Long after all this is over and with Joe Strummer five years dead, I find myself one night for the first time in decades in Ladbroke Grove, where in 1975 The 101โers had their residency at The Elgin, which I stand outside for a moment before going in, curious to see how much itโs changed since those legendary nights. The famous flock wallpaper is long gone, of course, and there are a couple of pool tables where there used to be a small stage, where thanks to some convenient kink in the time-space continuum, I can now see as if itโs really happening The 101โers in a typically manic huddle, Dudanski behind a battered old drum kit, Mole on bass, Clive on guitar and Strummer, his leg pumping like something with a life of its own, belting out โKeys To Your Heartโ, blowing the roof off โGloriaโ races to a ferocious climax.
Sitting there with these memories making my head spin, I hear a kind of staticky crackle, something distant but growing louder. It takes me a moment to realise what it is, at which point I have to smile, happy to have been here when the joint was jumping and Joe and The 101โers were rocking.
Itโs the sound of London calling from a far away time, unforgettable.
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