I grew up in a little village called Codicote. Even after having lived in London for 20 years, I still get a buzz from finding myself in the real city where all those Clash songs were set. And never more so than when cycling through London after dark, which is when I find myself singing Groovy Times. Singing helps the cyclist keep out the cold, and sets your pedals whirring to a rhythm. Groovy Times is good for this. Its verse has four chords D/A/B minor/G there are no long notes in its chug-a-lugging 4/4 time, and so, although it is nobody’s favourite Clash song, it is a good song for getting you home on your bike late at night.
Cycling past rows of shuttered shops or a bit of urban blight brings the opening line to the lips: “The high-street shops are boarded up .. .” An alternative cue is broken glass by the kerb: “As they were picking up the dead,/ Out of the broken glass, / Yes, it’s number one, the radio said, / Groovy times have come to pass!” There are other songs good for singing as you cycle along Ain’t Nobody by Chaka Khan, or Blind Willie McTell by Bob Dylan but Groovy Times connects you to the cityscape in a way that Dylan “travelling through East Texas” or Chaka Khan “flyin’ through the stars” do not.
When I was about 15, I phoned up the Boy shop on the King’s Road to ask how much a pair of white bondage trousers were. The voice on the other end of the line, saying “£18”, was unmistakably Joe Strummer’s, so I phoned back half an hour later and asked for Joe. Someone went to get him. This time, I lied that Bernie Rhodes (the Clash’s sometime manager) had given me this number because I was in this band who were really good, and he said I should show them my songs. The phone was passed to Topper, the group’s great drummer, who arranged for me to drop the songs off at an address in Brixton. At the end of the call, Topper said he never hung up first, but I didn’t want to break the connection, and so there followed a battle of wills. He was still there after two minutes of silence, so I hung up.
Two problems. No band. Never had been, though there was a band name: Plastic Rebels. And a logo. Next problem: no songs. None at all. So, in green felt-tip on some A4, I quickly wrote the lyrics to a list of songs. I cycled to Knebworth station, got the train to King’s Cross and, because I was very, very lucky, there was no answer at the Brixton tower-block door.
Robert Newman’s History of Oil DVD is out now