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In spring \u201977, with the Sex Pistols off the road, it fell to The Clash to take punk properly UK-wide. In 2017, 40 years after, MOJO sifted the frolics, fisticuffs and fallout of the White Riot Tour to find: the real reason The Jam got fired; how much money it actually lost; and which Clash member packed his Noddy jim-jams. \u201cIt was an absolute shambles!\u201d discovers Pat Gilbert.<\/p>\n
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London Calling: The Clash (l-r) Joe Strummer, Paul Simonon and Mick Jones backstage at the Rainbow Theatre in 1977.<\/p>\n
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ON THE MORNING OF SUNDAY, MAY 1, 1977, AN ARTICULATED lorry pulled up in the courtyard of what is now the Stables Market in Camden Town to collect The Clash\u2019s equipment for their first-ever national tour. The group were due to travel by coach to the opening show in Guildford later that day, and were unaware of the events unfolding in the semi-derelict, brown-brick Victorian warehouse where they rehearsed. Steve Connolly, aka Roadent, their 19-year-old confidante and roadie, had decided for added visual oomph to paint the group\u2019s backline bright pink, but miscalculated the work involved. Consequently, the amps, speakers and flight cases were still dripping wet. <\/p>\n
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\u201cIt was an absolute shambles!\u201d recalls their notoriously teetotal drum tech and handyman Barry \u2018Baker\u2019 Auguste, who has never before spoken publicly about his seven years working with The Clash. \u201cWe\u2019re going out on this huge tour, and we can\u2019t put the [protective] covers on the equipment because the paint isn\u2019t dry. We get to the venue and the speakers are damaged and have to be repaired, all the grilles have to be screwed back on\u2026 It was complete chaos before it even started.\u201d<\/p>\n
And complete chaos it was. Over the next month The Clash would headline 29 dates that, for the first time, would take punk to some of the biggest rock venues in the country, at a time when the movement was as fresh as the paint on the band\u2019s gear. The Clash\u2019s anti-establishment rubric would express itself in exhilarating, politically charged rock\u2019n\u2019roll and an orgy of vandalism that would result in around \u00a340,000\u2019s worth of damage to hotels, vehicles and concert halls. Yet the destruction on the White Riot Tour wasn\u2019t just collateral: the shows also marked the moment when punk itself dramatically fragmented, as the support bands \u2013 The Slits, Subway Sect, Buzzcocks and Prefects \u2013 peeled off into distinct factions, and a still-murky bust-up with The Jam caused a bitter rift with the headliners that would fester for years.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was called the White Riot tour,\u201d says Topper Headon, who\u2019d then not long joined The Clash on drums and today admits to being central to the mayhem. \u201cBut really, the Anarchy tour would have been a better name\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
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Complete Control: Jones, Strummer and Simonon live at the Rainbow Theatre in 1977.<\/p>\n
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ALMOST 40 YEARS TO THE DAY SINCE THE WHITE RIOT TOUR SET OFF from Rehearsal Rehearsals, the nickname for The Clash\u2019s run-down Camden HQ, MOJO is sipping a coffee with Robin Banks in his Notting Hill flat. Now an urbane and actorly 63-year-old writer and film-maker, then a wayward ex-schoolfriend of Mick Jones, Banks\u2019s outlaw activities \u2013 culminating in a prison sentence for armed robbery \u2013 were romanticised in Stay Free on The Clash\u2019s second LP, Give \u2019Em Enough Rope. <\/p>\n
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Following his release, Banks had been hanging around the band since their first-album sessions at CBS studios in Whitfield Street in February 1977. Indeed, he recalls Jones excitedly spinning him an acetate of The Clash in the guitarist\u2019s bedroom at his grandmother\u2019s flat, on the 18th floor of Wilmcote House, a council tower block off the Harrow Road. \u201cMick kept asking me, repeatedly, \u2018Does it sound like a real record?\u2019\u201d he recalls. \u201cI don\u2019t think any of them could believe what they\u2019d just done.\u201d<\/p>\n
