| Weekend
Edition
September 9/10 , 2006
Long Live The Clash!
Thirty Years of "White
Riot"
By ALEXANDER
BILLET
On
August 30th, 1976, in a turbulent and volatile section of London,
a piece of rock n’ roll legend took place. Though the anniversary
last week was insignificant to most in the mainstream press, the
events of that insufferably hot summer day were not just important
in their own right, but played a part in shaping one of rock music’s
most influential bands, and helped re-establish the link between
popular culture and popular resistance.
Much
has been made in recent years of The Clash’s immense influence
on both music and culture. Rightfully so.
Their
rebel attitude, combined with a streetwise wit and politically charged
lyrics, raised the bar for what was possible in punk rock, still
in its infancy in the mid 1970s. Billy Bragg summed it up in a now-famous
quote: ‘were it not for The Clash, punk would have been just
a sneer, a safety pin and a pair of bondage trousers.’ The
Notting Hill Carnival, thirty years ago last week, was where it
all started.
On
the morning of the 30th, singer/guitarist Joe Strummer and bass
player Paul Simonon, exhausted and a bit demoralized from a disastrous
gig the night before, wandered with their manager Bernie Rhodes
down to Notting Hill for the annual Caribbean Carnival. At that
time The Clash were still a little known band that had yet to cut
a record and were struggling to get noticed. Few outside of London
and New York had any notion of what ‘punk’ was. The
charts were full of such acts as Queen and Elton John. But the stale,
overproduced sound of stadium rock had run its course. Something
was needed to inject some life back into rock n’ roll, and
the first rumblings could be heard by anyone paying close attention.
On August 7th, Melody Maker magazine gave four skinny, foul-mouthed
youths known as ‘The Sex Pistols’ their first cover
story.
To
look at Britain in the 1970s, one gets the feeling that the Pistols’
refrain of ‘no future’ wasn’t far off. The economy
was in a deep slump, with inflation topping twenty percent. In 1975
unemployment had passed two million. And the so-called ‘Labour
Party’ was not just neglecting its working-class base, they
were actively moving to crush it. ‘Whereas the Tories had
not dared to use troops to break the miners strike [of 1973],’
writes Chris Harman, ‘Labour was able to use them successfully
against the refuse workers in Glasgow, traditionally one of the
most militant cities in Britain.’
Prospects
were even worse for the black and immigrant communities such as
Notting Hill. This neighborhood was a far cry from the well-to-do
row-houses of Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts that we know today. In
the mid-70s, it was an impoverished yet colorful world of reggae
parties and record stalls where recent black immigrants from the
Caribbean resided. Like most immigrants, they were shunned and scapegoated
by Her Majesty’s Empire. Police harassment had become a fact
of life for black youth, and fascist groups such as the British
Movement and National Front were gaining more and more of a hearing.
The
overwhelming feeling was that Britannia was coming apart at the
seams. Still, Strummer and Simonon had no clue that the powder keg
that they were sitting on was about to blow that day. They had wandered
to the Notting Hill Carnival for the same most had; to listen to
some music, eat some food, and take in the vibrant costumes and
displays. But something else was to transpire that day. The police
presence was, of course, unnecessarily large, and when a black youth
was arrested for a supposed pickpocketing, the community erupted.
People threw bricks and bottles at the cops, demanding the young
man’s release. When a line of riot police assembled to confront
them, they were simply met with more flying debris. As things escalated,
Paul and Joe jumped in.
Pat
Gilbert, in his Clash biography Passion is a Fashion, gives an excellent
account of the two young punks’ actions during the riot: ‘In
the commotion, Paul and Joe lost Bernie [Rhodes] under the Westway.
Simonon recalls with glee throwing bricks at the lines of police
and almost unseating a police motorcyclist… with a traffic
cone. As the riot exploded, Joe tried to set light to an upturned
vehicle but the matches he lit kept blowing out in the breeze.’
