by Mick O'Shea
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Mick hit on the idea to bring Don Letts on board with his new musical venture whilst standing between Don and Leo Williams, and his being intrigued at the visual impact of a skinny white dude standing between two burly dreads on stage. In Culture Clash, Don described how the incident took place: 'Mick looked to his left and there was Leo, to his right was me, and he thought we looked like a band. There and then Mick asked me to join.'
There was, of course, one slight drawback to Mick's black-andwhite design for although Don had once stood guitar in hand on the Hammersmith Odeon stage with Patti Smith at the latter's sell-out show, he'd never so much as strung two musical notes together in his life.
Don was the first to point this out, but Mick simply shrugged his shoulders, told Don to 'just remember Paul Simonon' before handing him a Harmonix sampler. 'When Mick first asked me to join the band I had to point out, "Hey, I can't play anything,"' Don explained in 2008. 'He said, "Well look. Remember how Paul started. We had to put stickers on the fret of his bass." And that's exactly what I did. I put stickers on my keyboard to show me what to do. The difference between me and Paul is I never took my stickers off.'11
Even without Don's involvement with Mick in BAD his name has become synonymous with The Clash, be it from his having directed many of the group's promo videos such as 'London Calling', and 'Bankrobber', the 2000 Grammy Award-winning Clash: Westway To The World documentary, the 2008 Clash Live: Revolution Rock film, and not forgetting the iconic image of him seemingly 'fronting the cops off' at the 1976 Notting Hill Carnival that adorns the front cover of Black Market Clash.
Somewhat inevitably, given their mutual love of reggae, Paul was the first from The Clash to befriend Don, and the two quickly cemented their friendship by swapping mix tapes. At the time of their meeting, Don was working at the now-legendary Acme Attractions stall set within the basement of the Antiquarius indoor antique market on the King's Road; from where Bernard was also operating.
As with SEX a short walk further up King's Road, Acme Attractions quickly became a hangout of sorts for the main players on the nascent UK punk scene, and his penchant for playing dub reggae at full volume, coupled with his willingness to share a spliff, saw the perenniallybeshaded Don prove the perfect host. Indeed, it was through his culture clash kinship with the Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Slits (whom he also briefly managed), and the other bands intent on making a noise for themselves throughout the latter half of 1976 that led to his being invited to serve as the resident DJ at the Roxy during its fabled one-hundred-day existence.
Aside from wiling away the time between the group's sets playing his favourite dub reggae interspersed with some MC5, Stooges and New York Dolls, with the Pistols' debut single 'Anarchy In The UK' thrown in for good measure, he decided to adopt punk's DIY ethic for his own purposes by picking up a Super-8 camera to capture the zip and safety-pined zeitgeist that was gripping London and would forever change Britain's musical landscape*.
With John 'Boy' Lennard having been long discarded, Mick had also decided to shelve the A Team-esque TRAC moniker, and having found Topper's replacement, the self-taught Greg Roberts, via the Melody Maker classifieds, he and Don began pooling alternative names.
An early front-runner was Real Westway in homage to the Spanish footballing giants Real Madrid, but Mick was desperate to use the acronym 'BAD' (in keeping with the jargon of the times that anything considered to be 'Bad' was good) but couldn't come up with a meaningful name that incorporated the acronym.
Help, however, was close at hand, and Mick got his wish when Sigue Sigue Sputnik's resident FX lady, Yana YaYa (a.k.a Jane Farrimond), suggested 'Big Audio Dynamite'.
* * *
* Paul had married Pearl in New York the previous May. (BACK)
* Don's footage would be released the following year as The Punk Rock Movie. (BACK)
– CHAPTER FOURTEEN –
THE HORSES ARE ON THE TRACK
'I didn't want to do the same thing, because I knew I wouldn't have a chance. So I tried to do something as far away from The Clash as possible… Over a period of time, I sort of forgot what I was good at – guitar chords and melodies.'
