Cycle Annie, ed. Total Control (German), no. 1, 1977, pp. 21 pages. Includes reports by Jamie J. Jones, Werner Müller, Roger, and others.

Total Control (German), no. 1, 1977

— The debut issue of German punk fanzine Total Control, produced in a run of just 100 copies, documents The Clash’s October 1977 tour of Germany alongside scattered scene notes and satire. Contributors include Jamie J. Jones, Werner Müller, Roger, and Cycle Annie.

— Published to coincide with the Clash’s German dates in in Vienna, Munich, Frankfurt, Hamburg (October 1977 tour).

— Describes chaotic shows, audience numbers varied: ca. 500 in Vienna, 70 in Frankfurt, larger crowds in Hamburg with pogoing, violence, and the presence of Teddy Boys.

— Joe Strummer dismissing fanzines, Mick Jones joking with fans, Paul Simonon wearing Patti Smith transfers, and Topper Headon anchoring the sets.

— The issue stresses its rarity (only 100 printed) and cult status in German punk history.

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Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages Cover

T-O-T-A-L CONTROL 1

Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages A & B

THIS IS THE PUNK ROCKERS…

So, this is No. 1 of T-O-T-A-L CONTROL. We brought it out on the occasion of the Clash tour, which recently rolled through our country. And because we still had space, we also covered a few girls like Charliez Girls and Male — Germany’s first punk concert at which the term punk is actually appropriate. This issue was enclosed with the 0911th anniversary: Demo & Punk, and is therefore free of charge. Exactly one hundred copies were printed, so you can shake your baker’s hand if he still had one of the rare collector’s items. T-O-T-A-L CONTROL will continue not to appear regularly, only on very special occasions.

Those involved in this issue:

Hamburg: Jamie J. Jones Frankfurt: " " Munich: Werner Müller Vienna: Roger Rodenkirchen: Cycle Annie

The shop was run by: Mary Lou Monroe & Jamie J. Jones

Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages 1 & 2

TOTAL USELESS PAGE

NO ADVERTS!

Merry Christmas to ya all! See you in 1978! 🎄 (artwork →)

OSTRICH JUBILEE RULES - OK.

CLASH VIENNA

Vienna is burning! So, that’s it then. But you can’t see any trace of freshly arrived New Wavers from the station to the union hall. Nor can you see smouldering piles of rubble (which, if present, could testify to the constant presence of a local storm troop of punks); on the contrary, now I am in the hall.

The audience is so-so, about 500 in total. Reggae over the PA. Then the support band — not worth mentioning, finally The Clash. With that: bang bang, there stand The Clash on stage. London's Burning: as always, good and brutal. The band is mostly known from the record, but some songs are new. One of them is called Guitar or something like that.

Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages 3 & 4

Total Useless Page

Tuesday, 4.10.77, Munich. I go to the bus sale, pockets full of strange guys, and a few versions 92 (Good Rum). I meet Werner, we listen to the new single Complete Control, then they disappear — the drums rumble. The people want to see Mick. I immediately go to another show. Hey Joe, we talk about White Riot — a heart is healthy.

---

cowt.over… e

REMOTE OSTRICH: But the guy… says to himself — doesn’t suit me, because I don’t know what “dedication” is in English.

Strummer just scribbles his name on the note and says:

Ostrich: “Hey Joe, ah, please write me a…”

Strummer: “Damn, what was it again, what’s ‘dedication’ called?…”

Ostrich: “Aw, c’mon, write me something for the Ostrich!”

Strummer: “Ostrich?!”

Ostrich: “Yeah, Ostrich, O-S-T-R-I-C-H!”

Strummer: “Hm…”

Ostrich: “We're the only German New Wave fanzine.”

Strummer: “Baaaah — fanzines! Fuck ’em all!”

Ostrich: “Man, get on with it, you cripple!…”

Ostrich: “Memschameier, a dedication!!”

Strummer: “-”

Ostrich: “Perp geöver…”

Strummer: “Hey Paul, let’s go over there an’ get some beer…”

(Truly gigantic, direct and… interview was done by a Munich staff member. If we Germans had taken the matter into our own hands, it would not have been… see two pages further.)

Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages 5 & 6

(5) Rarely such a stupid support band. They play some crap where everyone has to be alone once in a while and get booed mercilessly, and after 3 songs we’ve had enough and throw them out. The singer is a stupid dog and pours beer on my head. Then finally changeover. Rodent and his gang do what they want. When the curtain goes up again, they’re already on stage tuning the guitars.

London's Burning… Munich too. Police & Thieves, Remote Control, Simonon has Patti Smith pictures ironed onto his back, Janie Jones, 48 Hours, Protex Blue, Deny, I'm So Bored with the USA. Mick thrashes his guitar as if it were a slaughter-ready sow… Strummer’s voice breaks on What's My Name… then silence. Joe says “Laugh… laugh… silent laugh…” or something… then again 48 Hours, then Complete Control, then encore White Riot, Hate & War, Career Opportunities and gone. It was awesome, me too, I’m wrecked, it was le-gen-dary.

So, folks, now it really starts. Now the boss cooks, or rather, Jones’s lament. Over the course of 3 days he’s done a lot and come back with some good stuff.

<small>LOSLOSLOSLOSLOSLOS…</small>

(6) From someone seeing the excerpt of the Clash:

Janie J. Jones in Hamburg & Frankfurt — an Ostrich production.

Starring: Jones and his ego Joe Strummer — Mick Jones — Paul Simonon — Topper Headon — Rodent — extras.

From 4–6 October in fucking Germany — The Clash. Three weeks earlier, rumours said they might come to Cologne, but no one knew for sure. At the end of September someone shoves a teeny-mag in my hand (no names) — tour dates: Clash 4.10. Munich, 5.10. Frankfurt, 6.10. Hamburg. Shit, here come the greatest heroes of modern times. So the usual, see Ostrich No. 4 for comments. But the week before, a really dumb idea comes to me: how about…

Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages 7 & 8

(7) If I take half a week off and once again go on lightning trips to all three German dates… The idea appeals to me more and more, all measures are taken (namely none) and apart from Monroe no one can be found who wants to come along. (Not even to Frankfurt will anyone go.) Monroe therefore wants to live up to his reputation (4711 — always there) once again. On Monday evening we then find out that he’s not getting any money for Munich. Oh, so only going to Frankfurt then. All right. On Tuesday that also falls through — no money down. So I have to travel alone. That could be a lot of fun. (See, no Monroe — no fun, I always say…)

Well, finally, after a dull, endless train journey I’m in Frankfurt. Nowhere to see any posters. After I’ve spent the whole day in Burger King (compared to that, McDo is like a bourgeois midday meal) and in various pubs, I went at 7 to the Volksbildungsheim, where The Clash were supposed to play. Around 8 there are 70 people, 7 punks there. We wait, but nothing happens. After about 10 minutes another punk comes: black leather jacket, black zipper trousers, poodle haircut — Mick Jones. Where the rest of the action isn’t far, I also go up the stairs. He goes right, I go left, and end up right in the room where the support band is taking photos. They’re called the Strassenjungs. Oh God! — long-haired, dumb-faced, German.

(8) They’ve got a record on CBS, that’s why the tour. So I go through a door, through which one of my valuable glances catches a PA and a familiar figure with shaggy hair, black zipper trousers and a white T-shirt — no, you mug, not Mick or Joe or Paul or Nicky. Rodent, of course — the roadie. Apart from the two of us, there are about 10 people in the room. The room was the hall, not too big: 400–500 people, low stage. Better than a village festival hall. A few of the guys who were still there were hired roadies (2–3), Strassenjungs (4–5), their management & roadies (2–3), almost as bad as with the Males. While Rodent sets up the PA (pink casing, looks exactly like the cover of the single Rats) I ask the Strassenjungs a few questions and only get the classic answers. What’s the deal with their stupid long hair? “Ha — we’re not like you, such pathetic punks.” (Most punks — “No, not really” — actually just a handful with the “wannabe punks.”) I can hear you coming. Well — shitty record company. I praise their “vomit-proof leggings” and they laugh proudly, but don’t understand a thing. Probably only read Bravo. What are the songs about? “Doesn’t matter, lyrics, lyrics, formula.” Strassenjungs they’re called. Quen! Or say something: “Well, a few titles, Dauerlutscher, oh God!” — long-haired, dumb-faced, German. Him, Schlager star, on tour at night. Figures.

Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages 9 & 10

(9) Street stop, jet set fucker: then we discuss the advantages of Bossta steel-toe shoes (which your cool author is wearing) — against, get this — the guys’ platform shoes! (“You can kick better with them, from the side, otherwise you’ll break your foot.”) No, no, I go over to Joe, with Paul, and ask them how Munich was. “Munich? … ehh… ahh? Come along.” “Ah, I know, yesterday, yeah, you see, all this touring gets ya really messed up & tired, ya don’t know where ya been. Yeah, Munich — it was quite good there, but Vienna the night before was much better. They really got to like us.” All in all, we didn’t impress our brothers and sisters from down there.

Joe has a new Telecaster, black, not yet painted — he hasn’t had time. He shows me their set list (I’ve naturally forgotten the order again, only remember that I’m So Bored With the USA was indeed played before City of the Dead and before Capital Radio, even though it was crossed out). Now the soundcheck starts — Paul begins with a bass line… I know that! That’s “Listen”! Much tighter than on the EP. Then Capital Radio, all without vocals. Another new song, again Capital Radio, then done. That was so good, really great. Just for that it was worth coming here — the street guys just can’t compete.

Eventually the guys (Str.) start. Well, that’s not chick-punk — that’s really something else. The innovation!!! Heavy wanking like you’ve been able to hear everywhere for 10 years.

(10) Well, it’s always been a bit shittier to be German. Their lyrics, which they were so proud of, you couldn’t understand at all, supposedly due to the dumb PA, though I rather suspected it was because of the dumb, mumbling singer pig. After they finally cleared off after half an hour, Rodent goes back into action. Outside a guy pounces on me with the usual stupid questions (reminds me of the magazine ladies): “Clash — Sex Pistols — good, eh?” For him, Slaughter & the Dogs would be the greatest: “Well, Mochos forever.” Meanwhile the reggae is already playing. So I go back in. Was really good, but God knows how, and in da Zion gotta dance to da reggae, and in da Zion gotta dance to da reggae so da yuh can help us to bringa down da Babylon. (Insider jokes.)

Rules — OK! Greetings to Überblick: we don’t yet have a 40,000 circulation! Around 10 p.m. the stage curtain opens. Opens — there they are. From left to right: Mick Jones all in red, with the metallic blue guitar; Joe Strummer with black zipper trousers, black shirt with Union Jack emblem (General Officer 56A); Paul Simonon white zipper trousers, brown coarse-mesh sweater (more like a net). Behind them Topper Headon, black trousers and green Riot Head.

London’s Burning! Dam-dada-dam-dada-dam… Always the opening song of their set, always equally good, from the start I pogo like…

Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages 11 & 12

(11) Irerer, all across the town, all across (through!) the night

These southerners seem absolutely unacquainted with pogoing — they don’t move up and down, but sway out like we only do here.

The long-haired sacks! Then Complete Control complete with the great solo after the second verse. I had to provide You Are My Guitar Hero — Joe didn’t say anything at that point (but I don’t think they noticed, and apart from me no one seemed to know it at all). Oh yes: Total Control → pogoing (order forgotten), Remote Control (… but we didn’t want it on the “ay-hey-hey”), Hate & War, Bored With the USA, Career Opportunities, City of the Dead — they actually didn’t want to play that song, but things kept getting thrown, so the seniors were always supposed to come forward soon, but it didn’t matter. Janie Jones, Cheat — by now, I think even earlier, Joe’s guitar broke again, after he’d already been playing ripped for a while.

