Wirecast Mac Serial Keygen Mac. Nothing could have helped get me through the unreal mass depression — the mourning ten years too late for the death of the Sixties and the Beatles that grew out of the grief over John Lennon's murder — than the release of the Clash's Sandinista! A few days later. Its three records — thirty-six tracks to get lost in — ask and answer some of the right questions about violence and nonviolence, history and the future, crime and the law, revolution and fascism, worldwide angst and hope. If the Clash, by insisting on their own heroism, continue their willingness to gamble it all away and still keep winning, they may yet inspire a viable rock-culture politics. Last year's standard-setting — and standard-bearing — London Calling was a bold show of strength that doubled the stakes in bravado (taking Tiger Mountain by brute force). A year later, on the heels of Black Market Clash (their specially priced ten-inch B-side collection). Is an everywhere-you-turn guerrilla raid of vision and virtuosity.

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Produced with greater care but taking more risks, the new LP is a sprawling, scattered smoke screen of styles, with an expanded range that's at once encyclopedic and supplemental (taking Tiger Mountain by surplus). In the initial critical confusion over their postpunk leap of faith, the Clash embraced both reggae-dub and mainstream moves for a combination of rhythmic immediacy (which they already had) and studio sophistication (which they didn't). London Calling achieved the champion status its grand gestures aimed at by Clash-ifying the extremes of white-black, popular-obscure rock history and bringing them to a common higher ground.

Without London Calling's machismo, Sandinista! Tries harder and goes further.

While London Calling was a flexing of muscle that claimed Clash style could pull off anything, Sandinista! Says to hell with Clash style, there's a world out there. By featuring odd instrumentation (violins, steel drums, bagpipes), different production values in different studios, and guest musicians, Sandinista!

Gives the unsettling impression that this isn't necessarily the band you expected to hear when you bought the album. There's rarely been an LP this big or far-reaching. As three-record sets of new material go, the only pop-music competition I can think of is George Harrison's All Things Must Pass and Frank Sinatra's Trilogy.

And, like each of these, Sandinista! Is about two-thirds real. On first listen, it's obvious that its thirty-six titles don't mean you're getting thirty-six separate songs.

Eliminating the instrumentals, dub versions, two-minute novelties and run-on chants brings the total to twenty-eight, still ten tunes and about thirty minutes longer than London Calling. Given what Epic is charging — $14.98, and the Clash wanted the price even lower, bless 'em — it's more than a bargain (which is not to deny that the album is too long). But most of the spillover, from the Public Image Ltd.-do-'Revolution 9' of 'Mensforth Hill' to the Gary Numangoes-calypso of 'Silicone on Sapphire,' is innovative and successful. And while the Clash are still saying that they can do anything — and that anything they do is worth hearing — it's less as if they're trying to top themselves than that they're overexcited about passing on everything they've learned. Is the first LP since some of the psychedelic productions of the Sixties that keeps growing by virtue of density and bulk alone, slowly revealing its constantly changing layers of substance over several listenings.

Sequencing and structure definitely work to its advantage. The set builds its collection of styles through sides one and two, finally arriving at a real Clash rocker about the time most discs are drawing to a close. Peaks with sides three and four (the most solid) and winds down with side five. Side six acts as a kind of unnecessary coda. Throughout, there are great segues — not just great songs but combinations that contrast and amplify each other (side two is a perfect example). Catch the shifts from the calypsolike 'Let's Go Crazy' to the cocktail jazz of 'If Music Could Talk' to 'The Sound of the Sinners' gospel romp that ends side three. Or the heart of the album, the complementary political statements of 'The Equaliser,' 'The Call Up' and 'Washington Bullets.'

Just when you've begun to settle in, there are some surprise vocals at the finish of side four and the start of side five. London Calling was the Clash's Exile on Main Street, and Sandinista! Is their White Album.

Both Sandinista! And The White Album share a deliberate, diverse, postmaster-piece fragmentation, plus the fusion of whimsy and urgency that going-for-broke aesthetics create.

And, like The White Album, Sandinista!' S forward- and backward-gazing experiments could signal the end of group solidarity. The street-chant vocal unison of Clash choruses that generally provides the political metaphors (as well as most of the hooks) is essential to the band's strength. Can this rather raw live act perform these studio compositions onstage? The definitive take on the Clash's future comes in the mixed message of 'Kingston Advice': 'In these days the beat is militant/Must be a Clash there's no alternative.' But later in the same song: 'In these days I don't know what to sing/The more I know the less my tune can swing.' And in the next number: '.

