Skip to main content

The Strummer Effect.

Before I go on, I should probably explain one specific term. Namely, The Strummer Effect. I use this term a lot, and I'm gonna just go ahead and get it out of the way now.

This is something my friend Chris Lamb and I first figured out some time ago. Joe Strummer had just passed on, and we both felt it like a punch to the gut. Two kids too young to have ever seen The Clash (though we know the music backwards and forwards). Both younger than punk rock itself. Still... Somehow Strummer carried across to us. The music, the image, but more. Something in his whole persona, all the elements he embodied and combined.

And in conversation, Strummer became a checkpoint for how we tried to be, tried to live.

And I think Lamb finally put the name to it, after much discussion of "go be Strummer" and the like. It's The Strummer Effect. When you get it, when you finally hit it, it's an amazing thing. And you get it by just stopping wasting time trying, and doing what you do.

So that's what I'm doing. That's what he's doing. (You can keep tabs on him, too.) That's what this summer, this year of 2004, hopefully the rest of my life will be about.

This is what happens when you just go ahead and DO, and don't overthink. Accept the contradictions, and press ahead regardless. Be a rock star. Never put yourself above the rest of the world, but always walk tall. Be humble, yet know you can do things better than the rest. Because you trust that you can and you're doing what you love. Everything you do is the most important thing in the world, but when something doesn't work you move on and find something even better. Use your passion. Ignore whatever limitations you're told about. Find something you love. Run with it. Set yourself up for the best camera angle, but immediately forget the cameras were ever there. Be always cocky, but never conceited. Don't waste time caring, and care about everything you do with all your heart. And just go.


* * * * *


I wrote this to Lamb, in conversation back in April 03. Just found it last week. It still says more in fewer words than I probably ever have before or since. And it's even truer now than it was then:


>>I had a pen and my notebook, and I just realized...

When I grow up, I want to be Joe Strummer.

Make my passion palpable to everyone.
Look half that cool.
Ignore the hype, and still play it for all it's worth.
Work hard, keep running 'til I drop.
Do what I love.
Not care for a moment, and care about everything in the world.

I want to inspire kids like me to grow up to be kids like me.<<



...And that's it. Strummer Effect Go.


-PAR



(In memory of Joe Strummer 1952-2002. Thanks, dude.)

Comments

Anonymous said…
Thank you for your words about Joe.
London Calling is the greatest song ever written. I traveled maybe a thousand miles in 1980 or 81 to see the Clash live, and it was a defining experience for me. I remember pretty exactly 3 years ago that I read the news about what had happened, the death, and tears shot into my eyes.

I wish somebody with more money and initiative than me would set up a memorial in Central Park, NY, like Strawberry Fields, so that people could go there and remember.

Popular posts from this blog

Farewell, Matthew S. Farrell

Matthew Farrell. Self-created raconteur, impresario, dandy, sponsor of the arts, cheerleader of creativity, perpetual inspiration. Our dear ice cream server Grace once jokingly referred to him as “the winner, and only contestant, of Charlottesville’s Oscar Wilde Lookalike Contest”, and y’know, she was pretty spot-on. Matt (I was told at various times to call him Matt, Matthew, or “just Farrell”, so to this day, I call him all those things) had his own style that was clearly modeled on his platonic ideal of a perfect gentleman. And this gentleman dressed like a Fitzgerald character, talked like a continental aristocrat who summered in some undefined New England coastal village, and walked like Groucho Marx. He smoked unfiltereds, often two at once, just for kicks, which he would hold when gesticulating excitedly as he greeted dear friends or total strangers. Pretentious? Yeah, a bit. Sincere? Always. Distinctive? Absolutely. At some point, I think I recall him saying someth

Dumpling Imposter.

As in all things, success will bring imitation. Nowhere is this more apparent than here in New York, where you can walk down the street and be assailed by endless tables filled with "designer" handbags and genuine "Hilfigger" sunglasses for sale. It's an inevitability that any product that does well will be aped by those who're looking for a quick buck. Ofttimes, the knock-offs can't be spotted without careful inspection. The average passerby wouldn't know the difference. So, do not be fooled. This is the real thing: This is not: Yes, it's true. There is a Dumplinganger. An upstart that not only moves into the same business that Lucas (the Dumpling Man) has so carefully cultivated, but rips off the distinctive logo. It's an incredibly brazen attempt to cash in on the goodwill and business that Dumpling Man has earned over the last six months. And whomever's behind it is so blatant as to position themselves only three blocks awa

On David (DC, Dave) Berman.

David Berman has left the stage, made his exit, delivered his final observations on the state of existence.   I feel like it’s dumb to be tearing up at the thought of a Berman-less world, so I guess I’m dumb, and I guess I don’t really mind. I can't claim I knew him very well, but I thought of him as a friend. You know, the sort of friendships that form when you're both part of an amorphous social circle of weirdos in a small town at a certain point in time? Like that. Actually, exactly that. Everyone ends up at the same places, and it’s all a sea of get-togethers where everyone ends up in the kitchen, and a tiny club and a sushi bar and a Thai restaurant and a coffee shop and a bunch of patios in the summertime. You see different combinations of the same people, and there’s always beer and whiskey, and every wall is decked out with Steve Keene paintings, no matter which house or shop or cafĂ© you’re sitting in. Now, a couple decades removed, defining specifics is onerous, and