– Mick Jones
MICK WAS TAKING A HUGE risk in allowing Don time to learn the Paul Simonon 'finger-to-sticker' approach to making music, because while Paul's learning the bass by rote as The Clash coalesced into a cohesive unit was all part of punk's aesthetic charm, Mick was now a musician of some renown and the music media might not be quite so forgiving of BAD having a novice in the line-up. When reflecting on this period in Culture Clash, Don admits to finding his being the sole non-musician in the group 'quite daunting' and that to find his own space in the group he threw himself into writing lyrics.
Aside from collaborating with Mick on song ideas, Don started collating sounds and snippets of dialogue from various films to give the new songs a visual dynamic. 'BAD philosophy was to utilise all the elements of the media to create a fuller sound,' Don explained. 'It was not just about making music, it was about ideas. None of us had any interest in making mega-budget rock 'n' roll. Big Audio Dynamite had a wide-screen approach to making music.'1
As with Paul, Don proved something of a quick learner. So much so, that by October 1984, BAD set out to road test their wide-screen approach to music on several low-key dates supporting Clash-inspired Welsh rockers, The Alarm. Though future debut single 'The Bottom Line' was given it's first public airing, the majority of the songs played on the Alarm dates would be jettisoned by the time BAD went into Sarm West* to record their debut album the following summer. However, with provocative titles such as 'Keep Off The Grass', 'The Nation has A Nervous Breakdown', and 'Strike', it was clear Mick hadn't lost his talent for tuning into current events – most notably the ongoing battle of wills between NUM leader Arthur Scargill and Maggie Thatcher.
Support acts are usually forced to endure the indignity of playing to near-empty halls, and Big Audio Dynamite may well have suffered a similar fate had Mick Jones not been in the line-up. Of course, this didn't necessarily mean BAD were in for an easy passage because the vast majority of Alarm fans had been reared on The Clash, and were no doubt hoping to hear 'Should I Stay Or Should I Go', 'Train In Vain', and possibly even 'Stay Free'. Instead they were treated to an experimental yet exciting hybrid of hip-hop and rock, infused with snippets of dialogue from spaghetti westerns. A further eye-opener came with seeing Mick sporting a baseball cap, and strumming a guitar that wouldn't have looked out of place on Star Wars.
The Alarm support slot may have been a means of road-testing the new songs, but according to Don, Mick 'was adamant it should work live – not an approximation, but the shebang, dialogue, samples and all,' he revealed in May 2010 while speaking about the impending release of the Legacy Edition of This Is Big Audio Dynamite. 'Now today, that's a button away, but back then we're talking serious Heath Robinson!* I'd be flying in dialogue stuff on cassette from a boombox and sound effects with an Ensonic keyboard.'
By and large the live reviews of BAD's inaugural outings were positive in the main, but one of two dissenting voices couldn't resist pointing an accusatory finger at Mick for his perceived plagiarising of Sigue Sigue Sputnik's idea to include movie dialogue in their songs. Don, however, dismisses the inference out-of hand: 'We weren't worried 'bout a thing, nor did we consider what anyone else was doing,' he said. 'We were in a space of our own making. Besides, there was a crucial difference to how BAD used sampled dialogue as compared to how S.S.S or anybody else that came after used 'em.
'None of our songs depended on samples – movie or otherwise,' he continued. 'They were only ever salt and pepper to the main meal. In other words, if you removed them you'd still be left with a song. Every word and sound was thoughtfully considered and had to justify its space.' Tony clearly didn't share the critics' comments as he was more than happy to return the favour, from when Mick had manned the mixing desk at several early Sigue Sigue Sputnik shows the previous y
ear, by volunteering his services to add dub effects to BAD's onstage sound and cinematic synergy.
'Tony's role is to take the group and rip it apart and make something different every night. It's like producing a new twelve-inch single every time,' Mick enthused to Rolling Stone early the following year while BAD were stateside supporting U2.
By the time of the Rolling Stone interview Tony had gone back to his day job as chief Sputnik and Mick had hired ex-Theatre Of Hate roadie, Adam 'Flea' Newman, to serve a duel purpose as his guitar tech as well as BAD's resident soundman. (According to Don, he also made a mean cup of tea.)
