Rolling Stone magazine called “London Calling” the best album of the 1980s—even though it was released in 40 years ago this weekend in December 1979—and it often makes the top 10 of “greatest rock albums ever” lists.
For years, however, it wasn’t even my favorite album by The Clash. The self-titled debut album by The Clash (U.S. version) helped me survive my teen years. The boredom, frustration and disillusionment the band directed at 1970s England translated nicely addressed the boredom, frustration and disillusionment of going to high school in 1980s American suburbia.
That debut album also contains “Complete Control," which is my favorite Clash song and one of the most incredible songs ever.
By contrast, “London Calling” is not as urgent and frenetic as that debut album. One song starts with laid-back whistling, for God’s sake. It’s not a cure for teenage angst. But, inevitably, I grew up and realized that “London Calling” marks when The Clash transformed from a great punk band into a great all-around rock band—“The Only Band That Matters.”
On this 40th anniversary of its release, there are some nice remembrances and repeated lore, but the best thing about a classic album is that the music speaks for itself years later. It’s one of the few whole albums that is always loaded onto my iPod, and I listened to its straight through twice yesterday.
The title track, the album’s first song, is best known to younger ears by its appearance in movies or bits of movies set in London. But that trivial use doesn’t change the fact it’s a monster of a first song. When Paul Simonon’s bass and the drums thunder in at the seven-second mark, it telegraphs the ominous nature of the song’s apocalyptic lyrics. A nuclear error, the wheat is growing thin … it looks bleak. This was written not long after the Three Mile Island disaster in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, which obviously informs the song, but its message of pending world disaster obviously still resonates. Fun fact: The trailing-off guitar at the song’s end spells out “S.O.S.” in Morse code.
Then there’s a ripping cover of Vince Taylor’s 1958 hit “Brand New Cadillac,” which The Clash transform into a great punk song. “Jimmy Jazz” is indeed about the jazziest song on the album; it’s the one that starts with the aforementioned whistling. It’s a ramshackle tune that breaks the previous mood before “Hateful” cranks it back up. That song is the jauntiest tune you’ll ever hear about drug addiction.
“Rudie Can’t Fail,” which is punk, reggae and ska all the same time, is up next. It’s got horns, which irked punk purists. It’s also a joyful ode to “rude boys,” part of the Jamaican-British subculture in London. This is one of the few Clash tunes for which Mick Jones handles the lead vocals, thus Joe Strummer yelling “Sing, Michael, Sing!” at the start. I love this song, and it’s on my list of tunes I want played at my wake after I die.
Moving along—as a double album, “London Calling” contains 19(!) songs—we hit “Spanish Bombs,” which compares events during Spain’s civil war in the 1930s with 1970s Spain. Next, “The Right Profile,” which is about the 1950s and ‘60s film star Montgomery Clift, hopping to “Lost in the Supermarket,” which is about anti-consumerism and general ennui at the same time. That one is one of my favorite tracks on the album and possibly was my absolute favorite during my 20s.
“Clampdown” is a brilliant-sounding revolutionary call to action, followed by “The Guns of Brixton.” This song, the first to be composed and sung by Paul Simonon, is about South London gangsters. This menacing-sounding song, for me, meant it was time to slip my cassette tape, as the double album was condensed onto one tape by the time I bought it in the second half of the 1980s.
The second side of the cassette version started with “Wrong ‘Em Boyo,” a reggae song originally performed by The Rulers that weaves in the old American folk song “Stagger Lee.” It’s a bouncy start to the second half, which is an more diverse hodgepodge of The Clash’s influences and styles than the first half.
Then comes “Death or Glory.” Some argue this is the greatest Clash song ever. It’s not my favorite (see above), but it’s glorious and includes a chorus to which I ALWAYS sing along.
“Koka Kola” takes the old “Coke Adds Life” slogan and skewers it with a tale of capitalism and cocaine in just one minute and 46 seconds. It’s a harrowing, sarcastic tune that contrasts greatly with “The Card Cheat,” a piano-driven ballad with horns and Mick Jones on the lead vocals. It’s about a gambler who gets caught cheating and is shot on sight. It’s melancholy, overwrought and beautiful, which is a strange word for most Clash songs. But most Clash songs don’t feature a trumpet solo like this one, either.
By the time the album hits its homestretch, not all the songs are quite as strong. “Lover’s Rock” is a relatively mellow love song (yes, this is still The Clash, despite how that sounds), followed by “Four Horsemen” and “I’m Not Down,” which are both good, solid songs. The latter, sorely underrated, starts with this lyric: “If it's true a rich man leads a sad life / That's what they say from day to day / Then what do all the poor do with their lives.” That’s a great question.
“Revolution Rock,” the 18th track, sounds so much in The Clash’s wheelhouse that few realize it’s another reggae cover. By now, Joe Strummer sounds like he’s just ad-libbing and having fun.
Finally, “Train in Vain” is the closer. Fun fact: It was the first Clash song to chart in the U.S. Top 30. It’s fine, but I’ll admit I’ve never understood its relative popularity when there are SO MANY better songs on “London Calling.”
So that’s all 19 songs. For such a long album, it’s strong from start to finish, with only one or two tracks I could even consider leaving out.
When “London Calling” came out, I was a nearly 9-year-old third-grader in suburban Los Angeles listening to mainstream pop-rock radio. I wouldn’t first consciously hear The Clash until about 1982. I don’t recall when I first heard “London Calling,” but by my college days, I had a huge, door-sized poster of the album’s iconic cover photo hanging in my dorm room.
It was a great album then; and it still holds up as a sprawling testament to a band at the height of its powers. It sounds like The Only Band That Matters in that moment.