Strummer Redux

Be sure and read Mickey Kaus' takes on Strummer's obits.

Rock the Casbah!

R.I.P. Joe Strummer

I read the report of Joe Strummer's death with sadness and a bit of irony. Strummer was the lead singer and driving creative force behind the hardest rocking guitar band ever, The Clash. I won't bother with the The Clash's place in rock history, but for me The Clash were the embodiment of everything every hard rocking Detroit band could ever be. The MC5, arguably Michigan's greatest rock band ever, lost their industrial punk edge when they sold their souls to the collective jibberish of the White Panther Party. The Five were further mummified when they joined forces with record producers who made their edgy, soaring guitars sound like rock and roll muzak. The Clash dabbled in politics, but never at the expense of their music or their individuality.

The Clash was the embodiment of England's young adult urban angst. More true to their music than their punk counterparts, The Clash were as comfortable with ska as they were with "Kick Out the Jams." Their first album "London Calling" and their second "Sandinista" are testerone pumping masterpieces--a must for any serious rock collection. The tunes "Clampdown" from LC and "Somebody Got Murdered" from Sandinista run neck-and-neck as my favorites with a shitload of other songs coming in tied for second.

I saw the Clash live at the Mesa Ampitheatre a nice venue deep in the heart of Mesa not far from the Mormon Temple. The irony of gritty, booming urban rock echoing from the walls of the Mormon Temple was delicious. Rock the Casbah, indeed! Three hours of dancing and rocking in the desert night. The Clash never let up, rocking the night away.

Joe's Final Hours. My family is gathered locally for the holidays. 98% of the clan is within a couple of miles. Everyone was at our house for pizza and beer. Everyone save for my six-year-old nephew had grog in hand and was eating, laughing, and drinking. My five-year-old nephew, the Mighty Mike Mongeau, was demonstrating a few dance step he learned for his first-grade XMAS pageant to the delight of the assembled. I went to the TV, we've got digital music channels on the TV, and scanned for some music to fit the performance. While scanning, I found The Clash's "Lost in the Supermarket" and cranked it. I pointed at my brother, his eyes flashed, and we both said, Yah! The driving beat send my nieces out to join Mighty Mike and next the whole clan was dancing in the living room--all lost in the supermarket, all laughing, all loving.

Thanks Joe. Hope more people were dancing to your tunes as your strand expired.

Lions v. Caridnals

Yes, I went to see the toothless Leons. Boy oh Boy, what a mess. Actually, my brother, Lori, and I found the game entertaining and, in a way that only lifelong lion watchers can appreciate, funny.

I have been here for the entire Cardinals tenure and I've come to appreciate the Cardinals in the same way that I appreciate the Lions. The similarities are striking. Decades of bungling family ownership has destined each franchise to second division misery with no real hope in site. Both organizations have reaped the benefits of the NFL TV money cartel, a Faustian bargain that raises the value of their teams and keeps them in operating profits no matter how rotten their product. Thus there's no incentive for either team to improve so they don't. Fans are subjected to the bathos that is the Lions and the Cardinals. To wit:

My brother and I stood and laughed until our sides hurt when at the Cardinal two yard-line Lion runningback James Stewart stumbled over his own player and instead of walking into the end zone, he spiked the ball in disgust and frustration before he was downed by a Cardinal. The Cardinals pounced on the loose ball for an apperant fumble recovery which would have stymied the Lion Drive. Marty Morningwheg, the eighth and unnamed dwarf in Snow White's posse, gathered his wits and called for an official's review of the play. The officials interpretation of the play was as follows: Stewart tripped over his own player behind the line of scrimmage, got himself up off the ground, and instead of running into the end zone for a touchdwon, he faced the end zone and spiked the ball forward thereby making it an incomplete forward pass. NO touchdown. No fumble. The Lions retained possesion. Stewart was temporarily exonerated for his metaphysical stupidity. The stunned Cardinals stood by as straightmen in this act of the Lions eterenal comedy.

On the next play Joey Harrington threw his umpteenth pass to no one in particular, and the Lions settled for a field goal on the next play. Younger Lion fans in the crowd were stunned. Cardinal fans were stunned to see a team more ill-fated than theirs. Veteran Lion fans had seen this before and they what it meant. The play spelled the end for the Lions afternoon. The only suspense would be how and when the axe would fall. Over the couse of the afternoon we found out.

Only hardened Lions fans can understand and accept that the Lions can lose a game to the Cardinals; a Cardinals team that started three recievers off the waiver wire and that had played horribly in six consecutive losses. A Cardinals team that is hounded by a dyspeptic media and ignored by an apathetic citizenry, but who found the moxie to face the Lions and win. Experienced Lions fans knew it was about more than brain farts, moronic coaching decisions, and poor citizenship. Experienced Lion fans, and Cardinals fans as well, know that the Lions/Cardinals won't win anything that matters until ownership changes and their deal with the devil is expunged.

The Dead Wings were in town on Thursday and the normal retinue of toothless downriver dolts were on hand to cheer on the champs. Honestly, I'd rather sit amongst Raider fans wearing a 49er jersey than go anywhere near the Dead Wings game. The Lions fans are princely by comparison. As we walked out of the Stadium yesterday, Honolulu blue clad partisan had replaced the "Let's Go Lions" chant with "We are awful." It was funny in a sad way and refreshing compared to the Dead Wing crowd who are quick to cross-check their way out of the arena hurry into their Explorers for a speedy ride to the donut shop.