Mick Jones: Stayin' In Tune - The Unauthorised Biography

by Mick O'Shea

  One of the less appealing attractions New York had to offer at that particular time, was the pitiful sight of Sid Vicious lumbering about the stage during his brief residency at Max's Kansas City; the preferred watering hole of Manhattan's artistic crowd.

  Sid had relocated to the city the previous August with Nancy in the forlorn hope of establishing himself as a solo artist. However, while his being an ex-Sex Pistol gave Sid some gravitas amongst the jobbing musicians frequenting the Lower East Side, his inability to string two sentences together without his daily dose of methadone had seen his stock plummet quicker than the Wall Street Crash of seventy years earlier.

  Mick would get to see first-hand just how far his one-time squat mate had fallen in the eight months since the Sex Pistols had imploded in San Francisco back in January when – having been cajoled into accepting Nancy's invitation by Joe – he found himself augmenting Sid's ad hoc backing group, The Idols, which did at least include the New York Dolls' rhythm section of Jerry Nolan and Arthur 'Killer' Kane. Aside from two of his one-time heroes, Mick was also familiar with the group's guitarist, Steve Dior, whom he knew from his Warrington Crescent days.

  Indeed, Steve recalls seeing Mick playing in an ad hoc outfit calling themselves 'Lipstick Traces' with Eunan Brady, and Honest John Plain play Chiswick Polytechnic circa 1975. Of the songs played that night, Steve remembers the trio opening with the Batman theme, and playing the Stones' 'Midnight Rambler', The Stooges' 'I'm Sick On You', and the New York Dolls' 'Subway Train' and 'Looking For A Kiss'. He was also with Mick and Paul at the 101'ers Aklam Hall gig the night preceding their fabled encounter with Joe at the Lissom Grove Labour Exchange.

  Sex Pistols die-hards continue to wax lyrical about how great the 21 September show was, but the bemused expression on Mick's face in Eileen Polk's photograph taken in the dressing room area after the show tells its own story. 'We just about managed five songs. Five songs for five bucks,' he subsequently reflected on his less than auspicious US live debut. 'It was a nightmare between shows (Sid was required to play two shows per night), it was full on. Sid was sort of semi there. It was a serious drug thing. Me and Joe kept looking at each other 'cos we couldn't believe it. The people there were as far out of it as you can be without actually being dead.'7

  Little could Mick have imagined as he shared a backstage beer with Sid and Nancy that within a month Nancy would indeed be dead, and Sid would be facing a second degree murder charge.

  Sid's fate was to be deemed vicious by nature as well as in name, but when speaking about his old friend in 2011, Mick remembered a very different Sid. '[He] could be quite an intimidating guy but when you got to know him he was a beautiful intelligent guy – and no one ever really says that much,' he said. 'We were really good friends me and Sid. We were in a squat together and were really close. We [The Clash] were the only ones who stuck up for him when it all happened in New York.

  'As I say he was an intelligent guy but so much of it is like being a boiled sweet and getting sucked down to the inner, he was a much more complex guy than how he was perceived to be.'8

  New York was in similarly sad shape to the somnambulistic Sid having narrowly staved off bankruptcy three years earlier, yet Mick and Joe were hopelessly seduced by its jaded glory. They saw beyond the decaying brownstones and boarded up shops, and in their minds eye saw spectral cinematic images of Marilyn flashing her panties in Some Like It Hot, Marlon Brando making an offer no one could refuse in The Godfather, Travis Bickle cruising the streets in Taxi Driver, and King Kong scaling the Empire State Building. Indeed, such was their childish enthusiasm at working in the city that never sleeps, when Paul and Topper flew out on 23 September to add their input on the album's final mixes they found Mick and Joe with a yellow cab waiting kerbside outside JFK so they could witness their Clash compadres expressions when they caught their first glimpse of the Manhattan skyline.

  Despite their grumblings over the rough mixes, the suits at CBS/ Epic were keen to bring The Clash over to America in the coming year to promote the new album. They were also making noises about releasing The Clash, albeit with an alternate track-listing to make the album more appealing to mainstream America.

