For The Record #8 – Straight To Hell / Police and Thieves / Ice Cream For Crow LP

The first ever review of reggae on the blog (if you discount Costello’s ‘Watching The Detectives’, which isn’t real reggae to me, but anyway). The Clash return, while we also have the first appearance of an artist who I’ve come to adore recently, having never listened to them in great depth at all.

Straight To Hell B/W Should I Stay Or Should I Go – The Clash

‘This really sounds like M.I.A!’ is the most frequent greeting this song receives from those who I share it with, which is fair enough to be honest.

‘Straight To Hell’ is one of The Clash’s lesser known singles by those who aren’t avid listeners, which is probably down to the fact it was released as a double A-side with ‘Should I Stay’, which obviously trumps it for accessibility and popularity.

Though I think this is an absolute shame. Since I was around 14 I’ve had a huge obsession with this song, resulting in the purchase and receipt of various ‘Straight To Hell’ themed items (which can be seen below).

A song lamenting the loss of British industry, anti-immigration rhetoric and the legacy of the Vietnam War, this is quite simply one of the greatest songs ever written, both lyrically and musically. Chris Salewicz (Redemption Song: The Definitive Biography of Joe Strummer) calls it an ‘epic ballad … one of the archetypal Clash tunes’, and probably one of the only songs ever to use an R-Whites lemonade bottle to play the bass drum with.

Starting with a quiet, descending chord sequence, it grows wonderfully before being led by a stunning Topper Headon groove. In comes Strummer – his voice is strained, mourning, sometimes running out of emotional energy to get through words properly. Each verse holds a different story, the first commentating on the bleak plight of British industry, the second on children born in Vietnam to now absent American fathers, and the third covers the dour remains of the American dream

‘There ain’t no need for ya’ is one of the most underrated lines in punk history, and its repetition just hits home the message in such a desperate tone. Who needs the subjects of these stories, those left voiceless by inhumane political and economic decisions?

The second verse holds another fantastic couple of lines:

Let me tell me ’bout your blood, bamboo kid / It ain’t Coca-Cola, it’s rice’ 

You don’t need me to explain the lines or the literary prowess of them, but it is so stark and miserable, particularly with the previous lines from the child’s perspective, seeing pictures of their now separated parents in search of where one has left without them.

Listening to it on repeat, it’s honestly making me feel quite sorry for the state of affairs that Strummer so vividly illustrates with his words. I think it’s a lot easier to empathise with the message of the song if you’re of the same political persuasion of The Clash (of which I generally am), but I think even this goliath of a song could win over anybody, whether left or right, active or apathetic.

There ain’t no asylum here’ announces Strummer slowly, before the final line alludes back to the fatherless child of the Vietnam war: ‘Oh papa-san, please take me home’.

I imagine those who listened to the other A-side in 1982 must’ve hoped for something as upbeat and punchy as ‘Should I Stay’, but to be welcomed by this must’ve been quite a sobering few minutes, a reminder that The Clash, no matter what some thought by 1982, hadn’t sold out their political principles.

This is a song of a hopeless man, angry at the injustices served to so many who are unable to take control of the situations they find themselves languishing in, as if any scattering of belief had been all but eradicated. For an even more sombre rendition, take a look at the live version below during Joe’s post-Clash years.

In all, a marvellous piece of work.

‘Should I Stay’ isn’t a song by The Clash which I’ve never particularly devoted much time to, mainly because of my preference to live in my hive of obscurity which has consistently featured, from The Clash, the whole of Sandinista! (which is basically untouched by many Clash fans my age). Total musical snobbery from me, really.

I think it’s been played so much that nothing really surprises me or jumps out as me as special or memorable. It’s a very good pop song, but doesn’t feel like The Clash sometimes. I don’t feel the need to run through it or particulalry review it. I’m just generally quite indifferent to it.

Still, as singles go, I don’t think there are many as influential as this. ‘Straight To Hell’ (the real A-side) stands high above its companion on the grooves, however.

A-Side: 5/5   A-Side 2: 3/5   Sleeve: 4/5

Police and Thieves B/W Soldier And Police War – Junior Murvin / Jah Lion

The king of falsetto dub in his most glorious outing.