I will disappear/To join the street parade.' I don't think it would be too much to suggest that this paradox of perseverance and retreat was the essence and achievement of John Lennon's post-Beatles sensibility: to merge with the crowd, to stake out an anonymity there, to make the values of that private commitment into the substance of a public statement and to reemerge a working-class hero. If the ambition of London Calling was to recast the whole of (largely American) rock & roll history, then Sandinista! Wants a place in the cultural traditions of the world. Its lyrics — and its melodies and rhythms — make reference not only to the U.S. But to the U.S.S.R. And places in Europe, Asia, Africa, Central and South America and the Caribbean.

And the inclusion of lead vocals by women, children, friends and taped voices, as well as by every member of the band (the songs are now credited to the Clash, not Strummer-Jones), all reinforce that global reach. From the arms-race-as-disco-dance-contest of 'Ivan Meets G.I. Joe,' to the ghostly battlefield ball, 'Rebel Waltz,' to the festive and rebellious 'Let's Go Crazy,' we're offered music and dance as antidote — not only as release but as positive community spirit. This counterculture rallying goes beyond the already established reggae connections to include other cultural identifications. There are a variety of exploited-class anthems with styles to match, and many of the LP's seeming throwaways — the raps, the jazz, the blues and rockabilly and gospel ditties — serve to broaden Sandinista!' S cross-cultural base.

The album's title comes from the calypsolike 'Washington Bullets,' a tune about American support of fascist Third World regimes and how the Somozas' Nicaraguan government finally fell to the Sandinistas without it. The future of such revolutionary movements with Reagan as president, given his secretary-of-state appointment and stated intentions to reform the diplomatic corps, looks grim.

The Clash's attempted marriage of grass-roots American and Third World musics becomes almost visionary politics in this light. And that's why the Clash are vital. They exemplify an awareness that offers hope to their fans.

Like the Beatles (largely by accident), the Clash (largely by intent) have the potential to organize a rock & roll audience into an optimistic political body, or at least to provide the right information. But before we get carried away, it must be said that rock culture might be a pretty naive place to galvanize consciousness — and that being the greatest rock & roll band of our time is something like being the greatest serious composer or the greatest baseball player, with the same limited political impact on the real world. Though I don't anticipate Clashmania any more than I expect youth culture to riot over Pierre Boulez' latest score or Reggie Jackson's batting average, I do think that having little kids sing 'Career Opportunities' on side six is more than a cute joke.

If this is the Clash offering one of their old hits as a future childhood favorite, it's also putting an anthem about economic deprivation into the mouths it was meant to help feed. We can still use that stubborn Sixties morality, and we would do well to remember the missed opportunity of punk — the revolution that wasn't — without the simple postures of either of those underachieved countercultures. But we also need these post movement, postideological, private and public 'count me out — and in' complications of identification and distance, of participation in and respite from the varieties of violence in the world and the inequalities that cause them. If I were younger, I'd write something on a bathroom wall. It'd be a lot shorter and more to the point. Maybe Lennon lives, Clash rule and rock against Reagan.

And I wouldn't worry about the improbabilities.

To a young punk, coming across Sandinista! For the first time is a bit like a 7 year-old facing down a heaped plate of strange food in a restaurant.

The sheer volume defeats them before they even start picking their way through it. And then the questions start: “What’re these?” “Chick peas.” “What’s this?” “Okra.” “This?” “Coriander” Sandinista! Is the same: there’s too much of it, the flavours are weird and sometimes it’s hard to know what anything is. A triple album for the price of a single, The Clash’s fourth album is a sprawling, genre-defying, self-indulgent snapshot of a band run wild. Emboldened by the success of London Calling, free of manager Bernie Rhodes, and stoned out of their fucking minds, The Clash delivered an album seemingly tailor-made to piss off CBS and confuse the more conservative elements of their fanbase (“You want punk rock? Try this, sunshine!”). And that was a major problem in 1980 – when these islands echoed with the sound of fans lifting and dropping the needle across all six sides looking for a Safe European Home, Janie Jones or even a Rudie Can’t Fail and asking themselves one single question: “Seriously: what the fuck are The Clash anymore?” Even today it’s understandable.

