Masterpiece: The Clash’s Sandinista (1981)
The Clash tower over the skyline of modern music like the Empire State Building, a monument forged of an audacity and ambition almost inconceivable today. In 1981, after out-playing and outlasting most of their punk cohorts, they released their magnum opus: the triple album set Sandinista. Seen at the time as a disappointing, self-indulgent follow-up to their previous double album London Calling, Sandinista today conclusively proves that the Clash not only had a crystal clear artistic and political vision of their own times, but were also able to predict in meticulous detail the shape music would take for the next 20 years. Indeed, the farther we travel from 1981, the farther ahead of its time Sandinista appears to have been.
Since its earliest days, the Clash had chafed against the stylistic straightjacket of punk rock. Sure, they could play three-chord anthems as well as anyone on the scene, but, almost incidentally, they were also the best white reggae band ever to record. On London Calling, they branched out in other directions, slowing the down the frantic beat and incorporating elements of blues, funk, and folk in addition to various Caribbean and African rhythms. London Calling’s combination of variety and ferocity yielded one of the most satisfying albums of the era.
As it turns out, that was just a warm up for the eclecticism of Sandinista. While retaining their vocabulary of lyrical concerns (social justice, racial politics, international affairs), the Clash march through a catalog of styles from straight-ahead rock (“Somebody Got Murdered”) and sizzling reggae (“One More Time”) to less obvious choices for a modern punk band, such as New Orleans rhythm and blues (“Junco Partner”), gospel (“The Sound of the Sinners”), top 40 pop (“Hitsville UK”) and protest-folk (“Washington Bullets”). The inclusion and juxtaposition of such a broad palette of styles was not simple dilettantism: it postulated a radical melting of boundaries between established genres, a thoroughly post-modern “unified field” theory of music that was so revolutionary in its time that it still seems novel and exciting today.
Sandinista’s stylistic explorations not only looked backward in musical history, but forward toward developments that were at the time appearing only on the fringes of popular consciousness. Most conspicuous is the mutant variant of reggae known as dub, which remixes samples of the vocal and instrumental tracks of a song, carried forward by an exaggerated or distorted rhythm track. The Clash had worked in dub before – notably on the single “Armagiddeon Time/Kick it Over” – but mainly for effect. Here, it was deployed as a conscious method to deconstruct and decontextualize certain compositions, opening them to deeper layers of meaning and sonic possibilities: musical criticism embodied in the work through engineering and technology. Few if any bands were providing remixed versions of their own material in this way, though the technique soon became a popular and important element in the music of the 80s and 90s.
The Clash squeezed another major innovation onto Sandinista with the introduction of hip-hop rhythms on the lead track, “The Magnificent Seven.” The Clash were arguably the first outside (read: white) band to appreciate the significance and possibilities of rap and hip-hop, having witnessed the incipient DJ and break-dance culture during their 1980 stop in New York (they later chose Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five as their opening act in 1981). While not entirely convincing or authentic as hip-hop, “The Magnificent Seven” (and subsequent Clash compositions on 1982’s Combat Rock) demonstrates the Clash’s broad view of the music spectrum at a time when few considered rap to be music at all.
Sides 5 and 6 of the original three-record configuration are widely criticized as fluff and filler, since most of the music is dub versions or remixes of other tunes on the album. “Menforth Hill,” for example, is simply “Something About England” run backwards. “Silicone on Sapphire” is the backing track to “Washington Bullets” remixed with the melody carried by an acoustic flamenco guitar. There are several other experiments using found audio from radio DJs, announcers, TV program music and films. Critics at the time wondered why the Clash would dilute the focus of their song-based material with stuff like this.
The answer becomes clearer if we view Sandinista as a manifesto for music of the future rather than an offering to the tastes and preferences of the moment. On the first four sides of Sandinista, the Clash survey the scope of popular music like latter-day folklorists, presenting specimens of various styles and demonstrating how they can be adapted for revolutionary purposes. Sides five and six concern the application of technology to this project. Using (at the time) experimental methods like dub versions, remixes, samples, loops, noise and decontextualized dialogue, the Clash lay out a strategy by which folk and populist forms can survive the transition into post-modernism, gaining rather than losing power through the application of technology and the knowing appropriation of various cultural signifiers. In short, what confused and frustrated many listeners in 1981 today stands as the most radical and visionary contribution to a radical and visionary album.
By the time the Clash have said their piece – 36 songs on six album sides – little is left standing. The ground they plowed up has since yielded a bountiful harvest, from monochromatic punk bands (Green Day, Propagandhi) and socially-aware British reggae (UB40, Steel Pulse) to radical DJs (Spooky, Krush) and multicultural postmodernists (Bill Laswell). Without a doubt, 20 years down the line, Sandinista sounds more current and relevant today, which is why, although it may not be the best Clash album, it is certainly one of the most important pieces of music (and statements about music) of the 20th century.
10:22:10 PM 
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