In the bleak midwinter of 1980, The Clash having survived the decline into nihilistic self-parody that had brought punk to its knees, broken America with the flawlessly diverse double album, London Calling (famously voted the greatest rock album of the Eighties by Rolling Stone, despite being released in December 1979!), and being popularly touted as the most important band on the planet, the prospect of a new triple vinyl set by The Clash was legitimate cause for ardent celebration.
But, for many, playing the album for the first time that Christmas in 1980 Sandinista! provoked nothing nothing much more than feelings of disappointment, disgust and utter bewilderment. An ambitious, schizophrenic explosion of dub reggae, old school funk and politically provocative soundbites (the title was inspired by the anti-US Nicaraguan guerrilla force of the sam name), the two hour extravaganza was widely condemned as a bloated atrocity, excessively self-indulgent. By unanimous opinion, The Clash had lost the plot, and they were crucified for it.
Examining Sandinista! nearly two decades later, however, the evidence suggests The Clash's only crime was to credit their audience with a fearless thirst for the shock of the new that, depressingly, turned out to be wildly optimistic. Hardly anyone bought into what they were doing here on so many unexpected fronts.
Now, of course, we don't so much relish eclecticism as insist on it, each passing "Album Of The Year" invariably some carefully calculated post-modern, genre-defying, name-dropping hotch-potch of retro trip rock'n'bass with a token spattering of free-form jazz. It's a climate that politely applauds James Lavelle's UNKLE, Gallagher and Goldie, Primal Scream's Echo Deck or the next Manics/Massive Attack remix. Reassessing Sandinista! by this same criteria, The Clash's much maligned clanger suddenly becomes the most eclectic album in the history of 20th century Western rock, taking chances and putting its creative balls on the line with a gung-ho self confidence never seen before or since.
Less an album than a manifesto for the future of white rock'n'roll, Sandinista! boldly embraces a spirit of cultural integration and courageous experimentation that has since proven remarkably prophetic. In 1998, there isn't one group of a similar global stature who would dare issue a record as challenging, or could begin to match the Clash's capacity for self-punishing re-invention. Lest we forget, this is a band who invited maverick dubmaster Lee Perry to produce their third single, "Complete Control", as early as 1977 (preceding the Beastie Boys' self-congratulatory collaboration by 20 years), and who cut a single with unknown NYC graffiti artist Futura 2000 a whole prehistoric decade before the advent of Mo Wax. Even upon its release, The Clash made the admirable sacrifice of insisting "Sandinista!" retail at the single album price at their expense.
Beginning with the full-on funk smack of "The Magnificent Seven" - Strummer's stuttering, surreal 9-to-5 rap - side one alone further encompasses Northern Soul, experimental dub and rockabilly. Elsewhere, there are sudden bursts of bebop jazz, salsa, cajun and gospel between the occasional (and only occasional) typically anthemic Clash city rockers. But it's reggae, in big bad bass reverberation, that dominates nearly a third of the album, with entire tracks given up to the toasts of eccentric dub hero Mikey Dread (a selfless gesture bitterly misconstrued as "filler"). The Clash's ingenious master-plan had punters anticipating three albums' worth of laddish garageland rock but coming home to find they'd involuntarily just started their own dub collection. Self indulgence? Sorry, but in my book that's a radical counter-response to inter-racial ignorance and record industry hypocrisy.
In being so uncharacteristically eclectic, Sandinista! was arguably its own worst enemy, so big a set it's a trial to pinpoint any obvious compositional cornerstone. You'd expect a magnum opus of this size to dominate any subsequent Best Of, yet of its three dozen tracks only two were chosen for the posthumous Story of the Clash; retrospective. By the same token, less than half the album was ever played live, a smaller fraction still surviving the repertoire of their final descent into the self-loathing, stadium rock monsters of their eventual demise.
That isn't to say that Sandinista! doesn't contain some of the finest material they ever recorded. Indeed, as a jewel in the crown of the Strummer/Jones songwriting canon, there isn't a moment elsewhere in The Clash discography to compare with "Broadway". From a tinkling nocturnal jazz prologue, Strummer staggers forth as as a bourbon-tonsilled, apprentice Tom Waits, the croaking bum who could've been a contender screaming his way to a suitably rhapsodic crescendo. It's overwhelming in its poetic splendour, a dramatic contrast to the more characteristic power chord machismo found elsewhere in the Clash Book of Rebel Poses.
Of course, Sandinista! does have its faults. "Ivan Meets GI Joe", Headon's jazz-funk cold war comedy, has an annoyingly childish chorus that age hasn't improved. The same applies to "Charlie Don't Surf", which takes the influence of "Apocalypse Now" to embarrassing extremes. And if "Version City" does show another side to The Clash, then I'm afraid it's a side that sounds like 10cc.
Imperfections were probably inevitable on a showcase this size. But as an attempt to break the mould, to push the creative boundaries of a rock album's potential or simply to throw down the gauntlet to their uninspired peers, Sandinista! remains a triumph of will if not necessarily content. Admittedly problematic (Strummer himself since wisely confessed it should perhaps have been a double), its pioneering innovation has been written off for too long as introspective egocentricity. Is being before your time and seizing the spotlight to open eyes and ears to new possibilities, ideas and directions really the definition of self-indulgence? If so, Sandinista! fits the bill.
But -oh!- for a bit more self indulgence these days.
Despite its discount price tag, Sandinista! sold poorly (the market reaction to the death of John Lennon that winter further damaging its commercial chances), its three spin-off singles similarly struggling to scrape the Top 40. Nevertheless, their international popularity weathered the critical flak, 1981 being the year of their historic 17-night run at Bond's International Casino on Times Square, NYC, subject of the long-lost Don Lett's documentary, Clash on Broadway (currently being restored for release). This mammoth residency saw impromptu stage appearances by Beat poet Alan Ginsberg and future Mo Wax artist Futura 2000, both of whom contributed vocals to 1982's more commercially successful Combat Rock, by which time The Clash were a band divided. Joe Strummer had previously provoked media controversy when he went AWOL on the eve of a British tour, apparently on the dubious orders of manager Bernie Rhodes in a response to poor ticket sales.
Strummer had the last laugh, secretly fleeing to Paris instead of the agreed hideaway with country singer Joe Ely in Texas. The irate Rhodes was forced to hire a private detective to bring him back. Topper Headon's drug problem ensured his eventual dismissal (later serving time for possession), followed in 1983 by the acrimonious departure of Mick Jones.
Strummer and Simonon perservered with three new recruits- though 1985's abominable Cut the Crap, their last official album, speaks for itself. Jones fared slightly better with Big Audio Dynamite, any apparent friction with Strummer having healed by 1986's No. 10 Upping Street, which saw the first post-Clash Strummer/Jones compositions in four years. Re-union rumours have persisted ever since, especially in the wake of their shock posthumous Number One single. Alas, it was not the spirit of Sandinista! but a certain pair of denim trousers that propelled "Should I Stay Or Should I Go?" to the top of the charts in 1991.
What was that about "turning rebellion into money"?
Article contribution by Tim Testerman
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