Rudie Can’t Fail


I still can’t tell you quite what it means to be a rude boy. Because, you know, culture gaps. I know it’s a bit more than just a guy who likes ska. I also know that it was ska music that brought its own cultural youthquake from Jamaica to the United Kingdom to California. You can trace that history through pop culture from the 1950’s well into the 90’s. Here, we can concern ourselves the late 70’s, when ska was intertwined with punk and socially conscious British youth cared a lot about political instability in Latin America. We think of punk rock music as being a simplistic genre, probably because a lot of its practitioners never stray from the three-chord, three-minute structure. But if we try to understand the social context the movement sprang from, suddenly we’re learning about things like Thatcherism and it’s Late 20th Century History 101. Sountracked by The Clash, of course, them being the anointed ultimate punk rock band – the the antithesis of ‘ignorant punks’. Their music is loaded with global political context, so much so that fans who weren’t lucky enough to have been there personally need a study guide to really understand what they’re pumping their angry little fists about.


Rock the Casbah

Rock’n’Roll is going to bring peace and/or liberation to the Middle East. The Muslims and Hasidim are going to boogie down together, and the punk revolution will take place in the Texas oil fields. I can’t think of how to interpret this rallying cry for whatever The Clash thought they were rallying for, except to say don’t take it too literally. I’m pretty sure that the Middle East doesn’t want your stinking infidel punk rock music. I think the only message here is “forget your dogma and come have a party.” I’m a little distracted by the video, though. When you’re an English punk band filming a video for a song about the Middle East, you obviously can’t go to the actual Middle East, so you go to Texas, where at least there’s armadillos. (Nothing is more punk rock than armadillos.) There’s also some impressive oil derricks, which is kind of on-topic. So, of course, most of what  you see was filmed around south Austin, and although the Austin City Coliseum exists no longer, the city scenes are easily recognizable. Did you know that the blue building at 1:41 is now a Wells Fargo?

Police on My Back

There’s a well known phenomenon in pop culture of glamorizing outlaws and criminals, idolizing people who, in reality, really ought to be locked up and never seen again. This is not that phenomenon. What the Clash are describing is the opposite of that. It’s the condition of living in a society where just the act of surviving puts you at odds with the law, making decent people live in fear while the unscrupulous prosper and thrive. Economic disparity and social inequality in the UK drove the punk movement in the late 70’s, and it resonated particularly strongly in totalitarian Eastern Europe, where just being alive meant police at your back. If that sense of rage and fear seemed to dissipate during an era of relative peace and prosperity, it’s seething right back into place in the unstable times of today. Too bad Joe Strummer didn’t live to see himself become the most relevant voice in rock music again, or thank god he didn’t.

One More Time

As these things often happen in our culture, The Clash’s classic album Sandinista! is now better known here than the political movement that gave it its name. I suppose that not many rock fans cared much about regime changes in Nicaragua in the 70’s either, except as another disturbing news story in an era marked by anger and unrest. On the other hand, it’s understandable why English punks latched onto the Sandinista movement; the Nicaraguan revolution and ensuing civil war struck a chord with young people who felt politically dispossessed, economically burdened and hopeless. For the worldlier and more intellectual on the scene, political awareness was an important part of their anti-authoritarian identity. The Clash drew parallels between the political violence in Nicaragua and other places, and the roiling anger of the disaffected English poor. In the late 70’s it seemed very possible that the UK too would fall into the same chaos. It didn’t, and in hindsight the angry punks look more angsty than genuinely threatening, but at the time the existence of a violent, dissatisfied youth movement that identified (however peripherally) with South American revolutionaries must have been unnerving.

Midnight to Stevens

You may know that I feel ambivalent about the practice of actually buying physical manifestations of music. Ya know, it’s a ripoff and the record industry is a huge scam and one of their favorite gambits is overpriced box sets and ‘deluxe’ editions stuffed to the gills with garbage that the artists were initially smart enough to be ashamed of. But I’m contradicting myself to say sometimes it’s worth it, and  Clash on Broadway is a box set that so worth it. (Although why, why are they on Broadway? Are they auditioning for Cats?) The set contains most of the singles we all know and love, plus many unreleased songs that are magnificent and should have been singles. The Clash were one of the few bands to meaningfully transcend their initial punk attributes without looking like wussy sellouts, and also managed to bow out of their existence as a band without too much embarrassment, both of which are tricky things to achieve. It takes a wide-spanning collection of 60+ tracks to show their range, of which they had substantially more than most of their contemporaries in peroxide and leather. So, yeah, good investment.

The Magnificent Seven

NEWSFLASH: Not much has changed since 1981. Well, a lot of things have, but the things that were making The Clash angry thirty-plus years ago are still making people angry. People still subject themselves to endless drudgery in the fruitless pursuit of a better life that’s always promised but never arrives. The media still puts out inane and absurd headlines about budgies as a bright distraction from the real issues festering society. Violence and income disparity are still a constant grim reality. And cops are still kicking gypsies with impunity. The anger and frustration of Thatcher-era English punks has only become more relevant in the intervening decades. Would that we could dismiss Joe Strummer’s social commentary as unrecognizably distant, but sadly enough, it still plays like it was written yesterday.

Lost in the Supermarket

“I came in here for a special offer; a guaranteed personality”

Well, I doubt that Joe Strummer ever had to worry about his personality being inadequately interesting. Or maybe he did, I don’t know. Either way, he certainly grasped the link between consumerism and insecurity. The supermarket is an overwhelming, alienating place, as is the whole of our consumer society, so much more so today than in 1979. And the world is full of hollow little people with no identity of their own, flailing their way through the market isles of life, grasping for some colorful item that will grant them the personality they seek. The personality which should be inborn and self-contained, but very rarely is. Consumer culture is such an overweening success because it offers material tokens to represent the ineffable. Material plenitude is not necessarily bad; it’s better than scarcity and deprivation. But the material things we seek should be a reflection of who we know ourselves to be, not the other way around, and who we are should not be the sum of the things we own. Which is a difficult distinction for most folks to grasp, and a difficult way of thinking to get free of even for the ones who do, on an intellectual level, grasp it. Even if you do have the realization that your identity is built on a foundation of external signifiers, there’s still the challenge of figuring out who you actually are underneath all of those things you’ve purchased to represent yourself with. Which leaves most of us lost in the supermarket, in search of that one big guarantee.