Redemption Song
The Definitive Biography of Joe Strummer
Chris Salewicz
CONTENTS
2 R.I.PUNK
4 STEPPING OUT OF BABYLON (ONE MORE TIME)
5 BE TRUE TO YOUR SCHOOL (LIKE YOU WOULD TO YOUR GIRL)
8 THE BAD SHOPLIFTER GOES GRAVEDIGGING
11 I’M GOING TO BE A PUNK ROCKER
13 THE ALL-NIGHT DRUG-PROWLING WOLF
PRAISE FOR CHRIS SALEWICZ’S REDEMPTION SONG
1
STRAIGHT TO HEAVEN
2002
This is how I heard about Joe’s death: Don Letts, the Rastafarian film director who had made all the Clash videos, called me at around 9.30 on the evening of 22 December 2002.
‘I’ve got to tell you, Chris: Joe’s died – of a heart attack.’
‘Oh-fuckin’-hell-Oh-fuckin’-hell-Oh-fuckin’-hell,’ was all I could say.
I poured a large glass of rum and stuck Don’s documentary about the group, Westway to the World, on the video. I called up Mick Jones, who in between sobs was his usual funny self, telling me how glad he was he’d played with Joe at the benefit for the Fire Brigades Union five weeks before.
‘I don’t even know what religion he was,’ Mick said.
‘Some kind of Scottish low-church Presbyterian, I imagine,’ I suggested.
‘Church of Beer, probably,’ laughed Mick, tearfully.
I went to bed late, and although I hardly slept I didn’t get up until around 9.30. At around 9.55 the phone rang: ITN News. Could they interview me for the 10.00 bulletin? I sat down on the sofa and made some quick soundbite-sized notes. I’m not even sure what I said. The phone rang again: the Independent wanted me to write an obituary, a long one, 2,000 words, by 4 o’clock. I started up the computer, opening up my assorted Strummer files, pulling out quotes and phrases. Then the phone rang once more: ITN News again. Could they send a car for me to be on the 12.30 News? Call me back in a minute, I said: I need to work out whether I can do it – the obituary is what counts most. I put the phone down. Someone’s got to do this for Joe, I thought, but I don’t want to blow the obit by doing too much. I called Joe’s home in Somerset and left a message of condolence for Lucinda, his widow.
By the time the car came for me at half eleven, I’d got a good amount done. As it always does, the TV stuff took much longer than it was meant to – they wanted to record something more for the evening news. It was 2.00 p.m. before I was home again. I still had a lot to do. But somehow time stretched, giving me many more minutes an hour than I might have expected. I e-mailed the obituary through at ten minutes to four. This is what I wrote:
The job of being Joe Strummer, spokesman for the punk generation and front-man for the Clash, never sat easily with the former John Mellor. Always