A Message To You, Rudy

The Specials  – the kings of 2 Tone. Social messaging impelling you to the dance floor. I vividly recall seeing Too Much Too Young and wondering where the hell had this come from?  This was a distinctly urban take on teenage pregnancy and pulled no punches. It did so with a wry sense of humour, demanding that you move those feet.

The Specials was a revelation of an album. With Elvis Costello at the production helm it captured a relentlessly upbeat and irresistible sound.  The mixture of updated Caribbean ska and new songs has an energy to fit the period – the same post punk and youthful rebellion which informed London Calling prevailed throughout. The timing is important – 1979 and the winter of discontent, economic hardship, a change in government and outlook with tough medicine ahead, racial tension and social change all around. It made for an uneasy cocktail.

The Specials tackled the racial tension issue head on. This was a blend of musicians which announced themselves as social commentators on day one with the 2 Tone label itself.  They aimed to push important messages to the younger generation.They were to be taken seriously.It was a sensibility to be refined with Ghost Town, when the humour was stripped away and Terry Hall’s splendidly deadpan vocals suddenly seemed genuinely apocalyptic. Despite a major personnel change, Free Nelson Mandela was a logical and glorious ultimate end point.

Reggae and ska increasingly permeated the audio landscape, but now they were infused with a more aggressive attitude.  The Clash covered Police and Thieves and Armagideon Time, delivered The Guns of Brixton and The Ruts brought it to a peak with Jah War. In each case this was a social unrest message with a Caribbean twist. The Specials introduced themselves with Gangsters, a reworking of Prince Buster’s Al Capone.  The follow up single was another cover – A Message To You Rudy  took Rudy, A Message to You, a rocksteady track from the era of Sergeant Pepper  and turned it into an urban warning. This was an example where the cover version becomes the de facto version for others to follow. What a way to kick off your debut album.

Rudy… is a joy from the very first blow of the harmonica as it eases us into The Specials. Against the trademark choppy ska beat, there’s a brisk almost military snare roll and then the maestro announces the song to us: Rico’s trombone introduces a fantastically catchy hook. This is the same Rico Rodriguez who played on the original a dozen years earlier and he plays with mellow authority. It’s a slightly loose, easy going and warm sound – laid back, as pre 70’s and Caribbean ska should be.

But Rico’s languid hook is set against a punchier backdrop. We shouldn’t forget that this is a band born of Rock Against Racism and showing the foresight to see the how youthful disaffection would spill over into rioting in Toxteth and Brixton within the next two years.

Lyrically clear and simple, this is a direct message to those who would see their youthful lives frittered away. Its origins are Jamaican and its focus was the Kingston Rude Boys (and therefore Rudy). The Rude Boys were typically juvenile delinquents and petty criminals, associated with gang violence.  It was natural that awareness if not the subculture itself could find its way to 1970’s UK, particularly the major cities. It’s a clear warning and a moral message to the UK’s youth and underclass trapped in the Concrete Jungle:

“Stop your messing around / Better think of your future / Time you straightened right out / Creating problems in town”

It targets its audience directly – no pussyfooting around here: “Rudy, a message to you / Rudy, a message to you”.

“Stop your fooling around / Time you straightened right out / Better think of your future / Else you’ll wind up in jail”

Unusually, there is no single lead vocal. Although Terry Hall and Neville Staple’s lugubrious vocals are most prominent in the mix, it’s a group message and, subliminally this is a peer group message. The joint vocals give it a low key anthemic edge, encouraging an almighty sing-along.  And then there’s Terry Hall’s backing vocal, bordering on the tuneless, but somehow all the more authentic for it. This is a very British warning – direct and unequivocal.

One thing I really enjoy about brass on a song is the sense of attack. It’s crisp, vibrant and urgent. Not here – Rico’s solo is a louche trawl around the musical theme. Throughout the song Rico has set a tone of relaxed authority. Though the message is clear this is not a preaching exercise and it’s not heavy handed. It’s like a Don’t Worry, Be Happy languidness acting as a counterbalance to the importance of the core message.  The common sense is in touch with its audience and the Caribbean meets Coventry.

