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Rating: That's it, I've had enough, give me back the ball and the game is over!
Nothing can convince me otherwise that this is how the story of the Clash ended, when Joe Strummer decided that the ball was his at some point.
Topper, you drugged mess, I've had enough, you're out!
Mick, experimenting my ass, I've had enough, you're out!
But how much I love Joe despite all the bullshit he's done, or maybe because of it even more, because the sanctimonious ones aspiring to heaven, like Bob Geldof and Bono Vox, have never really interested me that much.
Then we grow and change – the problem is staying the same, at 20 as at 50, me and Joe too – but something inside remains, unshakeable.
So there he is, Joe with the Mescaleros on stage on the evening of November 15, 2002, standing with the London firefighters on strike for the pittance her majesty doles out as pay, there's Mick too somewhere in the audience or backstage – he's changed too – but he wasn't advertised on the posters, lest someone misunderstand and show up for a Clash reunion instead of supporting the firefighters, which seems very much in the best Clash spirit, well done all.
That spirit, inevitably, hovers over everyone and everything.
Half the setlist is the Clash, "Rudie Can't Fail" – Oh, Mick is around somewhere too, did you know he became a dad on Saturday? This one is for little Stella, because some people get a testamentary legacy, others a dedication of an old piece – "White Man In Hammersmith Palais" and "Bankrobber" – that's how it goes, some are rich and some are poor, and the leftist who champions social equity in the house of lords is the same who would have sent the guard of honor to greet Adolf Hitler at the airport – "White Riot" and "London's Burning" – because you're 50 and you've changed and from the confusion of London 20 years ago remains a streetwise rock'n'roll never so aware that you've screwed yourself with your own hands – and then "Police And Thieves" and "Police On My Back" and "I Fought The Law" – they are Clash songs, always have been and always will be, anyone who says otherwise is lying and knows it.
Half the setlist is Joe's, for some years now he's been touring with the Mescaleros of his old mate Tymon Dogg, his umpteenth youth: "Shaktar Donetsk" and "Tony Adams" and "Get Down Moses" – reggae and dub that never die, like blues and rock'n'roll and every other genuinely popular music – "Bhindee Bhagee" and "Johnny Appleseed" – folk soul in a rock body – "Mega Bottle Ride" and Cool'N'Out and "Coma Girl" – rock'n'roll, pure and simple.
A combat fits perfectly before any of the 16 tracks.
So here I am, buying this beautiful "Live At Acton Town Hall," finding before me a radiant Joe, hoping that some critic by mistake stumbles upon the albums with the Mescaleros, and inevitably asking myself what sense it makes that not even 40 days after that concert Joe is lying in a coffin 6 feet underground.
The only thing is that, despite all the bullshit he's done or maybe because of it even more, even the good Lord loved Joe a lot and, waiting for the happy event, was looking for someone to have a serious conversation with to understand how this world worked, basically the story that there are the rich and there are the poor and the rest is just fluff.
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