me about my Clash T-shirt. It was homemade, and Strummer was seemingly impressed by it. I could barely speak. There I was, speaking with one of the most important rockínírollers ever to walk the Earth ñ and he was acting just like a regular guy. Like he wasnít anything special.

But he was, he was. From their first incendiary album in 1977 (wherein they raged against racism, and youth unemployment, and hippies), to their final waxing as the real Clash in 1982 (the cartoonish Combat Rock, which signaled the end was near, and appropriately so), Strummer was the actual personification of everything that was the Clash. They were avowedly political and idealistic; they were unrelentingly angry and loud; most of all, they were smarter and more hopeful than the other punk groups, the cynical, nihilistic ones like the Sex Pistols. They believed that the future was worth fighting for.

The Clash were the ones who actually read books ñ and encouraged their fans to read them, too. They wrote songs that emphasized that politics were important (and, in my own case, taught me that fighting intolerance, and maintaining a capacity for outrage, was always worthwhile). They were the first punk band to attempt to unify disparate cultures ñ for example, introducing choppy reggae and Blue Beat rhythms to their music.

They werenít perfect, naturally. Their dalliances with rebel movements like the Sandinistas, circa 1980, smacked of showy dilettante politics. But they werenít afraid to take risks, and make mistakes.

Born John Graham Mellor in 1952 in Turkey to the son of a diplomat, Strummer started off as a busker in London, and then formed the 101ers, a pub rock outfit, in 1974. Two years later, he saw the Pistols play one of their first gigs. Strummer, Jones and Simonon immediately formed the Clash, and set about rewriting the rules.

While political, they also knew how to put together good old rockíníroll. Strummer and Jones effectively became the punk worldís Lennon and McCartney, churning out big hits in Britain, and attracting a lot of favourable critical acclaim in North America. Some of their singles, ëWhite Man in Hammersmith Palaisí and ëComplete Control,í are among the best rockíníroll 45s ñ ever. Their double London Calling LP is regularly cited as one of historyís best rock albums.

After the Clash broke up, Strummer played with the Pogues, wrote soundtrack music and formed a new group, the world beat-sounding Mescaleros. He married, and became a father. But he never again achieved the adulation that greeted the Clash wherever they went.

Strummer didnít seem to care. When I saw him for the last time ñ at a show in one of HMVís stores on Yonge Street in July 2001, which (typically) he agreed to give at no cost ñ Strummer and his Mescaleros stomped around on the tiny stage, having the time of their lives. They didnít play any Clash songs, but that was okay by us. Joe Strummerís joy was infectious, that night.

As the gig ended, Strummer squatted at the edge of the stage ñ sweaty, resplendent, grinning ñ to speak with the fans gathered there. They looked about as old as I was, when I first met him back in October 1979. As corny as it sounds, it was a magical moment, for me: I just watched him for a while, the voice of my generation, speaking to the next one.

I hope they heard what he had to say.

Page 8 - Thursday, October 18, 1979 - THE UBYSSEY
PAGE FRIDAY - stanley westby photo

STRUMMER words and music clash with conservative politics

Garage band style sells Clash

By ROSS BURNETT

Joey Strummer 'on 'is mates, also known as the Clash, made a triumphant return to the city Tuesday night before a quiet, sold out for near enough crowd at the PNE Gardens.

The show was great in terms of performance as well as sound quality. Some performers attempt to reproduce note for note the studio versions of their songs when in concert. But the energy of the Clash on stage, coupled with the strength of their music and lyrics, dispose of the necessity for such trivialities. This is not to say the songs sounded poor; for the most part they sounded excellent.

The Clash is made up of Joe Strummer (guitar and vocals), Mick Jones (guitar and vocals), Paul Simonon (bass and vocals! and Nicky Headon (drums). The band was formed in 1977 and have released two albums. Their first, The Clash, is considered by some critics to be the best and most important rock album of the decade, comparable to the Beatles Sgt. Pepper's.

The concert opened with Vancouver's own DOA, who were top form and played exceptionally. well for the responsive audience.

After a break, a band called the Rockabilly Rebels played a boring

set of boring songs. The lead singer was trying to emulate Elvis Presleyís hairdo, clothes, guitar playing and .hip movements, but appeared ridiculous in his at tempt.

