Punk means defiance, punk means reduction, punk means: No Future. But not for The Clash, “The Only Band That Matters.”
Their entire body of work both consists of tolerant (both musically and lyrically), downright maximalist, and above all life-affirming art. While The Clash reject conservative ideology—and capitalism as well (at least they only accept it according to their own interpretation)—they are ultimately not interested in purely anarchic nihilism (like the rowdy Sex Pistols). Instead, they want to create spaces—spaces that open up room for alternatives, rather than burning everything down. Spaces in which a British punk band like them can, for example, have such a diverse range of genre-defying support acts as the 1950s rock ’n’ roller Bo Diddley, the soul duo Sam & Dave, or the hip-hop DJ Grandmaster Flash.The fact that The Clash were dubbed “The Only Band That Matters” relatively quickly—and contrary to the self-empowerment typically associated with punk, where simply every one can have a punk band—wasn’t just a clever marketing ploy; it was actually pretty close to the truth. After all, why would you need another band when they’ve already got it all? Just listen to their legendary masterpiece London Calling: The sprawling double LP—which, given its length, is actually quite un-punk—begins apocalyptically: London is going under, and he’s right in the thick of it, proclaims frontman Joe Strummer. But contrary to what the aggressive album cover suggests, London Calling quickly evolves into danceable party music—full of virtuoso pop arrangements, most of which were contributed by guitarist and co-songwriter Mick Jones and have absolutely nothing to do with classic punk.
In a sense, this is the rejection of rejection: The Clash never made punk for punk’s sake—because that’s exactly when it becomes weak. In their eyes, musicality is by no means a bad thing; who wants to spend their whole life playing just three chords? But even if other punk bands were to throw their principles overboard and try their hand at this music, they couldn’t do it just like that. For the members of The Clash were musically skilled in the classical sense; drummer Topper Headon, in particular, stands out as the band’s secret weapon. A good example is the title track of London Calling: Notice how his hi-hat pattern changes within the verses, bringing a consistent groove to the otherwise rather menacing staccato song. So life goes on through the music, despite the apocalypse. “Engines stop running, but I have no fear,” sings Joe Strummer. And right at the end: “After all this, won’t you give me a smile?”
In addition to punk and reggae, The Clash’s work also features influences from soul, rockabilly, disco, funk, and even hip-hop. London Calling and the even more expansive triple album Sandinista! come across as odes to the diverse forms of expression in American pop music, which the band members—as British outsiders—both admire and subvert (their previously released song I’m So Bored with the U.S.A. was therefore only half-serious). It seems as though the band reinvents the core concept of their musical project with every track—as if they deliberately let everything collide to live up to their name. The songwriting process—or at least my slightly mythologized idea of it—fits right in: Joe Strummer relentlessly types lyrics into the typewriter while Mick Jones stands beside him, developing the matching melodies. At first, the two seem to occupy opposite poles and must continually draw closer to one another until something unique emerges.
No, the band considers the idea of punk as fatalism or mere reduction to be nonsense. With The Clash, there is not only a future but also a past to which they repeatedly refer: For instance, the album cover of London Calling is a clear nod to Elvis Presley’s debut album, not to mention all the musical references to acts like The Who or Lee “Scratch” Perry. And of course, there is also a present: Hardly any other band has ever seemed so firmly rooted in its stance, so resolute in its attitude toward current events. People bought into everything they did—both lyrically and musically.
I guess you could call that magic. The Clash were a great band—one that punches upward and extends an open hand downward, spits to the right and grins to the left, nods backward and runs forward at the same time.