But a snag prevented The Clash moving forward: in March 1977 they still had no permanent drummer. Terry Chimes had given notice in November, alienated by manager Bernie Rhodes\u2019s street-radical polemics. Having signed The Clash in January for an advance of \u00a3100,000, the CBS label expected a national tour to begin soon after the LP hit the shops on April 8. But a candidate with the correct combination of image, attitude and musical ability was proving hard to find.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe band said they auditioned 212 drummers. I don\u2019t know whether they did, but on the last three days the cream turned up,\u201d remembers Baker, an 18-year-old friend of Rhodes\u2019 other charges, Subway Sect, who\u2019d drifted into working for The Clash the previous autumn. \u201cI was sent to pick up Jon Moss [later of Culture Club] from this huge white mansion in Hampstead. He was good but too pretty. [Future Visage star] Rusty Egan came down. Mick quite liked him but Paul and Joe were, \u2018No way!\u2019 Then there was Mark Laff \u2013 he was a great drummer with a terrific sense of humour. He was going to get the job.\u201d<\/p>\n
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But on Thursday, March 24, Jones, at the Finsbury Park Rainbow to see The Kinks, ran into Nicky Headon, a gifted drummer from Dover who 15 months earlier had auditioned for London SS, a pre-punk hothouse for Jones, The Damned\u2019s Brian James and Rat Scabies, and Generation X\u2019s Tony James. Jones invited Headon to Rehearsals the following day, but, showing signs of the wilfulness that would become a theme, the drummer \u201cmessed them about and didn\u2019t turn up\u201d.<\/p>\n
With his no-show, the pressure to offer Laff the job grew, but Jones insisted they hold off another 24 hours. After an exchange of phone calls, Baker was dispatched to an address in Finsbury Park. \u201cI knocked on the door and this little feller came dancing down the steps, going, \u2018All right!\u2019\u201d he says. \u201cWe struck up an immediate rapport. We were both heavily into soul music and jazz. His audition was unbelievable, he was throwing in jazz things, his power was incredible.\u201d<\/p>\n
Headon knew what was required: in London SS, Jones had told him to \u201chit the drums hard\u201d, like Jerry Nolan of the New York Dolls. Since then, Headon had been fired from both Canadian rocker Pat Travers\u2019 band and another group, Fury, for not smacking the kit hard enough. \u201cIt\u2019s no secret that when I joined The Clash, I thought I\u2019d stick with them for a year to make my name and then do something more interesting musically,\u201d he recalled. \u201cSo I thought, Whatever happens, I\u2019m going to knock shit out of those drums. I had to re-learn my style.\u201d<\/p>\n
After Headon was \u2018interviewed\u2019 by Rhodes in his office upstairs, Baker was instructed to offer him the job on the way back to Finsbury Park. The next day, the drummer\u2019s initiation into the nuanced, unsentimental world of The Clash began. First, Paul Simonon, their bassist and style overseer, dubbed him \u2018Topper\u2019, after the kids\u2019 comic featuring the big-eared Mickey The Monkey character; then came a drastic punk makeover. \u201cThey cut my hair off and dyed it blond,\u201d he says. \u201cThen I was given a copy of the first album and told to learn it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Topper\u2019s first task was to drum on the Capital Radio EP, recorded at CBS studios on April 3, the day after The Clash appeared on the cover of NME, Tony Parsons\u2019 \u201cThinking Man\u2019s Yobs\u201d piece emphasising their radical politics, \u2018street\u2019 credentials and anti-racist agenda. Three weeks later, after intensive rehearsals, the band headed off to France to perform three warm-up gigs in preparation for their UK tour, booked for May. But the militant punk regimen that prevailed at their Camden HQ, and which had claimed Terry Chimes as an early victim, almost threatened to fracture the classic line-up of The Clash before it had even settled. \u201cI remember lying on the floor of Rehearsals before we went to Paris, thinking, Shall I just get up and do a runner?\u201d says Topper. \u201cI didn\u2019t know any of the people, it was totally new to me. I was scared. Thank God I didn\u2019t run.\u201d<\/p>\n
Robin Banks:<\/strong> \u201cIt was difficult for him being the new boy. But being Topper, he very quickly developed a protective shell. He became the lunatic of the band and would take things further than anyone else.\u201d<\/p>\n Baker:<\/strong> \u201cTopper had to find a way to fit in. Paul was the big prankster, out for fun, looked cool. Mick was the most stand-offish but when you got to know him he was also the most caring and compassionate \u2013 he never called me \u2018Baker\u2019, which Paul came up with, always \u2018Barry\u2019. Joe was respectful, and as the oldest was looked upon as leader. Then, of course, you had to deal with Bernie \u2013 a man who thrived on chaos and creating difficult situations.\u201d<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text module_class=”text-with-dropcap” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n TO ORGANISE THE WHITE RIOT TOUR, RHODES HAD employed Dave Cork and Mike Barnet of the Birmingham-based firm Endale Associates, who had promoted the Sex Pistols\u2019 ill-starred Anarchy tour six months earlier. Like his close friend Malcolm McLaren, Rhodes had little experience of the music industry, and was spectacularly winging it. In the following weeks, he would counter complaints that the tour was a shambles with the mantra, \u201cListen, the whole thing was arranged from a telephone box!