The whole feel of the song is captured in that solo. The horns are smooth and catchy as hell, soaring over the tight, choppy guitar and keyboard persistently driving the tempo. The whole thing is bright and minimalist in nature, repetitive and delightful. I defy anyone to listen to this without at least twitching along. It has an earthy energy to it, urging you the listener to join in. Go on – sing along or dance. And while you’re doing so, think about the message.

The Specials is regularly voted as one of the most important and influential albums of all time.  With A Message To You, Rudy the band pronounced a direct and universal sentiment. Buck your ideas up or end up in jail (or worse) – it’s the same near parental message that could be delivered to any generation in its teenage or early adult years. In this sense I guess it’s timeless.  Underpinning this, Rudy… is a perfect infusion of punk’s DIY and antagonistic ethos and captures the moment when its influence coloured other genres. The Specials introduced ska to the wider public and did so with edge. It also captures the mood of a tense period in UK social and political life but it manages to be more than a simple snapshot.

Rudy… was a signature and statement of intent, creating the foundation for Ghost Town.  It continues its timeless message, from the radio to the football stadium. But it does so because The Specials created an irresistible and infectious masterpiece.

Just want audio? Listen here: http://grooveshark.com/s/A+Message+To+You+Rudy/4fCniQ?src=5

London Calling

Sometimes everything really is just right – the combination of message, timing and attitude. The blend and the song capture it. Some songs simply remain of their time – think, San Francisco (Be Sure To Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair). Others though survive the moment to become iconic. London Calling is just that.

Springsteen headlined Hyde Park’s annual Hard Rock extravaganza in 2010, fresh from providing Glastonbury with a rock and roll masterclass the night before.  He kicked off with London Calling and surprised everyone. As one, the audience gave a rolling yell of jubilant recognition. This is a song owned by the people, a song of rebellion, an angry song; it’s a song for an audience which has grown up through a period of alienation, doom and the disaffection of youth. It’s a song to be cherished for its utter exhilaration. It was an inspired choice.

Dig out London Calling, crank up the hardware to a Spinal Tap #11 and listen. How does that feel? I bet it’s not just good – I bet it’s gutturally satisfying and euphoric.

The song’s inspiration is the Three Mile Island nuclear accident earlier that year (1979) – “a nuclear error”.  It was the worst accident in US nuclear history – we were all used to facing the near certainty of the Cold War’s mutually assured destruction, but this brought the theory of cataclysmic meltdown to life. Just for good measure the song also weaves in a host of the issues of the day such as drugs (“we ain’t got no high / except for the one with the yellowy eyes”) and police brutality (“see we ain’t got no swing/ ‘Cept for the ring of that truncheon thing”). It’s the early, early days of Thatcherism and the UK is a frightened, brutal place. Cold War paranoia is rife, the country has just gone through the infamous winter of discontent and inner city rioting is on the horizon. But Strummer is defiant throughout. This combination of up-and-at-‘em attitude against a dysfunctional world is at the heart of the song’s grandeur. It’s a bitter and bloody-minded survivor’s mentality.

From a fallout shelter, the BBC broadcasts its war time “London Calling” message. Except it’s an alienated message calling for uprising of the youthful survivors of a battered world (“London calling to the underworld/ Come out of the cupboard, all you boys and girls”). It mixes the punk ethos of authenticity too – this time things are for real and it’s time to fight back:  “phoney Beatlemania has bitten the dust”. The old world, with its fakery is gone, it’s time to reclaim what’s left. This is a defiant rallying call in desperate times. For Strummer this is a fight for urban survival. Towards the end of the song he barks, “Now get this!”. This is cold and hard, bitter and brutal in sentiment.  He rails against the post-apocalyptic world. Is that the best you can do? A nuclear error, the drowning of London’s population, etc – bring it on! Fuck it – we’re all going to die anyway.