I first listened to Junior Murvin a day or two after he passed away – I had no idea who he was, though my only point of reference was The Clash’s cover of his song which I hadn’t even listened to. My hearing of Murvin’s brand of dub was recevied with general indifference and a kind of ‘how can anyone seriously listen to this?’ appraisal.

Something must’ve grabbed my attention though, as within about a week I’d bought the Police And Thieves album on CD and was playing it on a daily basis. I now credit Junior Murvin with starting my love for dub; not many have ventured further into his discography, but his album Badman Posse is also a stunning record which I recommend to anyone reading.

Anyway, ‘Police And Thieves’ will forever be a timeless classic which I don’t feel needs much analysis. It’s one of Joe Strummer’s favourite records (and I’ll speculate many other punks rank it highly too) and is a take on police brutality that could be applied to practically every society at some point. Lee Perry’s production, as ever, is sublime, and Murvin’s voice is in a total league of its own.

I would have to concede, however, that repeated listens over the years have taken the pleasure of listening off somewhat, but it’s still a wonderful track nonetheless.

Now there are two releases with different B-sides, and I appear to not have the original version. This contained a song I know from the Grand Theft Auto games called ‘Grumblin’ Dub’, found on a reggae radio station called Blue Ark DJed by Lee Perry (I wish I’d discovered it some other way).

My single instead has another dub version of ‘Police And Thieves’, entitled ‘Soldier and Police War’, recorded by Jah Lion. I’ll admit, it is absolutely brilliant. A much more dreamy and hazy take musically, it features much louder and up front vocals with extra effects and sounds to create a fantastic rendition of Murvin’s classic.

Another brilliant discovery on the B-side (one to add to the multitude this series has brought) to go with a dub masterpiece.

A-Side: 4.5/5   B-Side: 4.5/5

Ice Cream For Crow – Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band

This is an extremely recent discovery. I first heard Captain Beefheart on an Old Grey Whistle Test compilation, and I have to say that they blew my mind completely. Van Vliet (singer) looks totally, totally possessed by some invisible musical phantom, and it’s such an emphatic performance by all on stage.

However, I didn’t feel obliged to look any further, which I find a completely absurd decision on my half.

Then, around aged 15, I heard Magazine’s punchy cover of ‘I Love You, You Big Dummy’, B-side to ‘Give Me Everything’ (which I think is an absolutely perfect song). ‘I Love You’ appeared in several playlists of mine and was one of my favourite of Magazine’s songs. I knew it was a cover of Beefheart after a bit of research, so surely I was to look further into their discography?

Nope – instead I went into Magazine’s third album, and Beefheart was off the agenda.

So surely, surely, there’d be another encounter. And whaddya know? Watching a music documentary with Stephen Morris and Gillian Gilbert of New Order, the 1982 video for the ‘Ice Cream For Crow’ single comes on, with Morris explaining that for some Beefheart was utter rubbish, and for others a total genius. Watching this bouncy, bluesy beat played in the middle of a desert with Van Vliet letting out these croaky yelps was simply spellbinding. And that was the moment I finally got onto listening to the Ice Cream For Crow LP, and subsequently purchasing the 12″ album for myself.

(For those wondering, the white rectangle on the cover says the record had been property of Granada TV – does this mean that the album has been in the hands of one Tony Wilson? I like to think so…)

And the album kicks off with the same track, a jaunty tune which is in a total league of its own. The lyrics are so odd and can’t really be explained, but it’s what makes the listening so special. A fantastic song.

‘The Host The Ghost The Most Holy O’ is another brilliant, dark and sinister song, with great lines such as ‘The sky is dark in daytime / and still the black birds beauty lyrics clean’. I’m not big on the chanty closing lines, but a very strong song nonetheless.

Now, ‘Semi Multicoloured Caucasian’ is the standout track in my opinion. You can’t ask for more from an instrumental track. It’s one to nod your head to, an uplifting showcase of utter class which never outstays it’s welcome; if anything, it doesn’t stay for long enough. The guitar riffs are fantastic in their minimalism, and the choppy chords along side them compliment them fittingly. Even the drumming, which I’m sure is half improvised, is simply divine. Have a listen below…

‘Hey Garland I Dig Your Tweed Coat’ is by far the best song name I have ever seen, and it’s a perfectly decent song. Organised disjoint is the only way I can describe it, and Van Vliet’s voice compliments the backing beautifully. This is followed by ‘Evening Bell’, which is a less memorable instrumental, solely featuring the lead guitar. It’s nice enough, though nothing particularly to shout about.

