Joe Strummer, 1952-2002
December 23, 2002, 6:30 AM
I wake up to the sound of my three-month old daughter crying. I stumble to her bedroom, pick her up, and pad into the kitchen to prepare her first bottle of the day. As a teacher, I was delighted to know that this was the beginning of a two-week vacation away from a few ungrateful ingrates (i.e. my students) and the perfect time to get caught up on some much needed playtime with my two daughters. The phone rings—my wife informs me that Joe Strummer has died. Damn. My daughter then begins to cry, wanting her bottle or a clean diaper. Double damn.
Knowing that I need to finish some Christmas shopping, my parents tell me they will watch the kids. My six-year old notices that I'm a bit distracted.
"What's wrong, Dad?"
"Not much—just this man that I like to hear sing has died."
She looks a little concerned, but as long as it's not one of the Wiggles, she's okay.
I drop the kids off and pop London Calling into my truck's CD player. I head down the road, tunelessly warbling "Rudie Can't Fail" and "I'm Not Down" (okay, so that's a Mick Jones tune—sue me). Damn, this feels good…
I first fell in love with the Clash during the summer of 1981. This was the summer between my eighth and ninth grades, and I was exposed to some absolutely incredible records—U2's Boy and Joe Jackson's Beat Crazy were two of the defining records of that summer. But the record I fell for the hardest was the Clash's Sandinista! At three records, it was quite a bit to digest in one setting, but, hey, it was a long summer and I had time to ponder what it all meant: What did "Sandinista" mean? What was "dub?" And, most importantly, who the hell was that guy that sounded like Geddy Lee on "Lose This Skin?" I even got to see them perform "This is Radio Clash" on Tom Snyder's television show.
After I got into high school, I started exploring more punk music: Sex Pistols, Dead Kennedys, Agent Orange, the Stranglers. But the heavens opened and I heard London Calling. This was it; this was what rock & roll was meant to be: great songs, attitude and intelligence. I was absolutely enthralled by London Calling. Politically, it opened my (conservative) eyes to a whole new way of looking at the world. Musically, it just kicked my ass. Besides that, I wanted to be the guy smashing the bass on the cover!
I followed the Clash religiously until the original group broke up in 1982 (and, no, I never had the desire to buy Cut The Crap). I followed Joe's relatively short tenure as the Pogues' lead singer, and, heck, I even enjoyed Mick Jones' work with Big Audio Dynamite. Joe had some small-scale success with his new band, the Mescaleros, and had just finished up a well-received UK tour before the heart attack that killed him struck on December 21.
Although the band had resisted all offers to regroup, they were going to perform together at their induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They influenced bands/singers as diverse as Rancid and Billy Bragg. The Clash was the heartbeat of punk, but Joe Strummer was its conscience. A heart attack took him at 50, but the music still remains.
Bruiser Boone
Contributing writer
