Furry FeetNotes: Jesus and Joe Strummer
A recent to trip to Camden Market, London connected two very different periods of my life.
In 1981, I began my freshman year of high school.
I was an awkward, odd-looking teenager. A pimply-face, mop of curls, and giant eyeglasses didn’t make me overly popular with girls or the boys. I was gawky. Lanky. Naïve. To make matters worse, by the time I was in 8th grade I was six feet tall.
Jr. High School was hell for me.
High School held a different promise.
Lassiter High School was an enormous, newly built fortress in suburban Atlanta. I attended, along with 2000+ other kids. Anonymity had never been more refreshing.
1981 was the year I went punk.
Not really. But it was the year old-school style punk music introduced itself to me.
I was taking an elective English class, the specifics of which I cannot remember. It was probably something like creative writing or drama. In this class, I sat by a girl who wore mostly black and chains, while sporting a magnificent, multi-colored, mohawk, multiple body piercings, and an assorted array of interesting tattoos. Several other mates in this class dressed similarly, and my intrigue was genuine.
Announcing to my parents that I wanted to pierce or tattoo something or that I was wanted to be the only one at my high school with what could only be described as a “Fro-hawk” was not something I would have ever been brave enough to do. I will say that “the punks” in that English class were super nice, didn’t make fun of people, and even became some of my first friends in those early, heady days of high school.
2000 high-school students inevitably breakdown into sub-genres. You had the classic jocks and cheerleaders, the nerds, the cowboys (they all wore Hank Williams Jr. “Bocephus” tee-shirts every day), the generic “popular” crowd, and probably four or five more groups I’m not remembering. Then you had the Punks. While they were the scariest looking, with black eyeliner, tattoos, and self-piercings — at my high school, they were the nicest. Most of them wanted to live in England. Several helped form a sub-genre that became later known as “the drama group” (which is where I landed in later high school years).
I never “went punk”. But I listened to the music.
My initial introduction to the genre was The Sex Pistols, but I was never a fan — and always feared that my parents would find out I listened to a band called The Sex Pistols and I just wasn’t ready for that much rebellious drama in my life. Instead, I listened to bands like Black Flag, The Psychedelic Furs, the Ramones, and a mainstay to this day, The Clash. I was most definitely a conformist with my externals, but I was a non-conformist, anti-establishment punk on the inside.
It doesn’t count.
I get it.
I’m confident that music had some impact on my life choices.
Joe Strummer (The Clash front man and rhythm guitarist) was most likely an influence on why the Capitalists’ path was never a road I chose to follow. He’s a reason I found Jesus attractive. Jesus and Joe Strummer proclaimed messages of empowering the poor, promoting equality, and looking out for the distressed were quite in tandem with each other. One with a significantly lessor amount of swearing.
Jesus was the original punk.
One of my favorite Joe Strummer rants is from very early The Clash days. The song (White Man In) Hammersmith Palais is a timeless 2 minute 15 second reggae/rock social commentary. The lyrics from 1977 that resonated with my teenage angst in 1981 still echo in my now middle-aged soul.
They got Burton suits, ha, you think it’s funny
Turning rebellion into moneyAll over people changing their votes
Along with their overcoats
If Adolf Hitler flew in today
They’d send a limousine anyway
Everyone wants their lives to speak and sometimes even sing into this world. The song we choose matters.
Renee’ and I had a layover in London a few weeks ago. Time was short, so we hit all the photo spots we could think of. Tower Bridge, Big Ben, Westminster, and Buckingham Palace. Even Abbey Road. And 221b Baker Street. Most have heard of these places.
But a friend reminded me that the stairway where Joe Strummer, Mick Jones, and Paul Simonon shot the album cover for The Clash’s self-titled debut was in the bustling Camden Market. Camden Market is certainly a cool London spot to visit. I wish we had gone hungry. The sights and smells wafting from hundreds of food vendors were a temptation to eat, anyway. But this hidden stairwell was the target destination. Renee’ took my photo and for a single moment I might have been cool.
My teenage persona thought so, anyway.
Apparently, this is a place in London where, if you stick around long enough, other men of a certain age show up for their moment of cool, as well.
I’ve yet to pierce or tattoo anything. I’m grateful I still have as much hair as I do, and have no plans for colorization or weird, receding, curly mohawks. (a receding fro-hawk?) I do wear a lot of black because I hear black is slimming.
In however many years I have left, my work is still about empowering the powerless, lifting the marginalized, and working for equality. It’s still the spirit of punk, as I have always understood it.
Keep fighting for what is right and the rights of others.
It’s the best path.
Until next time — You are doing better than you think.
You have more potential than you know.
B.
This is my every Sunday-ish newsletter containing bits and bobs of what I’m reading, writing, watching, thinking, and experimenting with this week. Every month I also send my complete notes from a book I’ve read, so you can decide if you want to read it too! Like the old version of Cliff’s Notes. But more Hobbit-like. Furry feetnotes.
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I am a consultant, coach, and trainer with Growability® Consulting, specializing in non-profit and cross-cultural business and leadership. Check out the Growability® Podcast at all your favorite podcast places.Start writing today. Use the button below to create your Substack and connect your publication with Furry FeetNotes.
You ARE "cool" ... and for more than a moment in London.
You liked the Sex Pistols? Me too. But who would have known.