The world has spun a few times since “London Calling” was released back in very late 1979 (on vinyl, natch!), but the love fest that has sprung up in its wake continues to gather steam. For the money, it’s always been a great (if somewhat slightly overrated) album, as well as the album on which The Clash began to squander their greatness.
From here, it would be a long, sad downward spiral through “Sandanista” and into the abyss with “Combat Rock.” It would have been great if the band had continued on in the same vein of out-and-out brilliance demonstrated on “The Clash” (both UK and US versions), the vastly underrated “Give ‘Em Enough Rope,” and non-LP singles and B-sides of that era like “Capital Radio,” “Pressure Drop,” and “1977.”
As far as re-issues go on for “London Calling", they remain the only band that is worth crossing the road for. It would be pointless, repetitive, and tiresome to go into too much depth recounting the original album’s highs and lows – chances are if you’re reading this, all 19 tracks are probably burned onto your frontal lobe.
Topper Headon’s performance behind the drum kit is worth the price of admission alone, tight, compact, and propulsive. The title track (as someone who abhors The Beatles, love the phrase “Phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust” in the faces of friends who think the Fab 4 hung the moon), “Brand New Cadillac,” “Clampdown,” “The Guns of Brixton,” and “Death or Glory” all bristle with old-style Clash aggression, anger and energy, while “Spanish Bombs,” “Lost In The Supermarket,” “Lover’s Rock,” “4 Horsemen,” “I’m Not Down,” and (whew!) “Revolution Rock” may leave you scratching your head and wondering just what it was about this band that made you think they could change the world.
So let’s cut to the chase – the Vanilla tapes, 21 tracks recorded at the titular studio in Pimlico which eavesdrops on The Clash working the kinks out of most of the songs which made the final “London Calling” cut. As someone who never loses sight of the fact that most, if not all, major label album releases are cloaked in a thick smokescreen of studio wizardry, bells, and whistles, most (hell, all!) of the Vanilla tapes' charm to be in their unsanded veneer and by-design demo quality.
Uncovered in an old cardboard box by Mick Jones when he was preparing to move, these songs were never intended as some kind of audiophile experience. There are complaints about their lack of high fidelity are puzzling and, quite frankly, completely devoid of anything resembling a clue.
From here, it would be a long, sad downward spiral through “Sandanista” and into the abyss with “Combat Rock.” It would have been great if the band had continued on in the same vein of out-and-out brilliance demonstrated on “The Clash” (both UK and US versions), the vastly underrated “Give ‘Em Enough Rope,” and non-LP singles and B-sides of that era like “Capital Radio,” “Pressure Drop,” and “1977.”
As far as re-issues go on for “London Calling", they remain the only band that is worth crossing the road for. It would be pointless, repetitive, and tiresome to go into too much depth recounting the original album’s highs and lows – chances are if you’re reading this, all 19 tracks are probably burned onto your frontal lobe.
Topper Headon’s performance behind the drum kit is worth the price of admission alone, tight, compact, and propulsive. The title track (as someone who abhors The Beatles, love the phrase “Phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust” in the faces of friends who think the Fab 4 hung the moon), “Brand New Cadillac,” “Clampdown,” “The Guns of Brixton,” and “Death or Glory” all bristle with old-style Clash aggression, anger and energy, while “Spanish Bombs,” “Lost In The Supermarket,” “Lover’s Rock,” “4 Horsemen,” “I’m Not Down,” and (whew!) “Revolution Rock” may leave you scratching your head and wondering just what it was about this band that made you think they could change the world.
So let’s cut to the chase – the Vanilla tapes, 21 tracks recorded at the titular studio in Pimlico which eavesdrops on The Clash working the kinks out of most of the songs which made the final “London Calling” cut. As someone who never loses sight of the fact that most, if not all, major label album releases are cloaked in a thick smokescreen of studio wizardry, bells, and whistles, most (hell, all!) of the Vanilla tapes' charm to be in their unsanded veneer and by-design demo quality.
Uncovered in an old cardboard box by Mick Jones when he was preparing to move, these songs were never intended as some kind of audiophile experience. There are complaints about their lack of high fidelity are puzzling and, quite frankly, completely devoid of anything resembling a clue.
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