Behind this defiance is a doom-laden and insistent bass line which propels the song and its underlying tense spirit. It’s backed up by staccato, driving drumming and topped off by Mick Jones’ relentless crude chopping guitar-work. The combination is majestic. At times it’s a pessimistic dirge but at others (notably the bridge) there’s a swelling haunting excitement, which is almost gothic. At all times there is a raw, contained power. Then add Strummer’s mid song howl – it could have been plain ridiculous, but it’s well judged, animalistic and unrestrained. A cry for action. A cry for life.

This is the song where punk grew up – take Anarchy In The UK, New Rose, even White Riot. Revel in their sheer energy and brutality. Leap around like a newly liberated teenage rebel and live for the sheer joy and release of angry rock and roll. Remember that attitude. You see punk was important as an attitude. From its snarling emergence in 1976/ 1977 punk was a rebellious state of mind where anything was possible, irrespective of ability.  By 1979 the snarling had gone mainstream, but it was getting boring. There’s surely no depth in sheer anger or nihilism.

The Clash were smart – Strummer, Jones, Headon & Simonon matured and sought more. The signs were there already. They took the attitude and anger and bottled it, applying it to politics, social observation and a variety of musical styles. Many of their peers couldn’t break out of the oxymoron of a supposedly liberating style which also boxed them into a corner with just a rebel yell for company. Not so the Clash.

Listen to the London Calling album – can you imagine The Pistols extending to reggae, dub, rockabilly, ska, even shades of the naivety of the nursery rhyme?? Never Mind The Bollocks  would never have incorporated a horn section! They may have had attitude in spades but diversity? No. And what about Sham 69 or other lesser lights extending their subject reach to take in Montgomery Cliff or the Spanish Civil War? Unlikely. The Clash brought all these to the table and much more. In old money, it culminated on Track One, Side One- the title track. What a start! No wonder they were so often tag-lined “The Only Band That Matters”.

The ideas of the London Calling album splurge out in a vibrant rush of creativity. It is awash with new attitude, allied with the confidence to expand. The Clash plunder their musical heritage and inform it with the attitude of the day. It is all the richer for it – listen to “Never Mind the Bollocks”, “Machine Gun Etiquette” or “Inflammable Material” from the same period and contrast against London Calling’s multiple dimensions.

The messy vitality and variety of London Calling makes it a “White” album for the 70s. The raw anger so evident in The Clash  & Give ‘Em Enough Rope is generally subdued, muted – but it can still emerge (Working for the Clampdown, Guns of Brixton and London Calling itself).  It’s a vitality which is captured at its rawest on the album sleeve. It is utterly iconic – Paul Simonon’s bass smashing antics captured in mid-flight. And then to add the same stylised titling as the first Elvis album – fantastic. There is no better piece of album artwork imho.

It was entirely logical that Sandinsta! should follow – another potential masterpiece but this time ruined by the lack of a ruthless edit. The Clash did become a messy pastiche in the end with Cut the Crap, but in London Calling an attitude was perfectly captured and provided an inspiration for future generations. I’d be surprised if those other genius rebels The Manic Street Preachers couldn’t trace their musical lineage back to London Calling. As far as I can see they are direct descendants and worthy modern day heirs. U2 are said to have been inspired also. The Clash remain a massively influential force even today.

The dystopia of London Calling ends with a Morse code SOS, a clever fade out as Strummer’s vocals run out of steam – “I’ve never felt so much like …”. During live shows he completed the lyric, … “like a singing the blues”, but that doesn’t seem the same somehow.

There’s more to London Calling than a great song – it’s a reflection of its time and heralds an awareness of a bleak time ahead. But it combines it with the remnants of punk’s inherent rage against the world. Nowadays, that’s simply condensed into 3 minutes or so of life affirming excitement. And it does make you feel alive. Now go and play it again and trash the joint.

Just want audio? Listen here: http://grooveshark.com/s/London+Calling/4wUi9L?src=5