Side one closes with ‘Cardboard Cutout Sundown’, which is an another excellent song name, and is a totally glorious mess – one of those ‘it’s either rubbish or amazing’ songs which characterises much of the album, to be honest. Side two then opens with ‘The Past Sure Is Tense’, which is actually quite a pleasant track as they go. Nicely crafted, classic absurdities from Van Vliet and an all round strong outing.

‘Ink Mathematics’ starts a little more traditional in terms of the structure and form of songwriting, but slowly descends into another typically Beefheart song thrown together by random sounds liberated from any idea of time signatures or rhythm. Vliet’s high-pitched belch of the song’s title is also oddly endearing too, and it’s just one of those tunes you can’t really explain to other people. A bit like trying to explain why The Fall are so good to others.

‘The Witch Doctor Life’ is a wonderful swinging song, an original take on the blues sound which matches perfectly with what are basically screams from Van Vliet at this stage of the album. The solos are soft, masterful and frankly quite beautiful. A top performance from all.

Now, I adore solo spoken word songs, particularly with a peculiar or distinct voice. ’81 Poop Hatch’ is utterly stunning. Van Vliet’s voice is brilliant, and his spoken word is even better. There are four standout lines for me:

Neighbours laugh through sandwiches / Harlem babies, their stomachs explode into roars / Their eyes shiny with starvation / Speckled hula dance on my phonograph’

It’s completely perfect, in my opinion, though I can see why a lot of people are turned off by the spoken word kind of stuff.

I will say that the last two songs suffer as the ideas for the organised mess sound become a little tired and a bit repetitive, especially as the tone of the instruments don’t seem to change too much. But for what they’re worth, they’re still good songs. I do prefer the closer ‘Skeleton Makes Good’, which just makes me laugh to be honest. I could never really put it on and seriously listen to it, however.

All in all however, this is certainly a discovery that I won’t forget for a while, and I can’t believe I put Beefheart off for so long having had so many chances to access their many wonders. And it’s also a shame I’ve managed to listen to their last studio album before any others, but I can’t wait to delve further.

A strong showing from Beefheart overall.

Side One: 4.5/5   Side Two: 3.5/5   Sleeve (minus Granada sticker!): 4.5/5

For The Record #5 – Hitsville U.K. / Watching The Detectives / The Head On The Door LP

Strangely, my Dad has bought another old stereo stack (as he did in my first For The Record article) which my Mum rightly declared his ‘new toy’ having played, after only owning the stack for a few hours, half of Siouxsie and The Banshees’ Kaleidoscope and introducing me to Basement 5, who weren’t too shabby at all…

This is, of course, another opportunity for me to annex the living room and play my records. As I write this introduction, ‘New Big Prinz’ by The Fall is being thumped out the speakers, killing all Christmas sterility and calm that is always lovingly embraced by my parents.

This article features three bands I have only ever made passing references to. I consider myself (in no particular order) to adore one, very much like another and have an appreciation for the third.

Hitsville U.K. B/W Radio One – The Clash & Mikey Dread

I love The Clash immensely; they were my favourite band until I got into The Fall and offer just about every genre you could possibly ask for across their existence. ‘Straight To Hell’ is one of my favourite songs of all time, and there is never a time when they’re excluded from regular listening.

However, I’ve refrained from writing about The Clash for the entirety of the blog for a number of reasons. One being that talking too much about traditional punk left me stumbling over myself in terms of vocabulary, another is the fact that I own very little Clash vinyl, but the main one being that it’s so easy to write about The Clash.

By this, I mean that I think just about everything that needs to be said has been said about them by practically everyone. The only way I could write about them was to write about (probably) their least mentioned and least favoured single by both their fan base and the generic media tributes that come their way, which usually feature ‘Should I Stay Or Should I Go’ or ‘Rock The Casbah’, both of which do very little for me in terms of enjoyment.

What gives this single a twist is that the B-side is by reggae artist Mikey Dread, a longtime friend of The Clash who magnificently produced the album which ‘Hitsville’ features on, Sandinista!, which is perhaps my favourite Clash album, though this title does change on an hourly basis.