The cliche/true-ism about any double album is that it’d make a great single album – Sandinista! Surely stands alone as a triple album you could also edit into a really shit double. But as two sides of vinyl it would’ve done alright: The Magnificent Seven, Police On My Back, Washington Bullets, The Street Parade, If Music Could Talk, Something About England and One More Time alone could have provided the spine of an album that touched on funk, punk, calypso, rock, reggae and rap and would be talked about in hushed tones today. Back in 1980 (pre-CD programming or the ability to make your own playlist) Sandinista! Was a headache – and a ‘head’ album, music for stoners – an indulgence to rank alongside the worst excesses of prog rock.

Today it’d probably win the Mercury Prize. And that’s the thing. Time has changed Sandinista!

I’ve owned it for literally 30 years and I’m only just getting into it. The context and expectations have changed. If you don’t come to it hoping for punk rock, you’re less likely to be disappointed.

If you do come to it knowing that it’s a patience-testing mess that nevertheless contains some gems, then things get interesting. The way we consume Sandinista! Has changed too. On vinyl it’s annoying and impenetrable. On CD you could program it to skip the worst excesses, or rip it and burn yourself a CD of highlights. On an iPod you could just playlist the best bits.

On Spotify or Apple Music you can make the album a playlist and delete the songs you don’t like. Today you can make your own Sandinista! Here’s a 48-minute version we prepared earlier* (listen to this playlist on or ): The Magnificent Seven The bassline comes from Blockhead Norman Watt-Roy and it’s not the only thing The Magnificent Seven has in common with Mr Dury as Strummer cracks-wise with the wordplay in an approximation of the new sensation – rap. Daft, surreal, groovy, repetitive – it you can’t get past this don’t bother. (Listen out for Strummer at the 5min mark saying: “Fucking long, innit?” one of many Strummer ad libs to make it into final Clash recordings.) Police On My Back The one song guaranteed to keep the rockers happy, Police is a cover of an Eddy Grant song, originally released by The Equals in 1967. It’s a spiritual follow up to I Fought The Law and just as satisfying. The Leader A throwaway rockabilly number about corruption and deviancy at the top and how much the tabloids thrive on it.

Charlie Don’t Surf Vietnam was one of those – a result, maybe, of travelling in the States and meeting former vets, but more likely just a reflection of the biggest movies of the previous years. The mood of American movies in the 70s reflected the disillusionment of a generation brought up in the middle of an unjust war, and from The Wild Bunch to Taxi Driver and All The President’s Men, the good guys became bad guys, paranoia reigned and violence was just around the corner. Charlie Don’t Surf owes its title and chorus to Francis Ford Coppola’s stoner classic Apocalypse Now but is as much about American hegemony and absurd racism as it is about Vietnam itself. It’s also catchy as fuck. One More Time Sandinista!’s best reggae track was followed by One More Time Dub on the album.

It’s great too – but something had to go to get it to 48 minutes. Something About England I’m thinking of this as ‘end of side one’ – Sandinista!’s Straight To Hell, if you like – an ambitious mood changer, a show-stopper. The Clash’s most theatrical song, Something About England is a duet, effectively, between Mick and Joe, with Mick’s character introducing Joe’s, an old man ‘ whom time could not erode’. Mick’s character lives in a Britain not unlike the UK of today (‘ They say immigrants steal the hubcaps/Of respected gentlemen/They say it would be wine an’ roses/If England were for Englishmen again’) and asks the old man how it came to this.

Strummer’s old man answers with a tale of class struggle that takes in two wars, strikes, famine ‘ and now the terror of the scientific sun’. A brass band wheezes, Mickey Gallagher plays E-Street Band piano and suddenly The Clash don’t sound too far away from Roger Waters circa The Wall/The Final Cut. (Footnote: The Clash were actually managed by Blackhill Enterprises at this time, the former managers of Pink Floyd.). Corner Soul ‘Side Two’ starts here, with an overlooked song that might hold the key to Sandinista! Of the many criticisms levelled at the album, one was the idea that – first with London Calling and now with an album named after Nicaraguan rebels – The Clash had abandoned their UK fans. In fact, Sandinista! Can be viewed as a comment on and reaction to the UK-centric street punk the band had inspired.