The Rebels were both hilarious and sad hilarious because they couldn't be taken seriously and sad because they took themselves seriously.

After another break the Clash took the stage, opening with City of The Dead, the flip side of an early single. This was followed by a cut from their second album, Safe European Home which is about holidaying in the sunny tropics:

"I went to the place where every white face is an invitation to robbery,

Sitting here in my safe Euro pean home, Don't wanna go back there again."

The band continued for an hour doing most of their singles and hits from their albums, as well as a number of new songs. Most of the group's songs are written by Jones and Strummer, who are often accused of being too political for a rock band.

They write personal songs about youth and the political

scene in England, where the economy is failing and unemployment is high. This may be why the Clash and other new groups have not had the airplay they deserve on this side of the Atlantic, where the most pressing social problem is the influence on pro adolescents.

The group came back for an en core starting with a reggae number that turned into Capitol Radio (similar to Elvis Costello's Radio, Radio). By this time Strummer appeared to be strain ing himself and the sound had deteriorated. When Strummer called The Rebels back on stage the resulting six guitars and basses produced ed almost unrecognizable versions of Flip, Flop and Fly and White Riot, the Clash's anthem.

Throughout the concert the audience seemed somewhat subdued. Only a small group of fans near the stage were moving to any great extent. Perhaps most of the people were content to sit and concentrate on the performance.

The Clash proved they deserve the self-proclaimed (stolen) title as the Greatest Rock 'n' Roll Band in the World..

So instead of running out the "in" door to buy an album by a bunch of old farts, get one of the Clash's records.

PHOTO

Thursday, October 18, 1979 15 TINY CHEAT NOTES on inside of right eyelid get Clash guitarist Mick Jones through another City of the Dead at PNE Gardens Tuesday night. Dreaming of his Safe European Home, Jones kept sell-out crowd mesmerized throughout concert, which Page Friday (almost) definitely does review on page 8.

The Vancouver SUN WED., OCT. 17, 1979 - ENTERTAINMENT - C3

lan Lindsay

Meet angry, violent, abusive Clash

By VAUGHN PALMER

At times Tuesday it seemed the band was at war with rock music, while the audience was at war with the band.

It was a concert by England's The Clash, an aptly named act if ever there was one.

For the band seems to do violence to everything it touches, whether in song, on record, or in concert. Not as a matter of contrivance like the latest grossout rock band-but as a direct result of the English working class aggression that sired this most angry of rock bands.

By the end of Tuesday's show at the PNE Garden The Clash had alienated about half the crowd of 2,000, and thoroughly won over the other half. And as has been the case with their music, the four band members seemed to be more inspired by their enemies than they were by their friends.

"We're used to hearing the bad stuff," lead vocalist Joe Strummer said at one point. Meanwhile, lead guitarist Mick Jones was strutting the stage, taunting some fellow who had been pelting him with rubbish "to try something."

The early going of the 90-minute set was rough, as the band struggled with music and audience, both seemingly on the verge of going out of control. It was a reminder of the dark side of rock and rolla side, without which there might not be rock and roll.

Neither the music nor the lyrics were entirely uncompromising. There were some lighter moments, like Jones' wistful Stay Free ("go easy, step lightly, stay free") and a witty portrait of the band a-borning, Garageland ("someone just asked me if the group would all wear suits.").

But for the most part the content the songs reflected the form of what was going on in the hall. Jones, bassist Paul Simonon, drummer Topper Headon, and an occasional organist (from Ian Dury's Blockheads), pounded out the blistering rock music. Strummer sang of the City of the Dead, "the Yankee dictators of the world,", the English Civil War ("It's just around the corner"), and a place "where every white face is an invitation to robbery."

Clash: "The band seems to do violence to everything it touches"

And lest anyone think the Clash is unaware of the potential charge of "exploitation" in their choice of material, one particularly incisive song, White Man in Hammersmith Palais, slagged the poseurs "turning revolution into money." The band is as serious as you can get about the continuing crisis, while stopping short of trading in the guitars for machine guns.

But you can't wrestle with such demons and easily maintain a chummy relationship with an audience. So the show, overwhelming from a purely technical point of view, and satisfying

from an artistic one, ended with some bad feeling, the crowd not sure how to react as Jones hurled a final taunt about the unlikelihood of an encore.