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Big Audio Dynamite were making a positive noise on both sides of the Atlantic, and Mick was naturally keen to get the group into the studio. Such was his enthusiasm that from the moment BAD began penning songs together he forwarded the tapes to Jerry Green at Wessex studio; not so much to get the engineer's feedback on each song's merits, but rather to allow Jerry ample time to familiarise himself with the compositions for when BAD were ready to commit their endeavours to vinyl.
With Jerry having worked on London Calling, Sandinista!, and Combat Rock, there was perhaps no one better suited for the task of harnessing BAD's sound, as he was familiar with Mick's work ethic both in the recording booth and behind the mixing desk. Jerry, however, would literally find himself caught between two stools owing to Mick's choosing to take exception to his working with Topper on the latter's solo album.
According to Jerry, Mick churlishly asked him if he wanted to 'work with Tolstoy or Harold Robbins?' As Jerry had sole control of the mixing console on Topper's solo project he chose to stick with the Harold Robbins paperback; a mistake he would subsequently come to rue.
Just as he had done with The Clash, when BAD headed into Sarm West during the summer of 1985, Mick was armed with a mental blueprint of what he wanted and how best to go about it. To assist him in his quest he brought in Island Records' in-house engineer Paul 'Groucho' Smykle, who'd learnt his craft working with Linton Kwesi Johnson and Black Uhuru amongst others.
Unlike his time with The Clash, however, Mick was able to get on with the job free from record company interference. Maurice Oberstein was naturally anxious to know how his money was being spent, but he was willing to trust Mick's competence.
The Clash had been renowned for tackling social and political issues, and while 'The Bottom Line' can be construed as Mick's personal phoenix-like rise from despondency after his dismissal from The Clash, he and Don didn't seek to shy away from the major issues of the day on This Is Big Audio Dynamite as the album was to be called. 'A Party' was a take on the ongoing Apartheid reforms in South Africa, while 'Stone Thames' highlighted the brouhaha surrounding AIDS; the punning title being a play on the US actor Rock Hudson (Rock/Stone – Hudson River/River Thames), who'd been diagnosed as HIV Positive the previous June, and would die from AIDS-related complications the same month the album was released. 'E=MC2' is a tribute to the maverick cinematographer and film director Nicolas Roeg, while 'Sony' was a tongue-in-cheek dig at corporate and cultural hegemony. Fortunately for Mick and Don, however, Sony's board of directors didn't take offence and were happy to fund future BAD projects after acquiring CBS in January 1988.
Given Mick's penchant for aesthetics, there was to be no costcutting corners taken with the album's artwork. Photographer Dan Donovan was brought in to take some group photos, one of which would take pride of place on the album's front cover. Dan's introduction to the group came courtesy of Paul Simonon's girlfriend (and later wife) Tricia Ronane. BAD were technically being managed by Mick's New York-based manager Gary Kurfirst, but with Gary's offices being some three thousand miles away from Ladbroke Grove as the crow flies, Tricia had stepped in to provide more tangible, hands-on support.
Being the son of famed Sixties celebrity snapper, Terence Donavon, coupled with his having served his apprenticeship as David Bailey's assistant, Dan was certainly no slouch with a camera. Nor was he bashful when it came to broaching his other talents, and when Mick casually let slip that he was looking for keyboard player to augment BAD's sound whilst out on the shoot in nearby Portobello Road, Dan let it be known he'd spent his formative years learning the piano. However, while Dan was subsequently invited to hang out with the group and kick ideas around about the artwork for the album, nothing more was said about the vacant keyboards position.
Several weeks went by and just when Dan was beginning to think Mick had changed his mind, he was summoned to Sarm West to see if he had the walk to back up the talk.
