The Logical Lizard

I first heard of Blondie back in the mid-1970s—long before they were international superastars—and while they were still on the indie label Private Stock. In the early days of their career they were regarded as a punk band, toured with Television, and were part of the New York underground scene, along with the Ramones, Talking Heads and other luminaries. Now, many years after the string of mega pop hits like “Heart of Glass,” “Atomic,” “Rapture,” and so on, it’s a little difficult for some to remember Blondie the way there were. But I do.

I first saw them in London in 1978. It was their initial European solo tour and they headlined at the Rainbow in Finsbury Park—a large and elegant seated venue, a bit like the Rialto only bigger and fancier. I was a young lad with two tickets to see this “unknown” American act, and really, I couldn’t give one away. Nobody wanted to go with me. The kids I went to school with, blissfully unaware of the punk rock revolution fomenting in their own town, were still spacing out to Emerson, Lake & Palmer and Yes.

I finally convinced a biker friend of mine, John, to take the train with me up to north London. He didn’t much care much for live music but he was always up for an adventure. We arrived early and took our seats—eighth row, right in the center.

After a while, the warm-up band started playing and they were extremely weird. I remember that the house lights were left on, as if Blondie didn’t want to take the chance of being upstaged. There were four guys in this group: the guitarist and bassist both sang, and they had a demented keyboard player who pounded on a bizarre stack of synthesizers that had wires and cables hanging all over the place. Their songs were jangly and dissonant. The show was energetic and mildly interesting, but they were a little too odd for me. When Blondie came on, the theater wasn’t even half full, but I didn’t care. Debbie Harry was only in her thirties then, and as lovely a rock ‘n’ roll deity as I had ever seen float across the stage.

On the way home, I asked John what he thought about the concert. “Well, Blondie were okay, but that warm-up band were amazing! They’re going to be huge.” John really didn’t know a thing about music so I dismissed his prediction as the babblings of an amateur. I later found out that the strange opening act were called XTC.

I’ve seen Blondie many times in the intervening years, and I danced to “Sunday Girl” at my high school prom. Blondie’s supremely talented bassplayer, Gary Valentine, was let go in the late 1970s and they were never quite as good without him, although they still play his wistful song “I Am Always Touched by Your Presence Dear.” From the time they came back to London after the release of Parallel Lines, there were never again empty seats in the theaters and Blondie were instantly adored.

I once saw Debbie and romantic partner/songwriter/Blondie guitarist Chris Stein do a secret show at CBGB’s with a pickup band. I sat in a cozy little VIP section with Matt Dillon on one side of me, and the Talking Heads on the other. It was pretty cool. In the 1990s, my band used to rehearse in a room next to Blondie at an elite studio in New York, and we got to chat and hang out a little. Chris Stein and I both played Steinbergers, and he’d painted out the “berger” on his guitar, so it just read “Stein,” which I found to be very clever.

The Logical Lizard hanging out with Blondie lead guitarist Chris Stein in New York, back in the rock 'n' roll days. Photo by Lach.

Last year, when Blondie set out on their big reunion tour I happened to be in NYC and took my brother and my former 1980s sweetheart to see them at the Sony Theater in Times Square. I assumed that the band would be old and tired, but it was easily the best Blondie show I ever saw: they were tight, extremely well rehearsed, full of energy, better dressed and sharper than ever, and cracked through a set of greatest hits. The song list was predictable, but who doesn’t want to hear “Hanging on the Telephone,” “Dreaming,” and all those other pop classics?

So, not surprisingly, I was expecting something similar at the Desert Diamond show this past Tuesday. Blondie, right here in my adopted home town, at a small venue! I took my dear friend Lisa Marie—a talented local silversmith, a serious music lover, and long-time Blondie fan who had never actually seen them in concert. I was a little concerned when I got my first peek at the venue. It looked more like a hotel ballroom, where you’d hold a wedding reception, than a concert hall.

When Blondie came on at about 8 pm (awfully early for New York rockers) they blasted straight into “Call Me,” which makes for a hell of a good opener. Debbie was in a bright red dress with mismatched Converse sneakers: one red and one blue, just like Clem on the cover of Parallel Lines). Unfortunately, the sound was dreadful, like listening to a transistor radio through two sheets of soggy cardboard. Most of the audience were of retirement age and, despite the very modest volume, I noticed a lady next to me wearing earplugs.

As an original fan, I felt it my duty to show the band some love, so Lisa and I ran to the front and sidled up to the stage, right by Debbie. Periodically we were yelled at, or ordered back to our seats by security, but we made the most of it.

Debbie Harry onstage with Blondie, Desert Diamond Casino, Tucson, September 1, 2009. Photo by Caroline Palmer.

Only Debbie, Chris Stein, and drummer Clem Burke remain from the original lineup. Last June, Jimmy Destri, the keyboard player and one of the key songwriters was still with them, and I really missed his presence here in Tucson. He’s a great performer. So, the sound sucked, the audience were mostly old and confused, and Blondie were finishing off their national tour with a Tuesday night show in a partially-filled casino in Tucson, Arizona. It must have been a bit of a downer for them, but they were troopers and didn’t let it show. They surprised me with “Fade Away And Radiate,” not exactly a conventional pop hit, and a long ska/reggae jam in the middle of “The Tide is High.”