  All that was needed now was for CBS/Epic to put their full weight behind Give 'Em Enough Rope – as the album was to be called – and the rock 'n' roll fantasies Mick had enacted in his mind's eye whilst practising daily in his bedroom at Wilmcote House would become realities; the icing on the Clash cake – at least as far as he was concerned – coming with Bernard hoisting himself with his own petard…

  ♪♪♪

  Mick and Joe were still in San Francisco when Bernard attempted to reclaim the 'complete control' he'd demanded some two years earlier by announcing via the music press that The Clash were to play a show at the Harlesden New Roxy on 9 September without bothering to consult the group beforehand.

  The Clash hadn't performed live in the capital since the end of July and the sixteen hundred tickets sold out within days of going on sale. This was fantastic news in terms of confirming the group's popularity, but Mick and Joe suddenly found themselves lodged between the fabled rock and hard place. On the one hand they wanted to continue working on the album, yet neither wanted to disappoint their fans. Bernard might have viewed their accompanying Pearlman to San Francisco as an unnecessary 'silly indulgence', but they were naturally anxious to ensure the new album was the best it could possibly be.

  Mick viewed Bernard's actions as nothing short of an ultimatum and treated them as such, and although Joe wasn't yet ready to contemplate a future away from Bernard he nevertheless agreed with Mick that they should stay put in San Francisco and see out their obligations. Their refusal to come home like dutiful lapdogs not only forced Bernard into postponing the Roxy date, it also caused a stalemate within the Clash camp.

  Instead of flying out and confronting his rebellious charges, however, Bernard misguidedly added insult to injury be issuing a statement whereby he claimed The Clash were postponing the Roxy date to Saturday, 23 September as a protest against the minimal airplay their records were being afforded.

  This would prove sufficient to shatter the faith Joe and Paul had continued to show in their manager – with the normally taciturn Paul going so far as to phone the NME's offices and openly challenge Bernard's authority. Any remaining shreds of credibility Bernard had were trampled into the tarmac at Heathrow as Paul and Topper flew out to New York to join Mick and Joe the same day as the rearranged Roxy date.

  Paul and Topper had ostensibly flown out to New York to hear the latest mixes of Give 'Em Enough Rope, but a discussion as to what they should do about Bernard's recent actions was also high on the agenda. On 26 September, with both NME and Sounds hinting that The Clash were set to part company with their manager over the Roxy fiasco, Bernard flew out to New York for showdown talks.

  Bernard would be the first to admit that he was more interested in conjuring up scams to subvert the music industry than managing a rock 'n' roll group per se, so seeing his charges flying halfway across the world to perform tasks that they could just as easily be carried out in London was anathema to his mind. The debut album had been recorded over three weekends with minimum of fuss and even less layout, and yet here they were recording in flash studios, staying in big hotels, and acting like the pampered rock stars they'd supposedly set out to topple from their pedestals.

  As far as he was concerned, it wasn't so much America that was casting a spell on Mick and Joe, but rather the record company. Indeed, Bernard has always maintained that CBS had bribed The Clash to get rid of him. Yet while Maurice Oberstein and the rest of the CBS board would have undoubtedly found Bernard's unorthodox managerial style contrary to the norm, his argument doesn't stand up given that he would be subsequently be reinstated to the managerial role – albeit with diminished powers.

  The showdown talks failed to resolve the fractious situation, but with the new album in the can, and the European leg of the self-explanatorytitled
Sort It Out Tour set to commence with a show at the Belfast Queen's Hall on 13 October, The Clash returned to London. However, their attempt to right Bernard's wrongdoings by honouring the Roxy date before flying out to Belfast was scuppered by the GLC (Greater London Council), who restricted the admittance to just nine hundred – despite the Roxy's management having removed some five hundred seats to create a dance area.

  Unable to reach a compromise, The Clash had little option but to postpone the show yet again – as well as add a second date to accommodate all sixteen hundred ticket holders. By the time news of the cancellation went out on local radio, however, hundreds of fans were already en route to the venue.

