Jay Stringer

Music is not just about the moment, the pulse, and the beat. It’s not just the emotion you get caught up in as the guitar rips its way through your spleen or the drum moves your heart to a different rhythm. It’s about the memories that hit you months or years later, and the joint emotion of fear and anticipation in the build up to a new release from one of your idols.

I thought I’d take a look back at a few of the albums that moved me for a moment, and the ones that I loved or feared in the build up to their release.

Lets start with Uncle Joe Strummer. I had a strong bind with him for a guy I never met. He’s one of those musicians that tended to gain that sort of following. Even now, years later, “Would Strummer do this?” is a question that informs many of my decisions. I wrote a song for him that he never got see. Life works that way.

November 2002.
He’s playing near me with his band The Mescaleros. They’re the E Street band filtered through London, punk, and the BBC world service. They’re glorious. The tickets free, I’m getting in based on what little cred I have. And, for the one night in my life, I’m not in the mood. “I’ll see him next time,” I say as I pass up the chance.

December 2002.
I’m woken up by the phone ringing. This is already a big deal. I hate phones. It’s my girlfriend.
Michelle: “Are you okay?”
Me: : “Nugyayawah?”
Michelle: “Juts checking you were okay”
Me : “……..why?” (bit worried now)
Michelle: “That guy you like has died”
Me : “What guy?”.
Michelle: “He was in that band, the London calling band”

There are some hours of your life that you can remember crystal clear, frame by frame, as if it was all on tape. In the hour that follows, I watch the news, take two more phone calls, and answer a few texts.
Years later I learn of the scene when Topper heard the news, and it made me cry again; someone watched him take a phone call from across a crowded room. He listened to the receiver for a minute, then smashed the phone against the wall and left the room.

October 2003
The last Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros album is about to be released. It’s been completed by his band members with the blessing of his family. I am terrified.
This never goes well. Queen once did the same thing and, while I’m not a Queen fan, I do remember taking an interest in the time at an album that became a hollow, cheesy, tribute album.

I keep asking people, why? Why do this? The previous album was fantastic, amazing. Leave it be. What if this one sucks? I mean, they’ll have the best intentions in the world, sure, but the road to bad albums is paved with good intentions.
At some point in the build-up, I don’t remember exactly when, the promo single is unveiled on the Internet. It was attached to a video, footage of Joe and the band, and it was on the official site for streaming.
I locked myself in a room, settled in front of the computer, and pressed play.

Then repeated that about four times.
GOMA GIRL blew me away. It was Joe, and more than anything, it’s was an old new Joe. It wasn’t the masala ethnic mix of the previous albums; it wasn’t laid back and mature. It was stripped back and raw. It was his Telecaster driving a song along like only a tele can. It was the sound of the last gang in town twenty years on.

The album itself then comes out and it’s everything that first song was and more. Its clever, it’s passionate, it’s making an angry plea to the world to grow up and take care of itself, it sings of companionship and music, good times. And it does it all with the telecaster chug and no worries in the world.

If Joe’s story had to have an ending, there was no better soundtrack to the closing credits that STREETCORE. It’s a mixed up blessing, that in losing someone you get one of his best releases.
If only all stories ended like that.