I Still Want a Riot of My Own

So, John, why all the Clash songs on your music play list? Well, ok, fine, I'll tell you.

The other night the good beggars at PBS aired a special on the Clash called "The Clash Rocks" or "Here's the Clash" or something like that. "Revolution Rock"! Yeah, that's it. Whatever. I recorded it and watched it tonight so I could zip through the begging breaks the way I zip through commercials when I record Letterman.

Anyhoo....I'd forgotten how much I loved the Clash. From the time I first heard them somewhere round 1977 or '78 I wanted to be them, I wanted to be whip thin with pasty white skin and bad teeth, I wanted to have funny hair styles and turn the collar of my shirt up and sing in a raspy Joe Strummer sort of way. Well, I did eventually turn the collar on my shirt up. I had that going for me. Kept my teeth in good shape though. All you kids out there, take care of your teeth and they'll take care of you!

But the music...the music was great to a young lad, and to the middle-aged lad I am now it's still great. Every word of every song seemed to have urgency and deep meaning, the way they looked and played, it was all something that mattered and was so different from everything around me, the words and music had sinew and fiber and were tough and could not be broken, just as Strummer and Jones and Simonon and Headon looked tough and sinewy and fibrous like a rope on a ship in the Queens Navy, like a rope that would bend and curl and wrap itself around you but would not be broken.

The greatness lasted for five albums with some singles and EPs thrown in for good measure. They were a wonderful band, got to see them live once at the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago, don't really remember it too well though. I'm sure it was a rockin' good time. And it was a rockin' good time to see them again tonight as they were and be reminded that fury can be power.