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Twin Town High (vol. 8) |
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Round the Dial
Thursday 02 January @ 11:17:04 |
 by Tom Hallett
QUOTE OF THE WEEK: “I’ve got no doubt the fourth dimension exists. But is it just like the world we’re trying to escape from? I need to know if you’re allowed to smoke in there...”
-—Joe Strummer
SONG OF THE WEEK: “Mega Bottle Ride”
-—Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros
*Note: Due to unforseen factors, last week’s Round The Dial Tribute To Joe Strummer was regrettably cut short—and sadly devoid of any photos or artwork. My apologies to Joe’s fans, my regular readers, and especially the folks who took time out of their busy Holiday schedules to contribute—we’ll pick up this week where we left off, and once again send out peace and condolences to Joe’s family and friends. —Tom Hallett
LOCAL MUSICIANS / SCENE-MAKERS COMMENT ON THE RECENT DEATH OF CLASH/MESCALEROS FOUNDER JOE STRUMMER:
IT’S A BUMMER WITHOUT JOE STRUMMER
By Paul D. Dickinson, singer/guitarist, Frances Gumm, and Proprietor of Speedboat Books, 566 N. Snelling, St. Paul
Joe Strummer was the reason that I used a concoction of duct tape and safety pins to turn my “boot cut” jeans into straight leg pants during that dangerous era known as “early high school.” The Clash saved me by simply destroying me, by laying waste to everything that was dear to everyone except for me and my degenerate friends. And they did it with elegance. The Clash were able to deliver a radical message with such amazing pop brilliance. Hearing them crank out of my boombox suddenly made me human again. I’ve pulled my tattered cassette copy of “London Calling” out of burning cars and pried it out of the clutches of insane women that wanted me dead and you’re damn right—I’m listening to it right now.
ARMAGIDEON TIME
By Tom Siler, singer/guitarist/keyboardist, Tulip Sweet, Larme De Colere, King Of France
The first album by the Clash that I bought was Cut the Crap and I loved it. This was after the Clash lost Mick Jones and Topper in one fell swoop. Apparently Strummer wanted to keep his motivations “pure,” if you can imagine anybody in the industry worrying about that now. It was also Strummer’s last Clash album, for sure now. I’d read about him in the ‘zines, how he’d be walking into Van Halen’s trailer during an “US” festival and being a smart ass about where Dave & Eddie’s share of the profit should be redirected. I remember him saying how he HATED new wave music because it was only for “posers who can’t really go the distance.” I remember him doing a 20-mile run for a charity, and he was quoted as saying his fear wasn’t of not finishing the run, but that “the biggest temptation will be not stopping off in a pub along the way.” And get a load of that photo of him in his Nike running gear, mohawk & black dress socks! There was an interview in Creem titled, “Joe Strummer: ‘I Just Want to Spoil the Party, So I’ll Stay!’” As far as I can tell, the Clash were the LAST “rock act” to tie everything they believed about the world situation into an exciting and dynamic visual/musical “package.” Their presence in the industry made the sensitive listener feel nothing short of PASSIONATE when confronted by their music and its radical content. They weren’t insular and myopic like some of the later grunge-y acts. The fact that his style of political protest music can still be heard on jukeboxes everywhere, 25 years after the fact, and not sound like a punk rock cartoon is evidence of his talent. He was a major inspiration for me and most of my guitar-wanking buddies. Crank up your subsonic woofers and roar down your block playing “It’s not Xmas time in Armagideon time.”
THE ROAD TO ROCK AND ROLL
By Mike Leonard, singer/guitarist, Bleeding Hearts, etc.
It’s hard for me to try to find words that can possibly sum up my feelings for Joe and everything he’s done. To me I am as devastated by his death as I was ecstatic for his rebirth with the Mescaleros...and that’s what makes this the toughest to swallow...he was in the midst of a creative flurry as inspired as that of 1979. I was really looking forward to the next record and tour, and especially the induction of The Clash into the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame in March. It’s a sad day for rock music, I don’t know anyone that can keep his spirit alive or carry the torch. I don’t have the heart to get caught up in any VH-1 retrospectives of the Clash doing “Rock The Casbah”—to cast him in that light would be a gross injustice. I just hope people check out the stuff he did with the Mescaleros—Joe Strummer was about a whole lot more than just The Clash.
NOT A SUCK-UP DICKHEAD
By Mark Trehus, owner/operator, Treehouse Records, 2557 Lyndale Ave. South, Minneapolis
“Here are my recollections of meeting Joe. January 1978 (or was it ’79?). I had just witnessed the greatest punk rock show that I had ever seen in my life a mere two hours earlier at Cleveland’s Agora Ballroom, and here I was in the luxury suite of Swingo’s Hotel in beautiful downtown Cleveland at a post-concert party thrown by CBS Records for the band who had just blown my 23-year-old ass away...the Clash. After first knocking on the wrong door and having been gruffly greeted by warmup act Bo Diddley—clad only in boxer shorts, a young white woman under either arm—we made our way to the fancy room where the Clash were holding court. Individually, they acted pretty much in the fashion that their subsequent public images would lead you to believe they might have acted: Mick Jones, commanding center stage, playing the rock star; Paul Simonon, sprawled out on the floor in a corner, devoting all of his attention to a lovely young lady; Topper Headon, casting suspicious eyes upon the goings-on, looking like he’d just as soon slit your throat as talk to you. And then there was Joe Strummer. After a stream of major record company toads and assorted hipsters had been paraded by him, my friend Stefan Hammond (who was writing a story for the Minnesota Daily) said, “...and this is my buddy, Mark Trehus.” Big gulp. “So, whudda YOU do?” asks a bored Strummer. After all of the journalists, industry people and other IMPORTANT people, I had to confess the awful truth: “I just work in a factory, loading trucks.” “Awright then, mate! Y’wanna beer?” Then Joe Strummer spent the next fifteen minutes or so talking to me like I was the only person at the party that mattered, rather than being about the only one who didn’t have any “hip” credentials. Sure, I mighta spun records back in Minneapolis at the Longhorn in between sets by the Suicide Commandos, Spooks and all, but the fact of the matter was that I was just your average, %@!#$&ed-up blue-collar suburban kid who was throwing boxes around in a hairspray factory because I didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do with my life. Sex and drugs and rock and roll were the only things that really mattered to me, and Joe Strummer was right there with me—I felt it, KNEW IT, intuitively. We shared some ganja, and to tell you the truth, I don’t even remember what the hell we talked about for the most part. But one thing I can tell you is this: Joe Strummer was REAL, he was not some bull%@!#$&, careering A&R-suckup dickhead. He was a guy who seemed to feel most comfortable rubbing elbows with the proletariat. I will always remember the image of him snuffing his burning cigarette butt into the plush white carpet of Swingo’s luxury hotel suite, with a wink in his eye and a crooked-toothed smile. He will be missed.”
There ya go, folks. Now go out and buy those Mescaleros albums you kept putting off adding to your collection, or better yet, write yer own songs, start yer own band, and try to kick just a smidgeon of the ass that Mr. Strummer did in his short tenure in this dimension. And hey, Joe—here’s to hopin’ there’s an endless supply of stinky European smokes waitin’ for ya in the next. Peace, Happy New Year, and until next time—make yer own damn news.
If you have local music news/gigs/events that you’d like to see listed in this column, or you’d just like to smear that left-over figgy pudding all over these pages, send replies to: TMygunn777@aol.com.
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