They did one anyway, maybe for the fans who stuck around, maybe to show the unbelievers what they'd missed, maybe just for themselves.

The encore, six songs in all, was the clincher for friends and enemies alike, one that displayed all the musical gangsterism of the self-styled "last gang in town."

It started with Armageddon Day, an

appropriatiy titled song from a band that fears the worst, done effectively in the reggae mode. (The song is slated for inclusion on the band's upcoming album London Calling.)

Steamed into Capitol Radio, one of a string of devastating singles that has pumped the band's success in the British market. Then a track from the band's self-titled debut, What's My Name, a snatch of jailyard humor that features a housebreaker taunting a potential victims.

Strummer threw down the gauntlet: "Bring out the Rebels," he said, knowing full well that the selfsame band, a rockabilly act from California, had been booed extensively when they appeared on the bill earlier in the evening.

Two Rebels braved the potential din and were surprised to find the crowd going wild for an impromptu jam that featured a couple of oldies (including Flip, Flop and Fly), and a grand finale of the Clash's searing White Riot "wanna riot, white riot, a riot of my own."

They left the stage, barely acknowledging the ecstatic response, except for Jones, who could not resist one final confrontation and hurled a mike stand at the front rows.

Got to keep up appearances, don't you know.

@ Opening for The Clash on the three-act card was D.O.A., Vancouver's own band of angry young men.

D.O.A. Randy Rampage on bass, Joe Shithead on guitar and lead vocals, and Chuck Biscuits on drums-continues to add polish to its bag of nasty little songs (titles include Rich Bitch, Nazi Training Camp, Disco Sucks, I Hate You), and it is easy to see why the group ambushes unsuspecting audiences wherever it turns up.

The threesome has a certain sense of humor, too, which is quite a feat considering the presentation.

Innocent bystanders can check out the group on a four-song EP, newly available from Friends Records, entitled Triumph of the Ignoroids. It was recorded live during the group's scandalous appearance at the first Georgia Straight battle of the bands in June 1978.

The Vancouver Sun

B6 - THURS, OCT. 11, 1979

We can't say we weren't warned

By VAUGHN PALMER

The Clash, rock's agent provocateur. seems to have been disarmed on these shores after barely firing a shot.

Not that the tough-as-nails British band isn't playing thunderingly great hard rock music its concert at the PNE Garden next Tuesday will no doubt show that aspect of the group remains unmatched

But few on this continent seem to be paying attention to this voice crying in the wilderness.

Disco and mainstream rock has faded this year, the new wave bands are no stranger to the music-consuming pub lie, and rock looks a lot healthier than it it did 12 months ago.

Ironically, the band that most wanted to see the change come about has not been a part of it. Critically acclaimed as the top of the heap and stars in the home country the Clash has barely dented that heap in the dominant North American markets.

To understand what that means, you'd have to imagine that the mid-'60s came and went without anyone noticing the Rolling Stones.

For if the late Sex Pistols were the harbingers of punk revolution, the Clash was the music's main strike force. On two albums The Clash and Give Em Enough Rope the Clash has spelled out a clear-cut version of a world and a music in flames

The four spitfires that make up the Clash-Joe Strummer and Mick Jones, songwriters, guitars and vocals; Paul Simonon baas, Nicky Headon drums were the roughest lot of n musicians ever to claw their way up from the British working class.

Their 1977 debut album was so seathing that it was considered unfit for human consumption by the group's American label, which steadfastly re fused to release it despite the record making the all-time best list in a 1978 poll of music writers.

Belatedly available in our record stores this fall, the debut album has lost none of its fire. It is a blistering guitar assault, wrapped around some of the most foul-tempered lyrics ever penned:

"All the power is in the hands of people rich enough to buy it, while we walk the streets too chicken to even try it. White Riot, wanna riot, white riot, riot of me own. White Riot.)

"Yankee dollar talk to the dictators of the world. In fact it's giving orders and they can't afford to miss a word." (I'm So Bored With The U.S.A.)

Roll over Somoza and tell the Shah the news.

The first record, as finally released, also contains some of The Clash's excel lent singles, not previously available except as imports.

