“Pissed right off”: The band Joe Strummer never wanted to break up
At the 1998 Kerrang! Awards, The Exploited frontman and Scottish “Oi!” stalwart, Wattie Buchan, was to present the ‘Best International Live Act’ segment. Strutting onstage and opening the envelope, he reportedly muttered “I don’t fucking believe it” and walked off without a word said to the winners, Green Day, who accepted their awards as if nothing had happened. Later that evening at the afterparty, after being confronted by Green Day singer Billie Joe Armstrong, Wattie allegedly snapped, “I tell you what; you may have a big record company and lots of money, but I’ve got something you’ll never have, and that’s respect from the punks,” before the pair were separated by security.
It could be a load of bollocks, as Wattie was known for hating most musicians and regaling with tall tales of his misanthropic anecdotes carrying an eyebrow-raising whiff of embellishment. But the Kerrang! story aptly illustrates the broad standing punk’s 1990s mainstream wave holds in the eyes of its pioneers. In the aftermath of its 1970s white-hot flashbang, punk’s crater rippled across the next 15 years or so with astonishing vigour, hovering over post-punk, new wave, alternative college rock, Seattle grunge, and the riot grrrl explosion with a perennial anchorage of anti-establishment spark beneath the myriad of genre stylings.
Yet, for many, something plastic and uncomfortably corporate began to seep into the supposed punk revival that exploded in California as grunge was slowing down. While Bad Religion held out with some valiant efforts at ensuring a sharper punk resolve than the slew of bands they’d inspired, the major labels all began courting this new, profitable incarnation of the genre. Cue Green Day, NOFX, The Offspring, and Rancid as suddenly the new MTV stars of the day. Before you knew it, Blink-182 was the biggest band on the planet, and Sum 41 helmed the soundtrack to early 2000s frat parties.
Punk purism can have its own issues, however. As soon as 1977’s ‘Year Zero’ landed, the original generation scarpered before the mohawk and tartan slacks uniform de rigueur began placing conformities onto a movement defined by DIY self-expression—a caricature Wattie and his The Exploited lapsed into. The Clash was a band that knew how to explore new creative horizons pronto, indulging in a love of ska, rocksteady, and even old-school R&B in their LPs after 1978’s Give ‘Em Enough Rope. The group wouldn’t just rise to the level of the most successful UK punk band, but also as one of the 1980s’ second British invasion’s biggest names, rivalling stadium sellers The Police.
However, The Clash frontman Joe Strummer was partial to the punk that climbed the charts toward the end of his life. “I’m into all the new punk,” he told journalist Judy McGuire, “I like to hear Green Day on the radio. It’s a lot better than the other shit they play in England, let me tell you that. I just toured with Offspring and got really tight with them.” It’s quite the endorsement. “The other shit” can be assumed to be Britpop or its dreary indie hangover, but whether Travis’ ‘Why Does It Always Rain on Me?’ or The Offspring’s ‘Pretty Fly (For a White Guy)’ is better than the other is up for fierce debate.
One band that trumped them all Stateside in Strummer’s estimation owed little to the MTV-friendly California pop-punk of the day. “My favourite group at the moment is Hepcat from LA,” he revealed, explaining, “They’re the best ska band ever born in the United States of America—bar none. They are proper. If they split up, I’m gonna be pissed right off. I’m gonna fucking have a right depression. I just toured with them in Europe, we tried to get them to tour with us here, but they’re in the studio now.”
Ska witnessed a similar American revival alongside punk, and it was overwhelmingly terrible. Rancid again, along with Reel Big Fish, Sublime, and early No Doubt, all tried to craft their own take on the ska bounce, and it just grated, lacking the bite and energy of the UK’s two-tone and the original 1960s Jamaican pioneers. Hepcat were the only band that possessed any semblance of the genre’s authenticity, avoiding the white suburban take’s tacky skank with organic immersion in dub’s floaty pop. It’s hard to imagine Rancid ever collaborating with renowned Jamaican producer Scientist as Hepcat did for 1996’s Scientific.
An appraisal from Strummer doesn’t necessarily mean quality, yet, as the frontman for a band that similarly understood reggae and dub’s inner workings for some of The Clash’s most celebrated works, Hepcat’s standing in Strummer’s eyes goes a long way.
