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Rating: First thought.
Not everyone finds themselves with a 700-page biography.
For instance, James Brown stopped at 250, John Lydon reached roughly a hundred pages more, and Ray Charles, who is Ray Charles, just surpassed 400.
For Joe Strummer, however, his friend and journalist Chris Salewicz almost reached 700.
Perhaps not all indispensable pages – personally, I could have easily skipped over Joe's infatuation with the Manchester phenomenon simply because that scene disgusted me then, as it does now – but still, the reading flows nicely, even though, in my ignorance, the translation work didn't always seem impeccable.
I could have closed the book right at the beginning, when Paul Simonon recalls Joe buying him a pair of glasses for a few cents because, according to him, they made him look incredibly cool (for someone as cool as Paul, it takes nothing to look even cooler, exponentially), and that expense nonetheless left Joe broke, forcing him into a couple of days of fasting; just like when Dee Dee, in the Ramones biography written by Jim Bessman, tells of Johnny who put up the money to buy him his first bass and then tightened his belt for a few weeks; I could have closed the book right at the start, but I would have missed many things, like how peeing on your fingertips toughens them up in no time, so that the guitar and the barre chord are no longer intimidating.
Now, I can't say how much my passion for Joe contributed to being so deeply engrossed in the reading, but nonetheless, I feel like recommending it to everyone.
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Second thought.
The autobiographies of those who wrote music history are one thing, I expect quite a bit of healthy and fun swagger from those who can afford it, as I also mentioned in the little page for Willie Dixon; biographies, especially those in memory, are a whole different story and too often they turn into a saint to be venerated, which leaves me with a certain sense of incompleteness.
Throughout the 700 pages of «Redemption Song» it goes differently, and at the end of the story, Chris logically and incontrovertibly draws the moral that «... [after Joe's death] lavish praises began almost immediately. But those who knew Joe Strummer, the international network of old pals who formed his posse and that of the Clash, knew he was no saint. No, he was something far more interesting. If you knew him, you loved him, but you'd be crazy not to admit that he was a tough cookie ...», for some, much worse, an outright ###hole.
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Third thought.
Who was Joe Strummer?
What I feel is that for quite some time, Joe Strummer was a different person from John Mellor, an unreal, unwavering, and engaging projection to mask fragility and insecurity, the sense of inadequacy.
John Mellor had a bourgeois background: what did Joe Strummer have to do with the punk revolution?
John Mellor had a comfortable childhood and early adolescence: how could Joe Strummer, seriously, hold a candle to those less fortunate like Johnny Rotten?
John Mellor could afford (and he did, before others) a house of his own: what drove Joe Strummer to share the initial squats with Paul and Mick?
John Mellor was well aware that the Clash, musically, were Mick Jones and Nick Headon: what crossed Joe Strummer's mind to kick them out of the band, ending one of the most engaging sagas in rock history?
There's something I'll remember as long as I live, and that's when, at some point in the story, one of these posers who find themselves rockstars for no reason stands in front of Joe, and he throws out a quip: «Seems like you're successful with the ladies», and the other responds with, "You've been a rockstar, too, you should know," then Joe, visibly annoyed, retorts: «I was never a rockstar; I was the spokesperson for a generation», gets up, leaves, and leaves that worthless chap there.
John Mellor would have never said such a thing and, indeed, apologized at the first opportunity: Joe Strummer would have never done that.
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Fourth thought.
Whoever he was, I care deeply for John Mellor and Joe Strummer, even though I never met him, never spoke to him, never wrote to him, in short, a perfect stranger.
But sometimes you find yourself fond of a perfect stranger, and I like to think it only happens for wonderful people.
Just like with death, dying peacefully is a privilege for the few.
John Mellor dies a few days before Christmas. A couple of days prior, he spent the day with the two daughters from his first relationship, talking about their loves, university, work; the night before, he finds himself at the table with Mick Jones and Paul Simonon; the Clash were to be inducted into the Rock'n'Roll Hall of Fame, but playing together again wasn't an option — the pathetic reunions were better left to others; he wakes up late in the morning, home alone, bundles up well, and walks the dogs, after a few hours returns home, still alone, takes care of some chores, then settles into an armchair to read a newspaper, and that's how it ends.
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Final thought.
On September 28th, it was released, and yesterday I bought the double CD «Joe Strummer 001».
After the Clash, it's the first thing I have of Joe Strummer, and hearing his voice again was an incredible emotion.
Finished.
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