One White Man in Hammersmith Palais is a rueful reflection on racial divisions between the British punk rock and reggae movements, which fight each other more than the establishment. Meanwhile, notes the narrator: #the British army is waiting out there, and It weighs 1500 tons.

Another single. Complete Control, blasts the Clash's record company for releasing a single without the band's permission. It may seem like a tempest in a teapot, but the band uses the incident to rage against the compromises they've made to get their music across: "They said we'd be artistically free, that was just a bit of paper, they meant let's make a lotta money, and worry about it later.'

If anyone is concerned, a lotta money Is not what The Clash has made. True, the band regularly vies with Ireland's Boomtown Rats for the title of England's number one band. But attempts to bring the music across the Atlantic have probably drained whatever money that conquest brought.

The band's second album Give Em Enough Rope, released a year ago, found the music and lyrics a tad more sophisticated but the energy and anger undiluted. Songs like English Civil War, Tommy Gun, Last Gang in Town, and Guns on the Roof (Of the World), maintained the Clash's reputation as rock's foremost bomb-tossers

That assessment is a bit unfair of course, and doubtless it has hurt the band in North America, where politics remains a dirty word to music programmers. An analysis of Clash lyrics admittedly difficult since they sing in British working class slang-shows the band not hoping for the worst, merely expecting it, and being as terrified of it as you or I.

For all that, they can hardly be called poseurs because political pundits. terrorists and Third World leaders predict the same thing ever day. And they have the guns to make it all come true.

The Clash may not have made it, but we can't say we weren't warned.

Entertainment - theprovince
Page A9 Tuesday October 16, 1979

The Clash comes back on bigger, better tour

By TOM HARRISON

The first date of The Clash's first North American tour was at the Commodore Ballroom in January of this year.

It was a short tour, only a sevencity testing of the water, but a momentous one, the band coming to town preceded by two years' worth of hysteria whipped up by the English music press. This was, after all, the band that was going to save rock 'n' roll.

Or was it?

It turned out that The Clash was four "blokes" named Joe Strummer, Mick Jones, Paul Simenon and Topper Headon who mixed with the local fans, whipped them in a winter afternoon soccer game. and certainly bent the rules when it came to following preand postconcert formality, the dictates being that only those with tickets get in to see the show and only those with backstage passes get to meet the band afterwards.

In concert, The Clash was all brute rock 'n' roll power, the best new argument for rock 'n' roll as a motivational force, even though the sound at the ballroom was poor and The Clash performed with a caution that made the group seem tame.

You would think that any band that has had as much press lavished upon it as The Clash would be a four-star, Lear-jetting success story by now, but of course the press can't work modern day miracles as effectively as a hit on the radio.

Consequently The Clash, four scrappers from London, is still doing things its own unorthodox way and is on tour again, this time playing 28 dates including tonight's at The Garden with the Rockabilly Rebels (highly recommended) and DOA (Vancouver's best argument for rock as a motivational force).

A brief phone conversation with Topper Headon gave a run-down on recent Clash activity.

So far, the tour is much more successful than the group's first, says Headon, adding The Clash was better prepared for this trip both physically and mentally. The band, however, is looking after its own management, which has been a strain that the group is managing to weather.

At this point The Clash's career is caught between a specially compiled American release of its first album (which was released in Canada intact two years ago), which includes the band's choice of single and EP tracks that were only available as imports, and its third album, London Calling, which has been produced by ex-Mott the Hoople producer Guy Stevens. Nineteen tracks have been recorded and will be mixed when the band returns to England in a few weeks. Headon hopes the album will be rush-released in late November and is pleased with the "live" sound that Stevens has captured. Five to six of these new songs are in the band's current repertoire.

the province - Entertainment - Page D2 Thursday October 18, 1979

The Clash giving in to the guys in black

By TOM HARRISON

In Western movies there is nothing more tragic than a good lawman gone bad.

We lament the guy in white who reluctantly gives in to join the guys in black, and we cheer the anti-hero whose apparent lawlessness is actually a more honorable personal code.