‘Hitsville’ has always been a song that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed, both as an album track and a single. At a Strummerville benefit (previously mentioned in my Joe Strummer article) it seemed to me that I was the only one who enjoyed its showing, so much so that my singing-along earned a look of positive acknowledgment from the singer Catherine Popper.

On the album, it follows classic opener ‘The Magnificent Seven’, and offsets the intensity of its predecessor very nicely, led by a jaunty bassline combined with soft, female vocals, sang by Mick Jones’ then-girlfriend Ellen Foley.

The song is about the growing indie scene in the UK as the 1980s commenced – I’m not sure if it’s a criticism of it, or just an observation, but I’m fairly convinced it’s probably a satirical response to the disapproval they received after controversially signing with CBS.

It’s got a comfortable soul-pop-rock vibe, and runs its course very gently while backed by the piss-taking lyrics about using ‘stolen guitars’ or releasing records ‘without the slightest hope of one thousand sales’.

To me, it seems a little hypocritical of the left-leaning Clash to brag about the number of sales they make with their records, though this doesn’t bother me enough to spit out my tea and shout ‘Champagne London socialists!’, buy the latest issue of The Morning Star and start growing an unfashionably large beard.

The song doesn’t offer much in terms of variation, but, for what it is, is a solid offering of experimentation from The Clash. I understand why the punk purists wouldn’t like it – it’s a little bit clean and soft, but to depart from the critical acclaim of London Calling into an abyss of improvisation in Sandinista!, and for it to receive the praise it did, is remarkable in itself.

The B-side is interesting. I had a mini phase with Mikey Dread about a year ago, which coincided with a rediscovery of Junior Murvin. As I recall, I listened to one album of Dread’s, which I’m pretty sure I enjoyed.

His number ‘Radio One’ kicks off with some radio static before a soft, ascending riff and into a simple but effective reggae beat. The lyrics appear to centre around the idea that reggae doesn’t get the airtime it deserves as DJs ‘have no idea, not even a clue/Of how reggae was created by me and by you’.

In truth, it’s nothing special. It’s quite a tinny production as reggae goes – there’s a severe lack of heavy bass, though this judgement may be due to my preference for dub.

I can’t claim to know about reggae as a whole, and I’m probably one of those reviewers who doesn’t ‘get’ reggae, but I can imagine it got very little coverage in the British music media around 1981, so Dread probably has a point. However, this isn’t one his strongest moments, nor is it a particularly bad one. I see it as The Clash helping out a mate, more than anything.

As a whole, a mostly positive showing from the grooves, though The Clash ultimately triumph over their producer.

A-Side: 4/5   B-Side: 2.5/5   Sleeve: 3/5

Watching The Detectives B/W Blame It On Cain + Mystery Dance – Elvis Costello

‘Watching The Detectives’ was my introduction to Elvis Costello via my Spotify discover playlist. I generally approve of Costello, some of the 1980s stuff is a bit too 80s, but his first three albums are absolutely stunning. ‘Shipbuilding’, known more for its Robert Wyatt cover than anything else, is an absolute masterpiece in my eyes.

And so is ‘WTD’. It doesn’t get much better than this, does it? It probably doesn’t get much more misleading to an artist’s sound – as far as I’m aware, he doesn’t really play around with reggae at all after this release.

It’s a very moody, intense song, complimented by Costello’s almost scathing vocals. Every instrumental part is simply perfect. They’re all very sparse, the quiet scratchy guitar, the slow, nearly solitary drums, but it’s a showcase of expertise in musical texture and production.

I think what is great about this song is the way the angry, powerful parts feature in the first half of the song – the reluctant rage comes close to all-out anger, but is never fully recognised. The final minute and a half or so, meanwhile, becomes an instrumental conversation; it’s a gentle simmering of emotion compared to the brashness of the previous minutes.

‘Blame It On The Cain’ is a very pleasant song, fronted by a bluesy chord sequence and a swinging drum groove before entering a fairly powerful chorus. As a whole, you can definitely nod your head to it, and Costello’s vocals are very strong. It’s very easy listening that offers a nice introduction to the usual Costello offering without the burden of generic commercialism. One of the stronger B-sides I’ve reviewed so far.

