Nothing could have helped get me through the unreal mass depression – the mourning ten years too late for the death of the Sixties and the Beatles that grew out of the grief over John Lennon's murder – than the release of the Clash's Sandinista! a few days later. Its three records–thirty-six tracks to get lost in–ask and answer some of the right
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questions about violence and nonviolence, history and the future, crime and the law, revolution and fascism, worldwide
angst and hope.
If the Clash, by insisting on their own heroism, continue their willingness to gamble it all away and still keep winning, they may yet inspire a viable rock-culture politics. Last year's standard-setting–and standard-bearing–London Calling was a bold show of strength that doubled the stakes in bravado (taking Tiger Mountain by brute force). A year later, on the heels of Black Market Clash (their specially priced ten-inch B-side collection). Sandinista! is an everywhere-you-turn guerrilla raid of vision and virtuosity. Produced with greater care but taking more risks, the new LP is a sprawling, scattered smoke screen of styles, with an expanded range that's at once encyclopedic and supplemental (taking Tiger Mountain by surplus).
In the initial critical confusion over their postpunk leap of faith, the Clash embraced both reggae-dub and mainstream moves for a combination of rhythmic immediacy (which they already had) and studio sophistication (which they didn't). London Calling achieved the champion status its grand gestures aimed at by Clash-ifying the extremes of white-black, popular-obscure rock history and bringing them to a common higher ground. Without London Calling's machismo, Sandinista! tries harder and goes further. While London Calling was a flexing of muscle that claimed Clash style could pull off anything, Sandinista! says to hell with Clash style, there's a world out there. By featuring odd instrumentation (violins, steel drums, bagpipes), different production values in different studios, and guest musicians, Sandinista! gives the unsettling impression that this isn't necessarily the band you expected to hear when you bought the album.
There's rarely been an LP this big or far-reaching. As three-record sets of new material go, the only pop-music competition I can think of is George Harrison's All Things Must Pass and Frank Sinatra's Trilogy. And, like each of these, Sandinista! is about two-thirds real. On first listen, it's obvious that its thirty-six titles don't mean you're getting thirty-six separate songs. Eliminating the instrumentals, dub versions, two-minute novelties and run-on chants brings the total to twenty-eight, still ten tunes and about thirty minutes longer than London Calling. Given what Epic is charging – $14.98, and the Clash wanted the price even lower, bless 'em – it's m
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