Don
Letts, later The Clash’s video-maker and himself the son of
Caribbean immigrants, was also at the Carnival that day. A photograph
of him crossing the street in front of a line of cops right before
the riot is itself a piece of Clash history, as it was used for
the cover of the Black Market Clash compilation album. ‘It
is interesting how people look back on it as a black and white riot,’
he tells Gilbert. ‘It wasn’t. It was a wrong and right
riot. It wasn’t the black kids against the white police, it
was youth at a black festival against the police. Don’t forget
this is 1976 you are talking about, a time when the country was
in a bit of a state, there are no opportunities…’
Likewise,
Simonon and Strummer weren’t just two kids looking to raise
some hell. They too had every reason to fight back against the cops.
Despite Joe’s middle-class upbringing, his anti-authoritarian
streak had longed to take part in the 1968 uprisings as he watched
from afar. Now, after spending the past few years squatting and
busking in London’s tube stations, being harassed by the cops
and watching black and Asians being pushed around to no end, he
finally had a chance to fight back.
For
Simonon, who had grown up in the heavily Caribbean neighborhoods
like Notting Hill and Brixton, the scene of police harassment must
have been all too familiar to him as well. Paul had spent his teens
hanging out at reggae parties. His high school was described as
‘a shit-hole.’ ‘You felt like you were dumped
there until you got a job or signed on the dole…’ he
says in Passion is a Fashion. ‘Most of the pupils were black,
Irish or Greek. Very few [English] white. But there wasn’t
much racism as I can remember; everyone was in the same boat. No
one had anything.’ For him and Joe both, lashing out at the
cops was just as much in defense of themselves as the Black community.
The
effect that the Notting Hill Riot would have on them and the rest
of the group would be profound. Taking manager Rhodes’ encouragement
to ‘write about what’s happening,’ Joe would write
The Clash’s first single: ‘White Riot.’ Clocking
in at just under two minutes, the song is a brash and loud call
to arms. Interestingly, the frank nature of the first lyric, ‘Black
men got a lotta problems / but they don’t mind throwing a
brick,’ would lead some to mistake the song as racist, but
Strummer insisted he was only generalizing, and the second lyric,
‘White people go to school / where they teach you how to be
thick,’ made it clear that this was a fight for white kids
too, against a common enemy: ‘All the power in the hands /
of the people rich enough to buy it / while we walk the street /
too chicken to even try it.’
The
song would be released as The Clash’s first single, and it
became clear that they had touched a nerve: ‘White Riot’
would reach number 38 on the UK charts.
From
that day on, The Clash’s insistence on taking a stand became
an integral part of their music and image. If there was any mistaken
notion that punk was a soundtrack for ‘rebels without a cause,’
‘White Riot’ put it to rest. Over the next nine years,
the group would make it clear which side they stood on in the riot
between ‘right and wrong.’
They
wrote songs not just about race and class, but consumerism, war,
police brutality and sexual politics. They played shows for anti-racist
groups and benefits for striking miners, organized against far-right
groups, and made public their support for liberation fighters in
Angola. They would decry the US’ support for Pinochet’s
coup in Chile in songs like ‘Washington Bullets,’ and
pay tribute to the Spanish workers’ militias in ‘Spanish
Bombs.’
In
the world of MTV and Clear Channel, the concept of music reflecting
the outside world and urging us to take a stand seems far away.
But the if the story of one of rock n’ roll’s most influential
bands can be so intimately tied with an event such as the Notting
Hill Riots thirty years ago, then we must sit up and take notice.
The legacy of The Clash is safe, and will never be forgotten. But
music, like history, doesn’t simply exist to remember the
past. It exists to inspire the future. In a time of war, racism
and poverty, The Clash refused to sit on the sidelines. Today, musicians,
artists and activists alike can learn a great deal from them.
Alexander
Billet is a writer and activist living in Washington DC.
He has written and spoken on The Clash for several publications
and forums, including CounterPunch, Socialist Worker (US), Everensel
(Turkey), and Radio Free Adelaide (Australia). He is currently working
on a book tentatively titled The Kids Are Shouting Loud: The Music
and Politics of The Clash. He can be reached at
alexbillet@hotmail.com |