  The Clash could have simply beat a hasty retreat and left the Roxy's management to take the flak, but instead they dutifully hung around to explain the situation, as well as give away promotional 'Tommy Gun' T-shirts to those fans left the most out of pocket. (The rearranged shows were played on 25/26 October)

  Bernard couldn't be held responsible for the GLC's restriction policy, but as far as The Clash were concerned he was fundamentally to blame for the fiasco. Upon their return to London after the final show of the clutch of European dates at the El Paradiso in Amsterdam on 23 October, the group – via a solicitor's letter – informed Bernard that his managerial contract would be rendered null and void as of 1 December.

  Unsurprisingly, Bernard didn't take kindly to the officious missive and issued his version of events via a press statement that appeared in the following week's edition of Melody Maker. 'I have been given the elbow by the band,' he grumbled. 'I took them off the street and made them what they are, and now I'm out.' After saying he'd been left out of pocket, and taking a parting pot shot at The Clash by accusing them of drifting into what he called 'rock 'n' roll nonsense', he added 'I know I've been painted as a horrible ogre-like figure, not letting the band have any fun, but that's not what it was about. I didn't view my job as being here to subsidise their silly indulgences, like recording in big New York studios, and staying in top New York hotels. That's basically what the split is all about.'

  Having vented his spleen, Bernard then unleashed his own solicitors and obtained a court order whereby all Clash earnings were to be paid directly into his account. The Clash tried countering by accusing Bernard of having adopted the Malcolm McLaren's 'one-up-thetrouser-leg' approach to accountancy.

  The Clash first approached the NME's Clash-friendly journalist Barry Miles – to see if he'd be interested sharing managerial duties with CBS' Head of Publicity, Elle Smith. Miles would go on record saying the figures The Clash provided for analysis proved beyond doubt that Bernard had 'ripped them off something rotten, before saying he and Elle had passed on the offer because their efforts would have been exhausted with trying to recoup some of the money, rather than in taking the group to the next level.

  The Clash next turned to Caroline Coon, whose interest in the group had crossed over from professional to personal now that she was seeing Paul. Mick was initially sceptical about letting one of group's girlfriends oversee their affairs, but as they'd elected to give the gig to someone they already knew and trusted, rather than bring in an outsider, Caroline had all the necessary credentials.

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  Give 'Em Enough Rope – with a cover designed by CBS' groovy inhouse graphic designer Gene Greif, and based on a Chinese government propaganda postcard titled 'The End Of The Trail', which depicts the end of Capitalism in the form of two vultures feasting on a cowboy corpse as the Red Army advances – was released on Friday, 10 November 1978.

  Regardless of the less-than-complimentary reviews, Give 'Em Enough Rope surpassed both the group and record company's expectations by reaching number two on the UK chart – and would surely have claimed the top spot had the UK not been in the grip of Greasemania.

  The criticisms regarding the supposed 'overproduction' were largely unjust because while The Clash were one of the finest live acts around, not even their most die-hard fans would have wanted the album to sound like a live show. It's also worth remembering that an album is quite literally a 'record' of where a group is at in terms of musical ability/creativity at that particular juncture in their career.

  In the eighteen months since the release of their eponymous debut, Mick, Joe, Paul, and Topper had not only matured both as people they'd worked hard at perfecting their craft. The Clash was rightfully lauded as being one of the most pivotal albums of the punk period, but without Give 'Em Enough Rope there could have been no London Calling, and ergo, no multi-million-selling Combat Rock.

  * * *

  * From 'Safe European Home'; the opening track on Give 'Em Enough Rope. (BACK)

  – CHAPTER EIGHT –

  ELEVATOR GOING UP…

  'I can't remember many of the gigs on that first tour, which was really short. I just remember the bus and watching America go by outside like some big movie.'