'The album had been written almost a year before Dan got there, so the music was quite locked down,' Don reflected. '[But] as a kid Dan had studied classical piano for ten years so he came down to play on the record and basically winged it.'3
Even then, however, Dan didn't know if he had the gig, and it wasn't until he arrived at Sarm West with a mock-up of the artwork for 'The Bottom Line' that Mick pointed to the group photo and said there was room for him in the frame.
Dan duly made his BAD public bow in the promo video for 'The Bottom Line', shot in Trafalgar Square amid a political protest rally. 'The organisers came over to tell us that we were messing up their protest and I told them, "Fuck off, we are making a video!"' Don explained. 'Which looking back on it was not a very right-on thing to say – especially since it was an anti-Apartheid rally!'4
One has to wonder whether the organisers would have objected had they known BAD had penned a song about Apartheid, but with extras dressed in a variety of costumes such as Roman soldiers, Amazonians, astronauts, Puritan preachers, and Chilean huasos all running amok while the group were set up at the base of Nelson's Column (upon which Big Audio Dynamite was superimposed in gold lettering) miming along to the track, it's hardly surprising they took umbrage.
Having said that, of course, the subsequent airings of the video on The Tube, and various other TV shows over the ensuing weeks, gave the rally far more exposure than it could have possibly hoped for. Stateside exposure for both BAD and 'The Bottom Line' came courtesy of Rick Rubin, who, having wanted to work with Mick for some time, released an extended remix of the song on his recently-incorporated Def Jam Records.
Aside from allowing an advance hearing for those who were contemplating buying the single, the promo video also revealed Mick's post-Clash image. In keeping with his calling Notting Hill the 'Wild West End', Mick had adopted a Spaghetti Western-esque guise, replete with cowboy hat, kerchief and fringed-buckskin jacket – Clint Eastwood meets the Westway. Another reason for Mick's 'the manwith-no-name' attire, of course, could have been an obvious attempt to play down his ex-Clash celebrity status, and allow BAD to be judged on merit.
When reflecting on BAD's image in 2008, Don said that no one in the group consciously thought about it: 'It's just the way we were; we walked around looking like that. It's not like we got on stage, or got in the video and dressed up to be in the video. That's how we rocked it, man!
'There was a certain amount of coordination, but it was an unspoken thing,' he conceded. 'If somebody turned up and we all thought it was stupid, we'd be very vocal about it. But for the most part we were all on the same page. There were no stylists back then. You just wore what you thought was cool.' 5
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Somebody at CBS clearly had a sense of the dramatic as September saw the release of both 'The Bottom Line' b/w 'BAD', and The Clash's 'This Is England' b/w 'Do It Now'; the latter, of course, being the lead single from the long-awaiting follow-up to Combat Rock, the unimaginatively-titled Cut The Crap*.
Perhaps not surprisingly, given the paper's anti-Clash stance of late, both records received something of a mauling at the hands of the NME, albeit via different poisoned pens. Charles Shaar Murray was at least willing to acknowledge Mick's ambition with BAD, but his damning assessment that 'The Bottom Line' would have made a decent enough Clash record must have been particularly wounding; the salt-rubbing sting subsequently coming with 'The Bottom Line's failure to cha
rt, and The Clash's first post-Jones effort reaching a rather respectable number 24.
The same CBS wag had also slated This Is Big Audio Dynamite and Cut The Crap for November release. Yet although The Clash again took the chart honours, with Cut The Crap peaking at number 16, some eleven places higher than This Is Big Audio Dynamite, that it made the Top 20 was attributable to the group's die-hard following believing 'This Is England' was representative of the new material.
Those fans that had caught The Clash on their back-to-basics busking tour of the provinces earlier in the year, might have recognised track titles such as 'Cool Under Heat', and 'Movers And Shakers', but they would have been hard pressed to recognise the songs themselves owing to Bernard – in his Jose Unidos guise – having chosen to bury the songs beneath cacophonous layers of post-industrial guitar grunge, electric percussion, synthesizer, and inane terrace-style football chants in a mix that Moulinex would have indeed been ashamed of, to paraphrase the Melody Maker's Adam Sweeting's memorable line.