The Turtle Bewails the Loss of Joe Strummer, 1952-2002!

<I>Dave Renton</I> writes:

What happens to old punks from the seventies? They re-invent themselves with sharp black suits, hair trim, all angles and shades. They dance calmly at funerals, the sound cutting in and out of the speakers, with the damp. The very best of them was cremated today, in Kensal Green, beside the Grand Union Canal. His wooden coffin was adorned with stickers -- "Disobey all authority!" -- flags from a dozen countries, and on the top, his Mescaleros hat. Faces came from Portobello, a TV crew pushed away.
It rained at Joe Strummer's funeral. The man who made the Westway sexy. The lead singer in the band that saved punk, after the Pistols imploded. The man who brought one hundred thousand people to Rock Against Racism in Victoria Park. The man that that led the Pogues in Dublin when Shane McGowan was ill. (My friend Marlowe and I bumped into him in the chip shop after. "Aren't you Joe Strummer?" He smiled and looked the other way.)

While the Pistols have ever since traded on that autumn of '76, The Clash, who made their name supporting Johnny Rotten and the rest, went on and passed their mentors. The Pistols only ever possessed one sound, and two good singles to capture it. The Clash moved on. They had punk, they had dub. When was there ever better fushion than The Clash learning reggae from the bands that played alongside them? London Calling. Police and Thieves. Career Opportunities - 'the ones that never knock'.

In fifty years time, how will any of us be known? People always say the same about Arthur Scargill, "I never liked the man, mind, but when he talked about the Tories and the pits, he was right". As for Joe Strummer, "he never sold out". After The Clash split, at the start of the 1980s, they never went back. No matter how much cash they were offered to re-form.

When I was sixteen, I thought the best song in the world (ever) was their "White Riot". "All the power in the hands / of those rich enough to buy it / while we walk the streets / too chicken to even try it." These days, I know it's "(White man) In Hammersmith Palais". It's the story that works, of a man clubbing at a reggae night, expecting politics, distressed that people are just having fun, and then at a certain point, relaxing, and starting to see ...

They played the song at the funeral, louder than I've ever heard it. The church was full past bursting, and most people remained outside in the drizzle. Two dozen firefighters stood to attention to bid Joe Strummer farewell. He had appeared at their benefit night, when they were on strike. They turned out for him. One stood by the church afterwards, yellow helmet in hand, showing her hair dyed red. Without Joe Strummer, she would be just another boring old brunette. I said to her, how come your managers gave you time off to come here? "We never asked them".

 

The Turtle Posthumously Salutes Joe Strummer!