So, I’ve been to better Blondie shows, but in all these years it was the first time I ever got to see them elbows-on-the-stage in a small venue. They may be older, but you know what, so am I, and Blondie still kick the pants off of most contemporary acts. I’ll pony up my cash to see them anytime.

To say I miss Joe Strummer and The Clash is as pointless and redundant as remarking: “Wow, it is really hot in Tucson in the summer.” Although I did not really know Joe personally, I was lucky enough to meet him more than once, and saw the mighty Clash live and firing on all cylinders numerous times back in the punk days. One of the remarkable things about Joe was that after even the briefest of conversations you had the feeling that you actually did know him, and that he was genuinely interested in what you had to say. He was a real person.

Despite the fact that Joe has been gone for nearly seven years it is, surprisingly enough, still a great time to be a Clash fan. In recent years we’ve been blessed with From Here to Eternity, a live compilation which is actually my single favorite Clash album; Combat Rock being my least favorite with, let’s face it, really only a handful of decent songs (yes, I know I am in the minority there, but what’s new about that?).

We can can watch and re-watch Don Letts’ masterful film Westway To The World, which I consider to be the finest rock documentary every made. I am in no way a fan of director Julian Temple’s work—I find it gimmicky and affected—but he does cover interesting subjects and his Strummer documentary, The Future Is Unwritten, is important viewing for any fan of punk rock history.

Chris Salewicz’s Redemption Song: The Ballad of Joe Strummer is, for my money, the best rock bio ever written (well, maybe first equal with Dave Marsh’s Who chronicle, Before I Get Old). Sony finally saw fit to officially release 1982’s Live at Shea Stadium on CD and punk rockers can revel in all things Clash related on Tim Merrick’s Clash Blog, ingeniously subtitled “The Only Blog That Matters.”

Joe Strummer at the New York Palladium, 1989. Photo by Geoffrey Notkin.

Dick Rude’s 68-minute film Let’s Rock Again is tauntingly short, but remains an entertaining and good-hearted record of Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros on the road shortly before Joe’s death. And that is the really tragic part. After years of self-imposed exile in a post-Clash wilderness, Joe had finally reinvented himself, teamed up with long-time friend, mentor, and musical collaborator Tymon Dogg and was touring with an eclectic and highly talented band. The new songs may not have had quite the musical kick that his great songwriting partner, Mick Jones, brought to the old Clash numbers, but there was an expansive, world music vibe to the Mescaleros. And Joe looked happy in concert, like he was finally doing what he wanted.

The three Mescaleros records: Rock Art and the X-Ray Style, Global A Go-Go and the posthumous Streetcore are a glorious jumble of musical styles. Those records do not fit into any known category of music and quite right too. By 2001, Joe was a mature composer, singer and performer at the height of his powers, drawing upon his love of richly diverse musical forms including jazz, reggae, blues, ska, rockabilly, folk, and punk rock. What could he have accomplished given another ten years behind that battered Telecaster?

In the wonderful novel High Fidelity, infused with a passionate love for the details of rock music, author Nick Hornby’s narrator returns home to listen to The Beatles after mooning over failed relationships:

“The Beatles were bubblegum cards and Help at the Saturday morning cinema and toy plastic guitars and singing ‘Yellow Submarine’ at the top of my voice in the back of the coach on school trips. They belong to me, not to me and Laura, or me and Charlie, or me and Alison Ashworth, and though they’ll make me feel something, they won’t make me feel anything bad.”

And that’s what The Clash were to me. They were my band. The best, most radical, most exciting, most loyal and gifted band there ever was. From the first time I saw them on the Out Of Control Tour in London back in 1978, to those brilliant Mescaleros shows in New York in 2001, the sounds, memories and experiences feel almost as if they belong only to me. They were that moving and that personal. Joe was an inspiration and he set the bar so high with his songwriting ability, it seems almost hopeless that another artist might one day fill his shoes.

“Just because we’re in a group
You all think we’re stinkin’ rich
An’ we all got model girls shedding every stich
And you think the coke is flowing
Like a river up our noses
And every sea will part for us
Like the red one did for Moses”

From “Cheapskates” by Strummer/Jones

Some favorite memories: Watching the debut of “White Man In Hammersmith Palais” at The Clash’s three-night Camden Music Machine event in London, 1978; Mick Jones jumping into the crowd at the Crawley Sports Center, later on the same tour, and pounding a bouncer who was beating up on a fan; Joe surprising the heck out of us with “Keys To Your Heart” at the 1989 Palladium show; and seeing Joe belt through “Rudie Can’t Fail” that one last time on the Mescaleros 2001 US tour.

My all-time top five Clash songs:

“White Man in Hammersmith Palais”
“Complete Control”
“Rudie Can’t Fail”
“Safe European Home”
“London Calling”

Learn more:

Redemption Song: The Ballad of Joe Strummer by Chris Salewicz
Strummerville Foundation for New Music
The Clash Blog
Joe Strummer obituary by Geoffrey Notkin

And finally, I am not going to end this piece by saying: “Well at least we still have Joe’s music.” I feel cheated. I want more, and my heart longs for all the rousing, sad, and beautiful Strummer songs we will never hear.