\u201d Apparently, Endale\u2019s office didn\u2019t have a working phone. <\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n \u201cNothing was laid on, hotels weren\u2019t booked for us in advance,\u201d explains Baker. \u201cDave Cork was a car-trade friend of Bernie\u2019s [Rhodes had a side-line repairing Renault cars] and Mike Barnet was this really nerdy, librarian bloke who wore carpet slippers for the whole tour. I didn\u2019t know what he was doing there.\u201d<\/p>\n There were, however, few gripes about the music. From show one at Guildford\u2019s Civic Hall on May 1, their bright pink amps still sticky to the touch, The Clash\u2019s thunderous set consisted of most \u2013 if not all \u2013 of their first album, plus Capital Radio, 1977 (the B-side of the White Riot single) and a cover of Toots And The Maytals\u2019 Pressure Drop. With Subway Sect, complete with a close-but-no-cigar Mark Laff on drums, as main support, the first few dates ran relatively smoothly. But at Swindon\u2019s Central Hall on May 4 the first signs of disorder emerged. After the soundcheck, when the audience was piling into the venue, the fire alarm was set off and the building cleared by fire fighters and police.<\/p>\n Determined The Clash should never let the people down, Rhodes instructed fans to carry the equipment to the Affair nightclub opposite, where the show eventually went ahead. \u201cWe didn\u2019t lose anything, not a single plectrum!\u201d crows Baker. \u201cThe audience was fantastic, and at that stage a lot of them were just curious music fans, not necessarily punks. Spitting was already quite big, though.\u201d<\/p>\n The following night at Liverpool Eric\u2019s, the crew stuck black gaffa-tape over John, Paul, George and Ringo\u2019s eyes on a Fab Four mural behind the stage. The manager threatened to cancel the show until Rhodes shouted him down. But the mayhem really began when The Slits joined the tour in Edinburgh. An all-girl band with a radically unschooled instrumental style, they were punk\u2019s DIY manifesto incarnate, and accompanied by Roxy club DJ Don Letts acting as their manager, and Leo Williams, the club\u2019s barman, as their roadie. \u201cPeople looked at us as if we were Martians,\u201d recalls Robin Banks. \u201cThe Clash in all their military-style gear, The Slits in ripped-up clothes and two Rastas \u2013 Don and Leo. You have to remember the context of the times. Businessmen would stare at you agape.\u201d<\/p>\n That night at the Edinburgh Playhouse Theatre, The Slits\u2019 15-year-old singer, Ari Up, was dragged from the stage into the audience, whereupon the other Slits downed instruments and beat up her assailant. Guitarist Viv Albertine later recalled the band boarding the official White Riot coach the following morning, and immediately incurring the wrath of the fusty driver, Norman, who, alarmed at Ari\u2019s bum-revealing dress and inability to remain seated, ordered the girls off the bus. Letts intervened and finally a compromise was reached \u2013 Ari was locked in the toilet with her ghetto blaster.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text module_class=”pull-quote” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” header_2_text_align=”center” header_2_text_color=”#111111″ header_2_font_size=”46px” header_2_line_height=”1.2em” custom_margin=”||0px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text module_class=”pullquote-name” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” header_2_text_align=”center” header_2_font_size=”46px” header_2_line_height=”1.2em” header_3_text_align=”center” header_3_text_color=”#111111″ header_3_font_size=”38px” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_divider color=”#111111″ module_class=”custom-divider” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”||0px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_divider][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n The next night, at Manchester\u2019s Electric Circus, Joe Strummer\u2019s impish humour made its presence felt. \u201cJoe said he\u2019d found a note that had been thrown on the stage, threatening to burn down the hotel with all of us in it,\u201d recalls Banks. \u201cWe thought nothing of it, but about 3am the fire alarm went off. The whole building was evacuated out on the street, and there was Topper wearing a pair of Noddy pyjamas (laughs). It transpired that Joe had written the note himself; the alarm was just a coincidence.