In the world of The Clash, rock 'n' roll is the Western epic brought up to date, a struggle of personal values against the sometimes ugly reality of doing business. Sadly, it's a world in which London 's antiheroes have been forced by another law that of survival to join the guys in black. The Clash's concert Tuesday night at the Gardens was the

group's last of its second North American tour. On in this night the mistakes that Joe Strummer, Mick Jones, Topper Headon and Paul Simenon had made in just trying to cope caught up to them.

Consequently there were scenes backstage of financial haggling that a manager not only could have shielded the group from but would have taken care of without jeopardizing (and twice delaying the t con cert. Then there was The Clash imposing sound-system restrictions on its opening act, DOA, a band that at one time would have been de-scribed as a Clash disciple. None of the picture The Clash has been painting since 1977. In the world of bigtime rock such restrictions are imposed all the time; it's a fact of the business and sometimes it makes perfect sense. But this is The Clash, the invincible grass-roots champion of punk, and the incongruity of hearing a band indict all those who would turn rebellion into money and witnessing the same band cociplying with the music machine it once railed against not only disappoints but forces one to realize one's naivete.

Now, if it's possible to separateNOW the behind-the-scenes politicking from the concert from which more than 2,000 fans walked away deaf and exhausted, DOA simply came out fighting and ultimately over came the limitations imposed upon them.

On the other hand, The Rockabilly Rebels' overlong and mediocre set only proved that The Clash's fondness for rockabilly is like any other love: Blind

The strain on The Clash showed Itself mostly in Joe Strummer's between-song antagonism though at the end of the white noise that was White Riot Mick Jones felt he had to tell his sector of the audience in front of the stage that the song did not endorse neo-fascism. It was an uncalled-for outburst.

All evening Jones produced gigantic hunks of monolithic guitar chords while a hoarse-voiced Strummer, bassist Simenon, drummer Headon and temporary key board player Mickey Gallagher launched assault after assault of overpowering rock that built from standards City of the Dead, White Man in Hammersmith Palais, and Safe European Homes, the new London Calling and Guns of Brixton (a terrific reggae synthesis) to the fury of Complete Control, Career Opportunities, Garageland and Claah City Rockers.

It's sad. The Clash is an impor tant band, a sensational performing band, but a band that is being eaten up by its own contradictions, some which manifested selves Tuesday night. The songs heard from the forthcoming Lon don Calling album indicate that The Clash's best creative work lies ahead but unless the band can unravel internal problems that are beating down the group and confusing its believers, The Clash could be just a memory by this time next year.

THE PROVINCE, Friday, Oct. 19, 1979

***A9 - Entertainment

10-year success no longer there

By TOM HARRISON

The last time Black Oak Arkansas played Vancouver was 1976, when the band headlined a triple bill at the Gardens and touted its album, Ten Year Overnight Success, the title of which told the group's story.

Wednesday night at the Commodore there didn't seem to be much of that success left.

Oh, there was still Jim "Dandy" Mangrum hollering like a bullfrog in his own inimitable way about rawk 'n' rawl, and gettin' crazy 'n' havin' a pardy and essentially this was the same BOA (minus record contract) with different faces playing Hot and Nasty for a small crowd of 400. There was still that ludicrous raunch that made the group a hit for an album or two 'way back when.

You even had to admire Jim Dandy for not giving in an inch. His band is getting younger (the fast-fingered guitar player is 16; talk about misspent youth) and still Jim, a real genuine nice guy, by the way. ducksquats through another night.

It doesn't make much sense any more, probably even to him, but what the hell.

Opening act The Rebels performed much better for the Commodore crowd than they did for that of their patrons, The Clash. Who knows how they'll survive tonight's Judas Priest concert at the Gardens!

Finally, The Clash's Joe Strummer and Topper Headon found themselves stranded in Vancouver over Wednesday night.

The group has been mismanaging all along the way of its second tour. Vancouver was the last date but the band failed to secure hotel reservations for itself. Were it not for their record label, Epic, bailing the group out, The Clash would have been left out in the cold. The next morning, Mick Jones and Paul Somenon having already gone off to see their girlfriends, Strummer and Headon showed up at the airport with a drum-kit and other luggage but no money to freight them. That stuff went C.O.D. but the singer and drummer missed their flight to London.

The Clash needs a manager.

"I know," said a sheepish Topper Headon.