(12) He carelessly tossed the guitar behind him, where a well-oiled roadie immediately caught it. Then What’s My Name, Police & Thieves (unlike on the album they played the riff right from the start — Police & Thieves…). At the very end Mick then played what is the intro on the record. Then there was a song about guitarists who are or were in prison, Wayne, Keith, Mick Jones, etc. Garageland as the very last. Then they went off stage. Simultaneously with the hall lights, the reggae started up again. We shouted for an encore: More More More, Clash City Rockers. Nothing. They didn’t come. Shame.

Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages 13 & 14

(13) …hardly anyone xxx them (you just have to hear the stupid remarks from the assholes around you when The Clash, whose gig you’re waiting for, walk past…). I come in and it looks very good. Space for 500 people, bar, chairs. Shit. All the newbies immediately sit down on the stupid chairs that went almost up to the stage. I xxxx sit down on a table at the back, some guy comes and takes a photo. Looked quite xxxxxx good, black pinstripe jacket, dyed black hair cropped short (because he didn’t look like a stupid press jerk), so I asked: “…WHO” he was taking the photos for. “Berlin.” Berlin is big, so for who there? New Order people — then you’re Eldorado (ex-PVC). “Yes.” And you? From Ostrich, Janie. Could xxx you send us a few of the photos. He wanted to do that too (WHERE ARE THEY?!!!) xxxxx

Our literatus, Kunert Bernd, suddenly showed up too (but stubbornly xxxxxxxxx denied that he was the author of the strange articles (see Ostrich 4, “Why am I so stupid”)). In general, here there was suddenly a real scene: safety pins through ears and cheeks (some real), wrecked hairstyles and clothes. The big idiot with the big balls (Great White Idiot with the big balls) was hanging around too; well, quite nice, but the hair!! The people from Shave, I think they were called, looked much better. Me: what’s going on up there? (A VERY SPECIAL HELLO TO THE HAMBURG SCENE!)

The street guys looked just the same as the day before. They also threw their stupid hats into the crowd and played the same shit. No, no, so I went outside, because THAT music wouldn’t even give Moncho anything, and THAT says a lot. (After all, you know the fat Galechos, right?!) (Insider joke No. 335-04)

Outside I heard that the street guys thought the audience was “really great.” It was too, just not the band. Outside I almost tripped over Mick. He recognised me from Frankfurt and also thought the street guys were crap.

(14) He complained about the jerks in Frankfurt because so much stuff had been thrown on stage there. If that happened again, they didn’t want to play. When we got onto Complete Control, he thought he had to explain the various Clash jokes to me, namely: You Are My Guitar Hero, Clash Christmas Turkey, Run Rudolph Run in Lewisham High Street. I’d already worked that out myself.

Nick, with his poodle grin, tells me he’s just learned that the single had reached No. 28 in the charts, so: here are a few more facts — the new album will be released after Christmas and they’ve already got some tracks ready. On City of the Dead, Roy, some Rasta and old friend of Mick, plays saxophone (on the single Mick does the sax parts on guitar). As he left, he said they’d definitely be great tonight. (Sure, what else.)

(No irony!) Inside there was a lot of laughter about the Teds hanging around. Rodent is fiddling with the PA again. When xxx he left, he actually put on a green zip jacket — hard to believe. So he does have something other than white xxxx shirts. Then they came out. Mick had light trousers on, otherwise they looked the same as the day before. At the front in the old-man zone the atmosphere was incredibly good. Everything was buzzing before anything even started (was that because Jacky Vibrators had handed out stickers?).

Mick goes to his mic with his grin (that grin of his — wherever you see him — a mixture of dirty old man, innocent schoolboy and idiot) — THIS IS THE PUNK ROCKERS! The same set as in Frankfurt, but without City of the Dead. Is it here too…

Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages 15 & 16

(15) …no. We live. You can hardly stay at the back from excitement any more. Everyone pushes forward to the stage; anyone at the edge of the stage is almost torn apart. Behind is just a twitching, seething mass, from which someone is thrown up now and then. My legs are almost dead, but I can’t be stopped, I’m also one of the most active. (Well, Ostrich stands out for quality and quantity!), for The Clash you have to xx endure almost any hardship, and it’s fun fun fun. I’m in love with rock’n’roll wow — and pogo springs even higher again. Attention — low flyer here, captain. From the back some kind of club in front, slam into someone, crouch down, recover — it’s unreal when you can’t get up again, xx I’ll crush you. What’s My Name, Janie Jones. All the crowd come in — any way. I don’t wanna fight in the tropical heat — ohoohooohooh — this is Joe Public speaking, ohoohoohooh. In 1977 I hope I go to heaven — could easily happen here — I’m confused, I get violent when I’m fucked up — I get silent when I’m doped. Behind us stout fills all the chairs and we’re losing it, Screeech — I’m dreaming of a holiday…

(16) Danger stranger, whammmmmmmm whamm. Back in the garage with my bullshit detector — oh, already! — then it’s over soon, so once more all in, especially high, even further, I don’t wanna hear about what the rich ************ are doing, gasp, pant, ahhh, they think they’re so clever — jump — they think they’re so right, but the truth is only known — by guttersnipes, do dadawhamabamdadam, xx 22 singers whamdamwhamdam wham — one microphone — whamwhamwhamwham — end, end.

More, more, more, more, Clash, more, Clash, more, more, more, more!! I can’t listen to the reggae any more. I’m done. Dan — Paul — Joe — Topper — Mick, plug in, dam damdam dam damdam dam damdadadam — White Riot, I wanna riot, white riot, a riot of my own. The anthem they otherwise hold back, not played in F at all, but here at last — yes, we deserved it.

Everybody’s doin’ just what they’re told to, nobody wants to go to jail, wham wham madness madness. All the power in the hands of the people rich enough to buy it while we walk the street too chicken to even try it. Wham whammwhamm White Riot — I wanna riot — then again 1977 — in 1978 — in 1979 — in 1980 — in 1981 — in 1982 — in 1983 — in 1984.

That’s it for good. They go and don’t come back.

Back in the dressing room everyone’s hanging around again. Two stupid teenage girls are hanging on Mick. “Isn’t he cute? Pottsii!” “Eh Jochen (German tour manager), tell ’em they’re too young for me.” Meanwhile Mick empties half a bottle of whiskey and Joe gets angry about it. No, he xxxx really wants to. In age though, with just a plain black T-shirt, he’s not averse. Instead he presses a xxxx can of V8 vegetable juice into my hand. He’s got a cool way of taking the piss out of people. (Slash-slash-snippet-snap — right?!) Why didn’t you wait for an encore for 20 long… “We didn’t want to, but we had an argument, and you wouldn’t go out to play when you have an argument, would you?”

Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages 17 & 18

Not. We live. You can hardly pogo any more from excitement. Everyone pushes forward to the stage; anyone at the edge of the stage is almost torn apart. Behind is just a twitching, seething mass, from which someone shoots up now and then. My legs are almost dead, but I can’t be stopped, I’m also one of the most active here. (Well, Ostrich stands out for quality and quantity!), for and with The Clash you have to xx endure almost any hardship.

And it’s fun fun fun. I’m in love with rock’n’roll! wow — even higher pogo springs and up again. Attention — low flyer here! Captain from behind with some kind of club, slam into someone in front, crouch, recover — it’s impossible when you can’t get up again, xx will crush you.

What’s My Ma-haa-haa-ha-name & jump. All the crowd come in — Danny Wait. Lust! Lebensraum. I don’t wanna fight in the tropical heat — oooohooooh — this is Joe Public speaking, ohoohoohooh. In 1977 I hope I go to heaven — could easily happen here — I’m confused, I get violent when I’m fucked up — I get silent when I’m doped — and behind us the still half-ton chairs fill up. We’re losing it completely.

Screeech — I’m dreaming of a holiday… Danger stranger, whammmmmmmm whamm. Back in the garage with my bullshit detector — oh, already! — then it’s over soon, so once more all in, especially high, even further, I don’t wanna hear about what the rich ************ are doing, gasp, pant, ahhh, they think they’re so clever — jump — they think they’re so right, but the truth is only known — by guttersnipes, do dadawhamabamdadam, xx 22 singers whamdamwhamdam wham — one microphone — whamwhamwhamwhamwham.