‘Mystery Dance’ is much more blatant in its taking of the blues formula, and sounds a bit plastic-50s, in my opinion. It’s certainly strong, but perhaps veering away from blues on the B-sides would’ve been somewhat more satisfying. In fairness, it certainly doesn’t outstay it’s welcome, clocking in at one minute thirty-six seconds. It’s decent, but nothing to shout about.

Overall, a very listenable single indeed.

A-Side: 4.5/5   B-Side 1: 3.5/5   B-Side 2: 2/5   Sleeve: 3/5

The Head On The Door LP – The Cure 

For me, The Cure are one of those artists that can be so utterly fantastic yet, at times, so difficult. The ‘difficult’ bits for me are 1987’s Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me and post-Wish 1990s output, which I’ve found so forgettable and throwaway.

However, they still remain true innovators of their time, and also one of my favourite artists. I think they’re similar to the likes of The Fall, New Order or Public Image Ltd in continuously changing their sound and toying around with all ideas of genre and difference to generally high levels of success.

The Head On The Door, I feel, is a materialisation of a mostly consistent sound after the hit-and-miss experimentation seen in 1983’s Japanese Whispers and 1984’s somewhat forgettable The Top (which, incidentally, holds one of my favourite Cure songs of all time, ‘Dressing Up’). It also saw Smith become a much more romantically-driven lyricist, which is backed up by the more than melancholic instrumental accompaniments to the mournful croons and cries.

The most obvious feature of THOTD, however, is the singles. Never had The Cure been so accessible and commercial in their existence.

And it’s the lead single which gloriously kicks off the album with one of the most iconic drum fills and introductions of the 1980s. ‘Inbetween Days’ is an objective piece of total brilliance. The main hook, the pacey acoustic guitar and the longing lyrics are simply magnificent. It’s a thumping, timeless classic.

We receive the final ‘Without you’ from Smith, before being welcomed by one of the less iconic drum fills and introductions of the 1980s. ‘Kyoto Song’ is certainly creepy, but not particularly listenable or likeable. It really doesn’t do much for me at all, and I feel this effort was probably the result of a very odd jam-session. ‘The Blood’ is also quite weak, taking a leaf out of the opening track’s book with the speedy acoustic guitar , but it isn’t one of those songs that would ever be championed by any Cure fan, I imagine.

‘Six Different Ways’ is a dreamy, child-like song, the main hook sounding like a theme from a children’s TV show, but it’s very strangely gratifying – odd, but also very innocent, complimented fittingly by Smith’s angsty vocals. Very strong.

Side one closes with ‘Push’ which is a much more emphatic and effective hit of sorrow than its predecessors. The guitar line is strong, and the introduction develops nicely, but I don’t feel it merits the near two-and-a-half-minute showcasing it gets, though I think I’m just being a bit pedantic. Again, Smith’s vocals are performed brilliantly, which resurrects the song from the labouring introduction and gives it an extra edge. Not a bad finish to the first side at all.

Side two kicks off with ‘The Baby Screams’ which just isn’t for me. I’m usually more than welcoming to 80s electronic hand-claps, but not here, I’m afraid. There’s a little too much going on in the outro, and it all fades out quite limply.

No worry, however. It’s the second stunning single, ‘Close To Me’, that comes next. The album version is minus the saxophone solos, but this is of little concern. How anyone can deny the strength of this song is beyond me – from the bassline to the overall structure and infectious vocals, it’s another masterpiece from an era which saw The Cure release unbelievable single after single.

Following track ‘A Night Like This’ is also very sturdy. A very powerful hook with just a touch of distortion offers the motif of the song, and the backing as a whole is extremely satisfying. This, to me, with a tiny bit of gothic configuration, could slot seamlessly in 1989’s classic Disintegration, both in terms of sound and quality – it’s masterful.

‘Screw’ is nothing to shout about again – it’s quite discordant, which appeals to me, though the overall sound doesn’t sound very complete or sure in itself. There’s random additions of either edited vocals or dreamy rattling sounds which further pushes the dysfunction.

And then we come to the closer, ‘Sinking’. I’ve mentioned in previous articles that I am a huge, huge fan of a good bassline with a gothic twang. This pretty much epitomises it for me.

