I got the latest Bad Signal today and Warren Ellis explains it. He’s feeling what I’m feeling but at least he’s able to put it out right. Here it is:
bad signal
WARREN ELLIS
I wonder how many people really felt the heartpunch of Joe Strummer dying. Without The Clash, punk had no focussed political voice, and without that, the 1980s would’ve sounded very different. It’s the Clash that informed west coast American punk. It’s the Clash that told Billy Bragg that, yes, he could make songs about what was in his head, long before he found Woody Guthrie. Acts like Chumbawamba are the thinnest echo of what the Clash could be. Without the Clash, punk would’ve turned into nothing but bloody Sham 69.
Pausing to think about it, Joe Strummer sitting down and dying at 50 isn’t that much of a surprise. He pulled some infamous geographicals, disappearing on three-week binges, losing his shit on stage and harvesting fans with the edge of his guitar. These are not things conducive to a healthy cardiac system, believe me.
But it’s still a punch in the guts. Mick Jones faded away — kept moving as long as he could, with “E=MC2”, “V-13”, the autumnal “Good Morning Britain”, and then vanished into the mist. Joe Strummer kept moving. Looked back maybe once, with the Pogues, on a storming cover of “Honky Tonk Woman.” But that was it. Kept doing new things, formed new bands, developed, pushed forward. And sure, not as many people were listening. The Clash suicided around 1985, and Strummer walked away from music for what was probably a crucial period.
But a year or two ago, Strummer was flying home from Australia with his family. Economy class. His stepdaughter was giving him shit about it: “I thought you were a big-deal rockstar.” He told her to cope with it. And then a member of the cabin crew spotted him. Said, stay here. I’m moving you to first class. You’re Joe Strummer and in 1981 I saw you live and you changed my life and you are going to fly first class. Strummer talked about it in a newspaper, with utter disbelief.
Joe Strummer had glory about him. Listen to “London’s Calling” and tell me I’m wrong.
I was talking to Laurenn about this yesterday — probably the only person I was talking to yesterday who really understood what was going on in my head, Niki won’t get it until Vince Clarke or Meat Loaf pop their clogs — and she said something to the effect of, If I’m this sad today, what will it feel like when Exene Cervenka goes? That sent me to Lydia Lunch’s website, my own personal touchstone from that era.
But that’s the thing about losing your youth. All your touchstones start dropping away into dark water.
And I live on a river.
— W