The Clash The first time you heard it, it was like a machine gun to the senses. The in your face drums, the slash guitar. “She's in love with rock and roll wooooaaaah!”, they sang on the opener “Janie Jones“. Weren't we all. The Clash's epinonymous debut was the album that crystallised the mood of young Britain in Spring 1977. Angry, rebellious, fed up to an equal degree with the post-war uniformity that still existed and the mellow AOR dirge that passed for rock and roll. The world would have to wait until later in the year for the Sex Pistols' contribution to finally appear.
But it didn't matter. Joe Strummer and the boys were doing very well thank you. The album was recorded by the sadly now departed Strummer (guitar, vocals), Mick Jones (guitar, vocals), Paul Simenon (bass) and Terry Chimes - “Tory Crimes” - on drums. Topper Headon replaced Chimes fairly soon after its release and stayed much of the course. Check them on the cover. They're sharp, menacing, totally of the moment. Cropped hair, collars up, drainpipe jeans. Perfect. “The Clash” was that unique item. A record that fused classic songs with both fire and sharp social observation. “Hate and War” summed up the mood surrounding both Saturday nights beneath the plastic palm trees and events such as the Notting Hill Carnival in 1976. “Career Opportunities” described the experience of the job market that would become even more acute during the next few years. And “Whats My Name” summed up an alienation that had always been a part of the day to day youth experience but had never been so accurately described as this. Lyrically, the album summarised the attitude of the generation that had just missed the sixties. And one that is still of contemporary relevance. “London's burning with boredom now” (“London's Burning”) could apply equally to a time with the fun of the internet to one without - to say nothing of extended licensing laws. “Friday and Saturday what does that mean, Short space of time means a heavy scene, Monday‘s coming like a jail on wheels” (“48 Hours) is as pertinent to making every second of the weekend last as it ever has been. And “I don't wanna hear about what the rich are doing, I don't want to go to where the rich are going, they think they're so clever they think they're so right, but the truth is only known by guttersnipes” speaks to the dispossessed as accurately in the age of Blair as it did before and during the onslaught of Thatcherism.
Then there is the reggae. The story goes that the original album was too short. So what do they do? Trawl through ex-skinhead Paul Simenon's record collection and do a definitive cover of Junior Murvin's “Police and Thieves”. It was the blueprint for all such covers by young groovers in future. It also set a mood for new direction – Lee Perry's production of “Complete Control” and the classic three minute reggae trademark “White Man In Hammersmith Palais”. But that was for the future. Even later, of course, they produced songs that became very well known indeed on both sides of the Atlantic. But forget those. This was their finest hour. Rock and roll has never been so urgent, relevant and alive. Stick it on and let it grab you all over again. Rob Massey