WORKING CLASH HEROES PERFECT LOVERS ROCK
Inside the Clash’s new rehearsal studio, under a railway bridge somewhere in South London, Joe Strummer is singing a slow country blues about rolling boxcars, twisting his head way down under to reach a low mike, perched next to an electric piano.
WORKING CLASH HEROES PERFECT LOVERS ROCK
by
Chris Bohn
Inside the Clash’s new rehearsal studio, under a railway bridge somewhere in South London, Joe Strummer is singing a slow country blues about rolling boxcars, twisting his head way down under to reach a low mike, perched next to an electric piano.
To his right, Mick Jones, dressed in black shirt, vest and trousers, looking like a maverick from a Western B-movie, messes around with a bottleneck; while to his left Simonon slouches on a barstool, as if posing for the silhouette logo on Top Of The Pops. Behind them, Topper Headon drops an occasional beat to throw drumsticks for his dog.
This is the new Clash, relaxed and unfettered by the chains— or “bullshit”, as Joe would have it—with which some would bind them to their past. They will later worry about the lack of work they’re getting done, but undoubtedly the music will be as tough and as tight as it ever was by the time they reac h the stage for their winter tour.