Review: The Clash – London Calling
The Clash’s Joe Strummer made it no secret that he was fascinated by the Rasta lifestyle. As such, he incorporated its traditional reggae sounds into The Clash’s legendary third album, the epic double-LP London Calling. In what has now been critically dubbed as the best punk album of all-time, as well as appearing on several greatest albums lists, The Clash burst at the seams with an explosion of experimental power. Known better as punk stand-outs, as famous for their loud guitar grit as their political stances, they pull out all of the stops in delivering a lush, diverse mixture of anthem rock, punk, “white” reggae, and pop listen-ability.
Not only is London Calling‘s catchy writing and meaningful lyrics outstanding, but it creates a fertile environment for instrumental exploration. Thus, on many key tracks, horns, a variety of drums, and piano were added for depth. This experimentation makes the album twice as great, and all the tracks are meticulously pieced together for full effect (or at least they sound that way). London Calling combines the raw energy of The Clash’s previous effects (particularly their debut) with a new layer of pop sense and experimentation. The results are glorious.
It begins with the apocalyptic title track, in which Strummer gasps in his trademark slur, “All that phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust.” And with that, a new era of musical derivatives is welcomed. Punk is reborn, with a twist. The haunting bass of Paul Simonon sounds as if it came from the depths below. Mick Jones’ guitar blaring a droning chord. This is The Clash revisiting their roots, and it doesn’t disappoint. “Brand New Cadillac” is quite the opposite, charging with its warped surfer machismo, like the Beach Boys in an alternate universe. Although not written by The Clash, Strummer and company make it their own. “Jimmy Jazz” follows with a lazy, slurred beat about so-called Jimmy Jazz running from the police. It’s a treat of experimentalism with an open melody. It features whistling, horns, a banjo, and many unique instruments. The easy-rolling trip is a delight full of brass interludes, riveting lyrics (“What a relief! I feel like a soldier, look like a thief,” Strummer shouts), and ends with a little jazz scat. This experimentalism carries over to “Hateful,” a clap-along with a great mixture of punk and chant pop. The next song, Jones’ “Rudie Can’t Fail,” is perhaps the best entry on the entire album. Its punk sensibility would surely be imitated for decades to come (most notably by U2, Green Day, and Sublime), but its success is marked by its excellent use of Jamaican influence and horns (once again). The rotating vocals between Jones, Strummer, and Simonon are wonderful, as are the sound-off lyrics. Simply a punk classic.
The latter half of the first side sees the simmering Clash flesh out the Spanish Civil War in “Spanish Bombs.” On “The Right Profile,” they attack with militant fervor not heard since their debut album. It hearkens back to Big Band with driven brass (and a great performance on baritone sax), and the raw, perhaps drunken, sound of Strummer’s voice is unparalleled on the rest of the album. Jones writes an introspective Clash-lite winner in “Lost in the supermarket” but is overshadowed by the rigid old-age punk sound of “Working for the Clampdown.” Bassist Paul Simonon debuts as a songwriter with “Guns of Brixton” and sings with a pseudo-reggae accent. As such, it does feature a great bass line, and a strong ska guitar. Its lyrics are inspired, but are far too pointed: “When they kick at your front door, how you gonna come? With your hands on your head, or the trigger on your thumb?” “Wrong ‘Em Boyo” was not penned by The Clash, but they once again turn out an amazing display of ingenuity that very well may include the most identifiable ska arrangement ever. The troubled story of Stag-O-Lee and Billy unfolds first with a horns-blazing intro and then transforms into a piano/synth matching beats with offbeat horns. Everything about it is genius, and turns this into a definite ska staple.
Leaving no room to slow, Strummer wails on “Death or Glory” about the cracked ideal of integrity “these days” with lyrics like: “Death or glory becomes just another story.” It’s a well-written gem with a direct point. “Koka Kola” revisits the punk standard, and Strummer paints a tale of sorrow and regret with the piano power of “The Card Cheat” that reminds us of our own mortality. “Lover’s Rock” follows, but its a stuttering example of The Clash at their most limited. Mick Jones wraps up the album nicely with the optimistic march of “I’m Not Down.” The Clash then makes a wondrous reggae beat with “Revolution Rock” that would have brought a smile to Bob Marley’s face. Its no-stress sentiment is backed with a flowing Strummer, a reggae bass, bongos, and smooth lyrics: “Tell ya momma, tell ya pop! Everythin’s gonna be alright-a!” The single-released hidden song “Train in Vain” sounds more an ’80s soul trademark than a punk riot anthem.
London Calling is the first of The Clash’s experimental efforts, and is a pioneer of musical derivatives. Its white-reggae, ska, and punk culmination makes this album a legendary masterpiece. Although punk and ska fans will probably already own this given that it has influenced every punk album after its release, I consider this essential to ALL music fans. If you love music, you need this album! As the personal favorite album of this reviewer, it is the best effort from the greatest punk band ever. The Clash were once proclaimed as “the only band that matters,” and London Calling is the proof to back that statement.
