I know, I know. London Calling is untouchable, the best album by 'the only band that matters.’ The accolades for this 19-song album go on and on, with even the famously grumpy Robert Christgau giving it an A-plus. And it only adds to the greatness of London Calling that the Clash insisted it be sold for the same price as a single LP.
Still, it is a double album, and all double albums, even ones as supposedly perfect as this one, have their share of chaff.
Enough reverence. Let’s go after this one with extreme prejudice:
I’m going to start out by killing the title track because, in my humble opinion, it sucks. In her review of the 2004 anniversary edition of London Calling, Pitchfork's Amanda Petrusich characterized the Mick Jones' stacato guitar punches as ‘little nails into our skulls.’ I think she meant it as a compliment; I’d like to use it as an insult. Also, I find myself unable to take it seriously ever since the twerps over at the National Broadcasting Corporation used it as the theme song for their coverage of the 2008 Wimbledon tournament. Oh, and did I mention this song sucks?
Their cover of Brand New Cadillac, originally done by British rocker Vince Taylor, ain’t bad. But there’s no way I’m starting this album with a cover, even though 'The Black Leather Rebel' is all but forgotten these days. Chop.
Song number three is Jimmy Jazz and, though it starts off slow and sleepy, I’ll allow its low-key charm, despite the fact that the late, great Joe Strummer seems unable to decide whether to spell the main character’s name ‘J-A-Zee-Zee’ or ‘J-A-Zed-Zed.’
I wouldn’t want to touch the dizzy, frantic Hateful, which is about the conflicted relationship of a drug addict to his dealer. Rudie Can’t Fail is another good one, horn-filled and altogether happy-sounding, unless you stop to listen to the lyrics, which are about living up to adult responsibility. Bummer.
Spanish Bombs might be the best song on the album, even though the chorus is indistinguishable from the verses (except for Topper Headon’s awesome drum fills). It’s also kind of depressing, from a lyrical standpoint, being about various human rights atrocities committed during the Spanish Civil War.
The Right Profile is interesting, in that it’s about the overdosing death of Hollywood pretty boy Montgomery Clift. But damn, it’s a chore to sit through, as those sassy horns go on forever. Chop.
Lost in the Supermarket is a stone classic, thanks to the affecting lead vocal by Mick Jones (though it was written by Strummer). It’ supposed to be about consumerism or something, but who cares? If you don’t smile for the line, ‘I wasn’t born so much as I fell out,’ you need to lighten up. Clampdown isn’t quite as good but it’s still a strong entry. It stays.
Bassist Paul Simonon –- he’s the guy smashing his guitar on the cover –- takes the lead vocal on the reggae-inspired The Guns of Brixton, probably because he wrote it. You can hear the nervousness in his voice, which is kind of endearing. (According to legend, a CBS exec wandered into the recording booth as the vocal was being cut.)
After a false take and some studio chatter, Wrong ‘Em Boyo starts in earnest. Meh. Chop.
Death or Glory may not be the best song on the album, but it certainly is the most inspiring. Over what might be the Clash’s best-ever guitar riff (yes, I’m aware of Should I Stay or Should I Go), Strummer serves up a litany of glorified failures and near misses, only to face them all down with a vow ‘to fight a long time.’ It’s been said that producer Guy Stevens threw a chair while listening to the band bang out this anthem.
Corporate advertising broadside Koka Kola is an extended burp. We can lose it with no problem.
The Card Cheat covers familiar territory –- failing with dignity –- but it sounds positively epic, thanks to Jones’ gospel-tinged piano licks. Whoever decided it should fade out is a moron. Lover’s Rock is just about the only Clash song I can think of that might sound appropriate in a chewing gum commercial. That’s not a good thing. Chop.
Four Horsemen might have sounded good back on side one, but buried here on side four, it sounds superfluous. Come to think of it, so does I’m Not Down.
Revolution Rock has some nice, dirty horns and Strummer exhorting listeners to ‘smash your seats and rock to this brand new beat.’ Too bad it’s about three minutes too long. Chop.
I’d have to be an idiot to chop closer Train in Vain, one of the best straight pop songs of the 1980s (despite being released in December 1979).
Ladies and Gentlemen, the new and improved London Calling:
Jimmy Jazz, Hateful, Rudie Can’t Fail, Spanish Bombs, Lost in the Supermarket, Clampdown, The Guns of Brixton, Death or Glory, The Card Cheat, Train in Vain.

Three years ago this week Hurricane Katrina turned New Orleans into a liquid Hiroshima. The city is known as the birthplace of jazz, but it is also one of the birthplaces of rock 'n' roll. It's not heralded nearly so much as Memphis, but it probably should be. Like Memphis, New Orleans was the home of a studio that offered local musicians the opportunity to record and served as their gateway to worldwide fame. That studio was J&M Recording, opened in 1945 and first located in the French Quarter. The "M" in J&M was 18-year-old Cosimo Matassa, one of the more sadly neglected figures in rock history.
Michael Jackson's music doesn't exactly fit into WNEW's playlist so we wouldn't normally write about him. But, he's a cultural icon and, because he turns 50 today, we're going to take a few paragraphs to give MJ a little birthday ink.
Looking for the next New York-based indie outfit poised for a serious breakout in the coming months? Sam Champion may be a safe bet. After spending some time earlier this summer supporting the Cold War Kids, the four-piece outfit composed of Noah Chernin, Ryan Thornton, Jack Dolgen, Sean Bones began to earn attention for its unique name (more on that later) and catchy-as-hell debut album, Slow Rewind. Now with the release of the band's sophomore effort, Heavenly Bender,
A political storm had been brewing over Chicago since early in 1968. The Democratic National Convention would be held there in August, and old-line pacifists like David Dellinger planned to attend, to protest the Johnson Administration's conduct in Vietnam. So did Tom Hayden and Rennie Davis, leaders of Students for a Democratic Society, the most prominent force on the student left. So did radical college professors like John Froines and Lee Weiner, so influential among their students. So did Bobby Seale, co-founder of the Black Panthers, a group founded originally to promote self-defense and justice for African Americans but which by 1968 was advocating black nationalism and revolution. So did Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin, veterans of the civil rights and Vietnam protest movements, who were primarily interested in street theater and pranking the Establishment. Chicago's mayor, Richard Daley, knew it, too. A strong ally of President Lyndon Johnson and a proudly provincial local leader, he wasn't about to let a bunch of hippie kids embarrass him, or his president, in his own town. 
August 27, 1990 was truly one of the saddest days in my life as a rock and roll fan. It was on this day, 18 years ago, that Stevie Ray Vaughan was killed in a helicopter accident.



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