The white riot Strummer called for three years earlier had struck a chord in the shape of Oi!, an aggressive whites-only sub-genre with a Little Englander outlook and racist tendencies. In Corner Soul Strummer asks, ‘ Is the music of Grove skin rock/Soaked in the diesel of war, boys, war?Is the music calling for a river of blood?’ Are black and white youth as divided as ever? Is the music (punk) calling for a river of blood (cf )? In 1980 Ladbroke Grove, while houses are searched and ‘war has been declared’, Strummer asks if he needs to pick a side: does he need to grab a machete ‘to chop my way through the path of life?’ Is running ‘with the dog pack’ the only way for The Clash to survive musically? The simmering anger and sorrowful tone provides the only answer to the question.

Well, that, a triple album full of dub reggae and calypso – and the very next song Let’s Go Crazy Let’s Go Crazy, which also followed Corner Soul on side three of the original album, opens with a West Indian accent inviting people down to the Notting Hill Carnival, calling for “peace and love” among the “young generation of England today – black, white, pink, blue, you name it”. The music picks up the celebratory steel band sound of the Caribbean but comes with a warning: ‘ you wanna be careful’. It might sound like a party but the police are watching and scores will be settled when night falls (‘ Darkness comes to settle the debt/ Owed by a year of Sus and suspect/Indiscriminate use of the power of arrest’). – based on old vagrancy laws – allowed police to stop and search ‘suspicious persons’ but were ultimately used to harass young black men, back in the days before ‘community policing’. The ‘sus laws’ were abused throughout the 70s and by 1980 tensions were high. In April that year Bristol’s St Pauls erupted.

( Sandinista! Was released in December.) The following year, it was. Operation Swamp – an attempt to curb street crime – had used the sus laws to stop 1,000 people in six days, the vast majority of them black. Brixton burned through three days of rioting that led to £7.5m in damages. It hadn’t happened yet, but The Clash saw it coming.

Contrary to what their critics said, they were still singing about young men in the UK – it just so happened they were young black men. Let’s Go Crazy is a message from the heart of the storm. If Music Could Talk If Music Could Talk, meanwhile, is a message from heart of the Spliff Bunker (‘ Hey stoner!/Get over there in the spliff bunker one’). Part of Strummer mythology, the Spliff Bunker was a corner of the studio, surrounded by flight cases, where Joe could skin up and write – first adopted during the Sandinista! Sessions, it was regularly rebuilt through his career. If Music Could Talk is, I think, jazz. (Jazz!) Strummer recorded two vocals and they’re split into right and left channels, a different voice saying different things in each.

The music bubbles like a jacuzzi, a sax soothes and Joe goes stream-of-unconsciousness, channeling Tom Waits (‘ Tonight the sailor boys have hit Shanghai/The kick-out traffic goes creaking by’) and name-dropping heroes and friends: Bo Diddley, Joe Ely, Buddy Holly, some gibberish about Errol Flynn. There are few times you can say this about The Clash’s music but it’s genuinely lovely. Up In Heaven (Not Only Here) I’ve agonised over this more than anything else. To put in Up In Heaven (Not Only Here) I’ve kept out the much-loved Somebody Got Murdered, The Call-Up (the second-worst Clash single after Hitsville UK but still a decent track with a great sentiment) and a couple of other semi-decent tunes like The Rebel Waltz and The Sound Of The Sinners that could pad the album out if you wanted a CD-length version. ( Somebody Got Murdered is probably the most controversial omission. The lyrics are trite and the tune is shite.) Up In Heaven is another rare rock song and, like Somebody Got Murdered, it’s another state-of-the-nation song sung by Mick Jones, this time about living in a tower block. (Like the one, maybe, that Mick was raised in by his grandmother, overlooking the Westway.) Place it with Corner Soul, Let’s Go Crazy and Something About England and suddenly you have a Sandinista!

Full of British social commentary. The Street Parade It’s not a reggae song exactly but The Street Parade’s dream-like evocation of carnival echoes with the influence of dub, guitars chiming endlessly like steel drums (before real steel drums bring the song to a close). The critics carped on about The Clash’s sloganeering and politicking and overlooked the band’s experimental side. Is The Clash in playful and artful mode, indulging themselves, fucking with the format, using the studio as an instrument. The music press let you get away with that sort of thing if you’re Brian Wilson or Lee Perry – but not if you’re some pasty-faced oiks from London.

Then, it seems, you’re just a bunch of wankers. Washington Bullets The track that gives the album its title, Washington Bullets is an extraordinary song and a fitting end to our 48 minute version.