The Clash always were and will always remain my fave band from amongst the myriad UK punksters.

Sure they were a mess of contradictions too and, boy, did we laff when they gleefully boasted about "staying in the most bombed hotel in Belfast" on their first visit here – somehow neglecting to mention that it was also the most plush and luxurious in the city! The stunt of posing for press photos beside the soldiers and barbed wire rankled a lot too – but what mattered most to me was that at least they had made the effort to try to come and play here when others were too chicken to even bother.
Weirder still, the most important gig they did here was the time they didn’t even get to play when the insurance was pulled at the last minute from their Ulster Hall gig in October ’77 and the cops got real heavy handed, lashing indiscriminently into the young teenagers who just wanted to see a real live punk band play… a defining and truly galvanising moment in the nascent punk explosion here.
White riot, huh? I played in Belfast’s first punk band Rudi and the song ‘Cops’ we wrote about that night became our most well loved song here for a long time, and when the Clash did come back as promised to play later that year they tore the place apart with one of the very best shows I ever saw!
In Rudi we idolised ’em. For us The Clash had that perfect chemistry that only happens once in a lifetime – they looked great and sounded even better! And like all the great bands didn’t everyone have their own favourite Clasher! So while I normally leaned towards the Jones/Thunders/Richards figure in any band, it was damn obvious even to me that Strummer was the true heart and soul, blood sweat and guts of the band and into the bargain mebbe just the most captivating live performer I ever saw. He gave it 110% and then some – all the time! I still don’t trust any band whose frontman’s legs aren’t pumping à la Strummer: they musn’t be trying hard enough!
Admittedly Strummer talked utter crap a lot of the time (who doesn’t?) but he believed every word and he was damn funny and witty too. I’ll never forget the look of disgust on Mick Jones’ face when Strummer set him up by getting me to slip the pic sleeve from the first 101’ers 45 in with a pile of Clash 45s I wanted Mick to sign. Strummer was in stitches! Also unlike most of the UK punksters I met, Joe truly did care about the fans, the ’zines and support bands… and many a time he let pals of mine kip on his floor, making sure they got into gigs free and home safe after.
Last time I saw Joe play was with the scrappy, faceless Mescaleros in the Limelight here in Belfast. I didn’t like his new songs and hated the cold calculated way his new gang churned out old Clash numbers purely as crowd pleasers – and yet Strummer still tore up the stage with the same manic passion and sheer blinding intensity he’d had 25 years earlier... and I still hung on every damn word!
He’ll be missed.