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It was like having the breath sucked out of you... not like being punched in the gut, or falling from a height. Just as if oxygen was no longer available. Of the two outside calls I got today, one was from Slick Willie, this morning... from Biggles, this evening. Both with the same news of Joe (John Mellor) Strummer's untimely passing. Goddamn it. We three made a pilgrimmage to DC's N*ghtclub 9:30 over a year ago (hell, maybe two, now) to take in the Mescaleros... too many years passing since the last testament of the Clash. Showtime... when the air is thick with possibility. Though, it was more like linking up with an old friend that you hadn't seen for ten years... would they look the same, have the same lust for life, or would they have miraculously turned Asshole? We got our butts kicked. Avalanched by vege-matic guitar, thunderously familiar chords, words burned in to the cerebral cortex... all delivered by the man who made them. Presented like only the originator could, undiminished by the years. Ricocheted back by the wall of people who knew and felt every phrase and cadence. And now, he's gone. 2002. A very 'Noir" year. It probably sounds adolescent... after all, there are no more heros for me. Frivolous, exalting a musician. But, regardless of my years, or my jadedness, I do still believe that something as simple as a song, or a band, can make things happen if it points you in the right direction. Take reggae... sure, it seems like heavy, plodding rhythm, but don't underestimate the impact. Go anywhere else in the world, and that same beat has preceeded you. As has the message. If not for the Clash, I may never have cared. There was hope embedded here, too. You didn't have to sing perfectly... play like a Julliard scholar... be anything near "hot" in the 2002 vernacular (or have a Hollywood smile... or anything close to it). It was like anybody who had something that they'd thoughtfully wrapped their brain around, considered, made it fun and inspirational, and gave it a kickass beat had a chance to be somebody. The message: get up, stand up, shout it like you mean it... and for God's sake, keep a sense of humor. And you just might change things. A punk "people person." Now that was different concept. Now, shall we get off our asses, or let that die as well? There has got to be a point to all this breathing. |
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