End, end. More, more, more, more, Clash, more; Clash, more, more, more, more!! I can’t listen to the reggae any more. I’m wrecked. Dan – Paul – Joe – Topper – Mick, plug in, dam damadam dam damadam damdamadadam — dadam — White Riot, I wanna riot, white riot, a riot of my own. The anthem they otherwise hold back, not played in F at all, but here at last — yes, we deserved it. Everybody’s doin’ just what they’re told to, nobody wants to go to jail, wham wham madness madness. All the power in the hands of the people rich enough to buy it while we walk the street too chicken to even try it. Wham whammmm — White Riot — I wanna riot — then again 1977 — in 1978 — in 1979 — in 1980 — in 1981 — in 1982 — in 1983 — in 1984.

That’s it for good. They go and don’t come back.

Back in the dressing room everyone’s hanging around again; two stupid teenage girls are hanging on Mick. “Isn’t he cute? Pottis!!” “Eh Jochen (German tour manager), tell ’em they’re too young for me.” “Cute, right?!” Meanwhile Mick empties half a bottle of whiskey and Joe gets angry about it.

Another teenage girl wants xxx badly to pull off a cool black T-shirt. Instead he presses a xxxx can of V8 vegetable juice into her hand. He’s got a cool way of taking the piss out of people. (Slash, nobody snips — right?!) “Why did you take so long with the encore?” — “Oh, we didn’t want to, but we had an argument, and you wouldn’t go out to play when you have an argument, would you?”

oo17 (next time you type your own shit, got me?!!) You see, when we left, I thought Mick had called me a wanker, and I don’t like to be called things like that, so we had an argument and that was it — what took us so long to come back for the encore — ‘Straßman, s?’ — well, bullshit, they’ve not only got to change their hairstyle, they’ve got to change their brains. From him I also learned that the people are planning to go to England, and he thinks they’re very funny, like the Teds. With some of them he even discussed doo-wop very knowledgeably.

Meanwhile Mick still hadn’t got rid of the two teenage girls. He was making every effort, but they clung to him like burrs. First he told them about The Clash gig at the Bravo Disco in Mainz (Shame on you!), saying it had been a great experience, with hordes of roller-skating teenagers back there, then the “man attack” by the “punk rockers.” No reaction, and when The Clash were finished, they actually screamed and squealed. The two bags didn’t give up (Pottis, right?), □ Mick simply ignored them and talked to someone else while they sat on him.

Since Joe didn’t give up his T-shirt, the would-be souvenir hunter wanted something else and went for Nicky, so that ■■ would give her something. The whole time he kept saying, “Don’t give her your fuckin’ shirt,” and that’s certainly a member of a ■■■■■ ■■■■■ that should no longer be named. The Cologne band didn’t give up and in the end saved the number one. Joe was pretty angry with Topper. One of the Teds showed Joe a great rock’n’roll poster and gave it to him because he liked it so much. Joe had just shown a police badge — “A friend of mine gave it to me, it’s from America, but I’d rather not…” — and he had actually taken it away from a policeman and wanted to give it to the Ted, but ■■ shouldn’t have.

Cool, honestly: page end — all end! Film Rodenkirchen’s Burning survived and written by Cycle Annie

Tuesday, 11 October 1977. Jones, Monroe and I meet Guido at Düsseldorf station — our wise rock’n’roller — and Pasqual, our emergency photographer. At 8 the girls are supposed to play a gig in Rodenkirchen. “…Mensch Meier, I have to play; there’s no fee!! 2000 people, free drinks & a fee…”

Around 6 we arrive; everyone is in the best mood and Gray, Monroe and Guido immediately get through piles of sausages, beer and speed. Lucy, ex-Stengun and currently bassist, drags me backstage, where the support band Crawfish is hanging out, and asks if the guys are still coming tonight.

Total Control fanzine #1 1977 pages XX & XX