Post by Fuggle on Sept 26, 2004 6:52:44 GMT -5
Terrell's Tuneup: Punk ferocity
Steve Terrell | The New Mexican
September 24, 2004
The punk era of the late 1970s was the result of a loose-knit movement in which the prevailing attitude was that there was way too much reverence toward rock stars, that music should be considered disposable, a fleeting joke, something for the moment. Trouble is, there were bands that included some serious musicians whose work, in spite of themselves, transcended the self-imposed limits of punk.
On a DVD interview included in the recently released London Calling: 25th Anniversary Legacy Edition by the Clash, Joe Strummer recalls having to deal with “the punk police,” purists who insisted that punk rock had to be three-minute bursts of rage and snottiness — and nothing else.
But Strummer, Mick Jones, Paul Simonon and Topper Headon disagreed. Punk was supposed to represent freedom, Strummer said. And that includes the freedom to incorporate the sounds of funk, rockabilly, dub reggae, jazz, R&B and anything else that wasn’t nailed down. If that means using a horn section on a ska version of “Staggolee” (called “Wrong ’em Boyo” here) and if they sound a little bit like the Band on “Jimmy Jazz,” it didn’t have to distract from the punk ferocity.
One would like to think that the late Strummer is rolling over in his grave at the thought of this album being the subject of a fancy-schmancy multidisc 25th-anniversary package (list price $29.98). But remember, the sainted Strummer still was alive in 2002 when the song “London Calling” was used on a television commercial for Jaguar Motors. So I don’t see Joe getting too upset about this — and not that he should be.
In addition to the original album (remastered a couple of years ago), the three-disc set includes “The Vanilla Tapes,” which consist of a recently uncovered demo and rehearsal sessions including versions of most of the London Calling tunes.
It’s a lo- to no-fi affair. It’s got no-frills early takes on what would become signature Clash tunes (an almost tuneless version of the song “London Calling,” an embryonic instrumental “Guns of Brixton,” called simply “Paul’s Tune”), plus some previously unheard songs, like a hillbilly romp called “Lonesome Me” and a reggae-drenched cover of Bob Dylan’s “Man in Me.”<br>
There’s also a DVD featuring an interesting, if hardly essential, documentary about the making of the album. The most fun part of the DVD, though, is the black-and-white footage of the album sessions, which are hilarious due to the crazed antics of producer Guy Stevens, a balding hippie who kept the band on edge by tossing chairs and a ladder across the studio and pouring wine on a piano while Strummer was playing it.
But the main course still is the original album itself, which retains its joyful, “dancing on the trash heap of history” power bite a quarter of a century later.
“Brand New Cadillac,” a cover of a song by obscure artist Vince Taylor, makes most of the punked-up rockabilly that followed sound like Happy Days. Though the comparison isn’t obvious, “Train in Vain” follows in the tradition of Frank Sinatra, proving tough guys can sing love songs.
Amazingly, songs like “Clampdown,” “Spanish Bombs” and of course the title track, don’t sound dated. They haven’t lost a trace of their apocalyptic relevance. “Lost in the Supermarket” remains the quintessential anthem of consumerism angst.
The Clash considered London Calling to be “the last rock ’n’ roll album.” Well, they were wrong. But there haven’t been many albums in the last 25 years as powerful as this.
Steve Terrell | The New Mexican
September 24, 2004
The punk era of the late 1970s was the result of a loose-knit movement in which the prevailing attitude was that there was way too much reverence toward rock stars, that music should be considered disposable, a fleeting joke, something for the moment. Trouble is, there were bands that included some serious musicians whose work, in spite of themselves, transcended the self-imposed limits of punk.
On a DVD interview included in the recently released London Calling: 25th Anniversary Legacy Edition by the Clash, Joe Strummer recalls having to deal with “the punk police,” purists who insisted that punk rock had to be three-minute bursts of rage and snottiness — and nothing else.
But Strummer, Mick Jones, Paul Simonon and Topper Headon disagreed. Punk was supposed to represent freedom, Strummer said. And that includes the freedom to incorporate the sounds of funk, rockabilly, dub reggae, jazz, R&B and anything else that wasn’t nailed down. If that means using a horn section on a ska version of “Staggolee” (called “Wrong ’em Boyo” here) and if they sound a little bit like the Band on “Jimmy Jazz,” it didn’t have to distract from the punk ferocity.
One would like to think that the late Strummer is rolling over in his grave at the thought of this album being the subject of a fancy-schmancy multidisc 25th-anniversary package (list price $29.98). But remember, the sainted Strummer still was alive in 2002 when the song “London Calling” was used on a television commercial for Jaguar Motors. So I don’t see Joe getting too upset about this — and not that he should be.
In addition to the original album (remastered a couple of years ago), the three-disc set includes “The Vanilla Tapes,” which consist of a recently uncovered demo and rehearsal sessions including versions of most of the London Calling tunes.
It’s a lo- to no-fi affair. It’s got no-frills early takes on what would become signature Clash tunes (an almost tuneless version of the song “London Calling,” an embryonic instrumental “Guns of Brixton,” called simply “Paul’s Tune”), plus some previously unheard songs, like a hillbilly romp called “Lonesome Me” and a reggae-drenched cover of Bob Dylan’s “Man in Me.”<br>
There’s also a DVD featuring an interesting, if hardly essential, documentary about the making of the album. The most fun part of the DVD, though, is the black-and-white footage of the album sessions, which are hilarious due to the crazed antics of producer Guy Stevens, a balding hippie who kept the band on edge by tossing chairs and a ladder across the studio and pouring wine on a piano while Strummer was playing it.
But the main course still is the original album itself, which retains its joyful, “dancing on the trash heap of history” power bite a quarter of a century later.
“Brand New Cadillac,” a cover of a song by obscure artist Vince Taylor, makes most of the punked-up rockabilly that followed sound like Happy Days. Though the comparison isn’t obvious, “Train in Vain” follows in the tradition of Frank Sinatra, proving tough guys can sing love songs.
Amazingly, songs like “Clampdown,” “Spanish Bombs” and of course the title track, don’t sound dated. They haven’t lost a trace of their apocalyptic relevance. “Lost in the Supermarket” remains the quintessential anthem of consumerism angst.
The Clash considered London Calling to be “the last rock ’n’ roll album.” Well, they were wrong. But there haven’t been many albums in the last 25 years as powerful as this.