In the summer of 1981, due to no fault of their own, The Clash played an extended residency at Bond’s casino in Times Square, New York City. The success
of “London Calling” the previous year had rendered them big cult stars in the US.
Their star in ascendance, they couldn’t put a foot wrong.
This trip coincided with the explosion of hip-hop culture in the city. Rap, graffiti and break dancing were everywhere, the sound of the city from every radio and boogie box. The Clash absorbed this like sponges.- https://youtu.be/ixPDBnX5iGo?si=_RdL9dwHOiAUuqKw
- The evidence was there on
Sandanista!, their current triple album; a punk rock flavoured trip through the previous 25 years of popular music. And dance music.
On October 12th 1981, and buoyed from the success of their summer in the city, they rocked into Liverpool to cause as much damage as possible. It had been
three years since their last appearance in the city and the musical landscape had changed drastically in the ensuing time. Punk had fragmented, the fury and anger being distilled into a convenient folder called “Oi!”. The creativity and forward
thinking element didn’t have a name. Still doesn’t – we call it post-punk, even to this day. For every Peter and the Test Tube Babies and Chron Gen, there was a Joy Division and Wire. Then there was The Clash, ploughing their own furrow, outside of all those groups and their music.
Punk thankfully meant different things to different people. In the audience that night were practitioners of all those myriad splinters. The Clash had the ability to draw these tribes and groups together – it was a testament to their position in all
this, even in 1981. I was stuck – literally – in the stalls at the Royal Court Theatre, punk rock and its accoutrements surrounding on all points. The smell of stale ale
and punk rock are some of the most memorable items of my formative years, pungent and ugly in equal amounts. Oi to the left of me, post-punk to the right,
the stars were out that night.
What was notable was the utter disbelief from the more exploited members of the audience at the band’s new found love of the sights, sounds and smells of
New York. Confused by the way their heroes of the revolution had taken a left hand turn, they reserved their fury for the more ‘disco’ elements of the set.
Interspersed with 90 mile an hour, furious rock music were more futuristic flavours. The performance of the still unreleased, “This Is Radio Clash” really put the cat among the pigeons. Those immediately around me saw this as a betrayal
of their punk rock credentials and voiced their dissatisfaction loud and fucking clear as Mick Jones beat the living shit out of his syn-drums. The wild
style comes to Babylon.
I was the same age as those angry punks calling Joe Strummer a disco sell out. While he attempted to take the spirit of punk into new, uncharted waters, those around me were lamenting the days of only a few years ago, when everything was furious and you knew where you were. I could never – even for a
fleeting moment – see what that oi thing was all about. Punk offered endless opportunities to take life and music wherever you wanted to take it. Some took it to the other side of the universe in musical terms. Some couldn’t get to the bottom of the street. I’m really glad we all like different things. This Is Radio Clash was, and still is, the future. “Pissed And Proud” by Peter And The Test Tube Babies is just a record. Nothing can change that.
bernie@happening-things.com 