Starting with a crash of untuneful piano, we are greeted by this absolutely wonderful, dancing bassline and dragged into a dreamy, dark and delirious Cure world. The discord in this song offers so much more than ‘Screw’ – every part is where it should be and always has something to offer to the ears. The best part for me are the drawn out notes on the keyboard, adding an extra atmospheric edge to the composition.

Smith’s previously romantic vocals become this eerily spoken admission of failure, ‘I am slowing down/As the years go by/I am sinking’, with ‘sinking’ darkly reverberated over and over. It’s a serious stab in the heart for those who’d got use to hopeless romantic Cure; it’s almost a final, deathly goodbye to the traditional goth sound they pioneered.

Suddenly, striking guitar chords fly in, and the song is given an extra hit of anxiety and intensity, Smith briefly moving into falsetto to combat the powerful hits, before all returns to an even more unsettling norm.

It continues on its usual course, with a new chilling and cutting guitar line overseeing the slow demise of the song, before crashing out with a final hit of the keyboard and a brief visit of an unnerving two-note riff.

‘Sinking’ is, with the singles, the realisation of the sound that was trying to be achieved on THOTD, and is simply marvellous. What a closer. 

All in all, it’s a consistently strong album. Where it suffers is in trying to hard to attain a certain sound. With a bit of tinkering and stripping back, ‘Screw’ and ‘Push’ could be greatly improved without compromising the overall sound of the album, and could subsequently improve the overall enjoyment of the record.

Nonetheless, it has many merits. Both sides offer some absolute scorchers, but also a couple of songs which let the respective parts down. I think I’m still being a little pedantic, though. It shows The Cure opening the door to the commercial adoration they rightly deserved with an album of immense quality and offering.

Side One: 3.5/5   Side Two: 4/5   Sleeve: 4/5

 

 

Five of the Best: Joe Strummer

After the release of the career-spanning 32-song compilation Joe Strummer 001, this article looks at Strummer’s finest tracks, from his self-coined ‘Wilderness Years’ to his genre-bending work within The Mescaleros. Many of Strummer’s works have largely gone unnoticed up to this new compilation, with much of his work centring around independent movie soundtracks and album production, including Mick Jones’ second album with Big Audio Dynamite, No. 10 Upping St.

Strummer shares the throne with Mark E. Smith at the top of my musical Royal Family – his poetic prowess is virtually unparalleled, remaining untouched throughout his career, while his experimentation with rap, dub – every genre under the sun to be frank – opened fascinating unknown musical avenues to me, from The Clash’s seminal cover of Junior Murvin’s ‘Police and Thieves’ to his fantastic acoustic rendition of Bob Marley’s ‘Redemption Song’ with Johnny Cash.

Featuring my favourite five songs recorded after the fall of the classic Clash line up after Topper Headon’s firing in 1982, this article is my own tribute to a lifelong icon and hero who has held a mythical and legendary place in my life, and probably will for the rest of it too.

­­­­­­­     1. Czechoslovak Song/Where is England? – 1985

A demo version of The Clash’s final single ‘This is England’, this is, for me, The Clash in their essence. A classic Simonon bassline teamed with a rough and raw dub drum groove, backed by Strummer’s melancholic, merciful vocals – a never-fail recipe. The sparsity of the recording gives the song an extra edge, a lack of refinement that defined much of The Clash’s earlier sound that had been lost as the band became more of a commercial force after 1979’s London Calling.

Admittedly, Strummer’s vocals are somewhat laboured, the high notes in the chorus often seeming too high a peak to reach, though I feel that only the most nit-picking pedant could whole-heartedly criticise this effort. Though a somewhat simplistic song, CS/WIS offers a rhythm of subtle power, dragging dub grooves into the punk rock arena, resulting in a beautifully blue song of mourning for a nation in political turmoil and social decay, wondering if it will ever recover.

  1. Leopardskin Limousines – 1989

A good friend will explain to anyone how much I utterly adore this song – it is Strummer at his purest and most honest. By 1989, The Clash’s comeback album Cut The Crap was critically panned (leading to The Clash’s demise), both Strummer’s parents had passed away, and he was now relying on film soundtracks for musical output. Unfortunately, his solo effort Earthquake Weather was a failed attempt at redemption, reinvention and a re-release into the rock ‘n’ roll world.