  – Mick Jones

  THE CLASH WERE THE MOST exciting rock 'n' roll act in Britain, and with Give 'Em Enough Rope having been custom-made to appeal to the US mainstream market it was only natural they began focusing their energies on conquering America. They might still be railing against the USA in song, but away from the mic, Mick – as indeed were Joe, Paul, and Topper – was hopelessly enamoured with America and looking forward to playing some shows stateside.

  Epic, however, were rather less enthused with the idea of bringing The Clash to America as Give 'Em Enough Rope was treading water in the lower reaches of the US chart, and from a financial viewpoint, bringing The Clash over to promote an album that had as yet failed to crack the Billboard 100* would simply be throwing good money after bad. Such was the label's reticence that had it not been for Caroline Coon's dogged negotiating skills in cajoling the label into providing the funding the tour would not have gone ahead.

  'The Clash were close to breaking up because of the problems with Bernard Rhodes and we faced all sorts of other difficulties,' she told Q magazine for its May 2001 retrospective on the tour. 'Our record company refused to finance an American tour. Luckily, our American label, Epic, although a little afraid of the politics, knew this band could be huge, so I spent £3000 of my own money flying to New York where I arranged for Epic to give us $30,000 to fund the tour.'

  Caroline had pulled off an impressive coup in getting Epic to capitulate, but rather than bask in their manager's victory The Clash upped the antipathy by insisting on calling their inaugural US outing the Pearl Harbor '79 Tour. Needless to say, the inflammatory title brought about further unrest at Epic HQ. It might have been nigh on four decades since the Imperial Japanese Navy's premeditated strike on the US pacific Fleet stationed at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, in December 1941, but it was still a livid scar on the US psyche.

  Believing The Clash would see the error of their ways; Epic's marketing team got on with promoting the trip as the Give 'Em Enough Rope Tour. They hadn't counted on the group's obduracy, however, and even as the logistics were being mapped out in New York, back in London the Camden-based Fifth Column T-shirt company – owned by Clash fan Chris Townsend – was busy running up a batch of T-shirts featuring a kamikaze pilot and rising sun on the front, and a foundering American battleship adorning the back.

  Epic had acquiesced, but the tour almost fell through owing to the US Immigration Department dragging its feet in issuing the group with their all-important work visas. The initial fear was that The Clash had fallen victim to a US Government clampdown, but even though this wasn't the case as the festive break had created a serious backlog. With less than a week to go before the opening tour date their American booking agent, Wayne Forte, was forced to apply for priority status.

  Unlike Epic, Forte had no illusions regarding The Clash's stateside appeal. 'I thought the Pistols, The Clash and The Jam were like The Beatles, the Stones, and The Who,' he told Randal Doane in Stealing All Transmissions. 'The Clash were the bad boys, these dirty grimy guys, but the kids still loved 'em.'

  Having cut his te
eth with the William Morris Agency, Forte was savvy enough to know how to best play his hand. He knew there was little point in trying to sell The Clash to the whole country at this stage in their career, and instead targeted America's musical and cultural epicentres such as San Francisco, Washington D.C., Boston and New York. When Forte called Ron Delsner, New York's 'Big Cheese' in terms of concert promotion, to enquire about putting The Clash on at the 3,000-capacity Palladium on East 14th Street, the latter thought him insane but Forte had already done his homework.

  A few months earlier he'd spoken with Bob Plotnick, owner of Bleecker Bob's in Greenwich Village. When Plotnick said how he'd sold 1,000 import copies of The Clash, Forte guestimated that while 1,000 domestic LP sales would equate to a concert-going audience of around 300, 1,000 import sales meant one thousand devoted fans; fans who wouldn't just buy a ticket to see The Clash, they'd be sure to bring a friend.

  While Forte was doing his utmost to chivvy the US Immigration Department along, The Clash headed into Wessex Studios in Highbury New Park to record the tracks that would subsequently make up the Cost Of Living EP*; including a rabble-rousing version of the 'I Fought The Law'. Sonny Curtis' classic had been one of the discs Mick and Joe had regularly spun on the Automatt's jukebox during their time at the studio, and both had made a mental note to give the song a run through at rehearsals on returning to London.