Encounters with the Clash – 45 years on

Several years ago I was asked to compile an article about my experiences with the Clash. With tomorrow being the 45th anniversary of the infamous Bond International Casino riot, it seemed like a good time to publish this piece here. Enjoy!

              On the afternoon of September 22, 1979, I was in a state of high excitement. At last, The Clash were in Philadelphia, scheduled to play the ornate confines of the Walnut Street Theater on the band’s “Take the Fifth” tour – the smallest venue of the tour. In just a few hours I would be one of the hundreds of people to fill the intimate theater, seeing a band that had skyrocketed to the upper echelons of my appreciation.

              I’d landed a UK import copy of The Clash months before the realigned US version hit the shelves, tipped off to the band by Patti Smith. I loved everything about that first album, just wishing the potential power of the band was more evident, as had been the case with Chris Thomas’ wall-of-Steve-Jones production on Never Mind the Bollocks. And then came Give ‘em Enough Rope. The alliance of The Clash with Sandy Pearlman may have been an uneasy one in the studio, but there was no arguing with the results – from the first massive whack of Topper’s snare to kick off the album it was clear the power and fury of The Clash were lurking in these grooves in full force.

              I’d managed to snag a large promotional poster reproducing the cover of …Rope, and was fixated with the idea of possibly getting one of the group to sign it before their show. So, ink marker and poster tube in hand, I set out that warm September day, leaving my apartment in central Philadelphia to travel just a few blocks. My destination was the Benjamin Franklin Hotel, a historic building that had opened in 1923. Its proximity to the Walnut Street Theater made it a likely temporary residence for The Clash while in the city for that night’s concert with The Undertones opening.

              I walked through the doors of the hotel and into the elegant, old world lobby, crossing the expansive checkerboard pattern floor while searching to see if I saw anyone with the band, or even one of the band members. In a matter of seconds, I realized there wasn’t just one member of The Clash in sight – there were all four. Lounging on the lobby furniture, The Clash had set up camp near the elevators and were happily chatting with a small group of Philadelphia fans.

              I made my way to the gathering and extracted my poster and marker, starting with Paul and Topper, then moving on to Mick. Joe, who was pretty much my guitar hero by that time, was last. He not only signed the poster, but helpfully drew arrows on the artwork to indicate which buzzards represented which band members.

The signed promotional poster for “Give ‘Em Enough Rope” and the black Fender Telecaster that served me so well during the lifespan of Informed Sources – spiritually-inspired by Joe. Photograph by Frank Moriarty.

              My autograph mission complete – if only there’d been digital cameras in days of yore! – I settled into a quite relaxing conversation with Mick Jones. Eventually he asked me if I played in a band. No, I responded – I told him how I’d seen Jimi Hendrix when I was 13, and had since seen so many brilliant guitarists that the idea of playing myself was intimidating. “I’ve always wanted to, though,” I concluded.

              Mick looked at me for a second.

              “Why don’t you, then? I’m no better than you are,” he said.

              The mental light bulb switched on – and I got after it, better late than never. It just took the encouragement of someone I admired to make it happen. I was off to Eighth Street Music in Philadelphia within days, buying my trusty ’78 Fender – and I suppose you can guess why I picked a black Telecaster. Like Strummer’s Tele, this guitar was indestructible, serving me well over the months and years as my band Informed Sources played with everybody from Black Flag and X to Bad Brains and the Replacements. It took on a battered vintage sheen the old-fashioned way, complete with my blood on the Informed Sources sticker between the pickups.

My sixth row center ticket from the Walnut Street Theatre show, the smallest venue of the “Take the Fifth” tour. Photograph by Frank Moriarty.

The Clash “combat artist” Ray Lowry – who designed the “London Calling” cover and captured many aspects of the Clash life in his art – has made a t-shirt of his crew pass for the Clash at Walnut Street Theatre on September 22, 1979. Photograph by Frank Moriarty.

              But how were The Clash in concert that September night? Everything I’d hoped for, blazing through 20 songs ranging from first LP highlights to sneak previews of London Calling material. The night ended with a sweat-drenched Strummer on stage alone, the PA cut off, shouting out an apology for not being able to play longer. No apology was necessary – they’d done their job.

May 30, 1981 as the Bond riot gets underway with the blockage of Broadway and Seventh Avenue. Photograph by Frank Moriarty.

              As has often been documented, the fact that I’d easily reached the full band earlier that day was nothing unusual – nor did that access change. Two years later I was at the Bond International Casino riot and a couple of the earliest shows in their New York City run. On the afternoon of the May 30, 1981, riot I’d happened to get a nice photo at the band’s headquarters at the Grammercy Park Hotel of Joe and his “Sweet Gabriella.” I thought Joe might want a copy so, before heading up for my next Bond show, I had a print made for him.

Joe and “Sweet Gabriella” on May 30, 1981, outside Grammercy Park Hotel after show cancellations led to rioting near the venue. Outtake scan of color neg converted to black and white. Photograph by Frank Moriarty.

              Back in New York, I walked into the Grammercy lobby and immediately saw long-time crew member The Baker standing near the front desk.

              “Hey, I’ve got this photo I think Joe would like to have,” I said.

              “Right!” The Baker replied, heading for the elevator. “I’ll go get him!”

              Two minutes later Strummer emerged, suggesting we go down the hall of the lobby for a chat.

              At that time The Clash were one of the biggest and most influential bands in the world. Imagine something like that happening in our modern era of superstar isolation.

The Baker and Paul Simonon at Bond International Casino, 1981. Photograph by Frank Moriarty.

The Clash staging and amplification at Bond International Casino, 1981. Photograph by Frank Moriarty.

Mick Jones and Joe Strummer, Bond International Casino, 1981. Photograph by Frank Moriarty.

The day Joe Strummer died I took my portable CD player – loaded with Give ‘em Enough Rope – and ran my headphones hard as I walked though the doors of the Benjamin Franklin Hotel for the first time since my initial meeting with the band that long-ago day. The building had since been converted to private residences, but the lobby looked exactly as I ‘d remembered it.

              Months later I went to The Clash exhibit at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Ohio. I went straight up to the fifth floor the moment the museum opened, while everyone else was busy looking at the lower floors. The display was mine alone for a full hour. There was a powerful resonation to be in this space with the aura of The Clash all around me. Late in my solitary visit I was kneeling, reading Joe’s hand-written lyrics to “Tommy Gun.” Impossibly, that same song suddenly materialized at full volume on the video screen behind me. I saw Joe’s face reflected in the glass over the lyrics as the song played.

Joe was always a really good guy to me, and we got to know each other enough to where he always remembered my name when we met.

I can still hear him croak it out in that unmistakable voice: “Hey, Moriarty!”