Lifelong friend and biographer Chris Salewicz (Redemption Song: The Definitive Biography of Joe Strummer) believed at this stage of his life Strummer was increasingly sinking into a depressive state, noting after a fan told Strummer that Tower Records, a major record store in New York, didn’t stock Earthquake Weather during his US tour, Joe remarked,

“I just realised that if I couldn’t get my record into Tower Records (…) the very night the tour hit New York (…) I thought ‘Well, you better retire yourself boy!’”

Salewicz commented,

‘You can feel in those words the withdrawal from emotion, the setting in or freeze of the soul. When you live in a habitual state of depression, fighting to keep above it, (…) the smallest thing can send you slithering all the way down the snake.

‘It had been such a struggle to get even to this seemingly pointless point. Now again it seemed hopeless. Everything did.’

The commercial disaster of Earthquake Weather meant gems like Leopardskin Limousines were totally overlooked. It is a song of absolute agony, of endeavour, complete beauty. Joe mumbles a sombre semi-stream-of-consciousness littered with lines of lyrical bliss and tragedy, ultimately summing up his circumstances with the crushing line ‘Those firecrackers going down the hill/Signify the end of our dreams’. I’ll go as far as recommending that all first-time listeners should read the lyrics while they listen – many stunning lines are easily missed.

Even at his most despondent and desperate, he could still produce moments of magic – Earthquake Weather held many a diamond-in-the-rough, though this will forever shine the brightest.

  1. Burning Lights – 1990

Another song of total class and sorrow. Released after the critical indifference and commercial failure of Earthquake Weather, the lyrics document Strummer lost in a world where he is no longer wanted and no longer relevant, trying to find his purpose.

The single was written and recorded to feature in the Aki Kaurismaki art-house film I Hired A Contract Killer, with Strummer featuring in a classic scene playing the song in a run-down, half-empty bar – one of my favourite film scenes of all time.

There aren’t may more gut-wrenching lyrics to start a song than ‘Some dreams are made for children/But most grow old with us’ – a harrowing introduction to a tune that is contrarily so powerful and proud in musicality.

It glides between verse and chorus effortlessly, concluding with Strummer conceding ‘Sometimes I, I pull over/When I realise I’ve left no trace’. It doesn’t get much sadder than this, does it? Salewicz wrote that Joe took his commercial rejection personally, failing to accept he was the wrong man at the wrong time when releasing Earthquake Weather, and it shows.

  1. Rose of Erin – 1993

Finally, some happiness! Written for the film When Pigs Fly, this folk ballad flourishes gorgeously into an eruption of optimism with sheer textural beauty and sophistication.

The guitar lines are infectious, soaring freely across the musical skyline, while Joe’s voice sounds more matured and practiced, though somewhat buried under the backing. However, I expect with the recorder, flute and violin lines (to name a few) this was intended to be much more of a surreal instrumental with vocal support than anything else.

In its totality, it’s a work of utter divinity and complexity, reaffirming Strummer’s status as a brilliant producer and musical architect.

  1. Coma Girl – 2003

What else could I have ended this with? The Mescaleros had some brilliant songs over their four years together; X-Ray Style, Johnny Appleseed and Get Down Moses have always been favourites of mine, though this tops the lot.

At a Strummerville benefit show at Dingwalls earlier this year, I was totally taken when Coma Girl emphatically opened the set. I screamed every lyric, haphazardly threw myself across the mosh pit densely populated by sweaty 50-something year olds (my Dad resigned himself to the bar; probably a wise move) and completely drained all emotional energy by the time the song was over. It was the first Strummer song I’d ever seen properly performed live, and I was utterly hooked.

It’s a classic Strummer tune, a timeless rock frenzy exuding raw energy and emotion that grows in stature and power with every listen. He’s in his element, proudly reclaiming his once-ruled territory in the rock ‘n’ roll savannah, every vocal a lion-roar reminder to all where he stands.

Coma Girl was released as a single posthumously, preceding the brilliant Streetcore album which received acclaim from critics and commentators – a truly fitting send off for one of the most intricate, intelligent and influential rockers modern times has ever witnessed.