\u201d<\/p>\n The next morning, the bleary-eyed entourage headed south for the tour\u2019s only London date, at the prestigious 3,000-capacity Rainbow Theatre. The Clash\u2019s first show in the capital since their LP had hit the streets \u2013 and climbed to Number 12 in the charts \u2013 the atmosphere was electric. Throughout the afternoon, however, there were growing backstage tensions with The Jam, who\u2019d joined the tour in Scotland. Still a suburban R&B band, who ostensibly shared little in common with The Clash\u2019s political rabble-rousing, Subway Sect\u2019s anti-rock stance or The Slits\u2019 iconoclastic fem-punk, they were from the beginning a square peg. But debate still persists over why exactly they were ejected from the tour.<\/p>\n \u201cThe Jam left because they thought they should be headlining the show,\u201d attests Baker. \u201cPaul [Simonon] was constantly taking the piss out of them, we all thought they were a mockery. Weller\u2019s dad [manager John] would come into the dressing room and start bossing everyone around. In the end, he said they wanted more money. But Joe in particular felt they weren\u2019t right for the tour. Joe and Paul [Weller] later became good friends, but then there was a lot of animosity.\u201d<\/p>\n Banks: \u201cIt was Bernie stirring it up. We liked them as individuals, especially Weller. But Bernie kept saying, \u2018The Jam are going to be bigger than The Clash,\u2019 winding everyone up. He didn\u2019t want them on the tour and we were quite happy with it. They disappeared quietly into the night.\u201d<\/p>\n Rhodes subsequently released a statement to the press, accusing The Jam of reneging on a promise to underwrite a portion of the support bands\u2019 costs; meanwhile, the Wellers countered with a statement claiming they\u2019d already paid Rhodes a four-figure sum \u2013 then provocatively announced they were playing several shows to celebrate the Queen\u2019s forthcoming Silver Jubilee.<\/p>\n The off-stage friction fed into the Rainbow show, which ended in a m\u00eal\u00e9e as the seats were torn up and hurled onto the stage. \u201cAs soon as The Jam came on, the seats started coming up,\u201d recalls Baker. \u201cThey were piling up at the side. Then The Clash came on and it was unbelievable \u2013 cushions, seat backs, legs, they all came flying through the air. The people at the Rainbow had never seen anything like it.\u201d<\/p>\n After the exhilaration of the Rainbow riot, the tour gathered momentum and the band\u2019s performances even greater confidence. Reckless behaviour became the norm, and shoplifting from motorway service stations almost compulsory. In Leicester, Mick Jones saluted their ever-under-siege coach driver by singing, \u201cWhat a Norman!\u201d, during the coda of Deny. One night, at a provincial hotel, Banks and Headon were unable to get into their hotel room. \u201cThe key didn\u2019t fit in the lock,\u201d Banks explains, \u201cso we kicked the door off its hinges. Standing in the dark was this businessman looking rather alarmed. It turned out we had the wrong room.\u201d<\/p>\n Baker: \u201cEvery single night you\u2019d go straight into the hotel and take the fire extinguishers off the wall, because there would always be a water fight, whether it was started by Paul or Topper or the Brummie road crew. Topper would usually take the rap, even if he wasn\u2019t there. The hotel managers loved it, they just added the damages to the bill.\u201d<\/p>\n But as the tour ricocheted from Stourbridge and Plymouth to Swansea and Leeds, the mood darkened. Behind the tour\u2019s tough, anarchic carapace, a very human scene was playing out involving Mick Jones and Viv Albertine. On-off lovers, they\u2019d become a couple again before the tour started, but with The Slits consigned to cheap B&Bs, and the headliners busy with interviews, soundchecks and fans, they didn\u2019t spend much time together. Mid-tour, as Albertine described in her 2015 memoir Clothes Music Boys, a romance blossomed between her and Subway Sect guitarist Rob Symmons.<\/p>\n When Jones, with Banks in tow, discovered the couple together in the Sect\u2019s hotel room, a fight broke out, which left an indelible stain on inter-band relations. \u201cThe next day the tension was unbelievable,\u201d recalls Baker. \u201cMick finally came out of his room and he had this huge black eye. It was one of [Mick and Viv\u2019s] big rucks; it was never mentioned again.\u201d<\/p>\n The Buzzcocks, who joined the bill at bigger venues, but travelled separately from the other groups, were also experiencing difficulties \u2013 in this case with their volatile bassist Garth Smith. They were obliged to leave the tour in its final stages, to be replaced by another teenage anti-rock act in the Slits\/Subways mode, The Prefects from Birmingham. Meanwhile, The Clash\u2019s reputation as punk\u2019s outlaw answer to the Stones was amplified en route to St Albans, where their coach was stopped by police and the whole White Riot entourage turfed out on the roadside to be searched. \u201cMick gave me his dope to hide,\u201d says Robin, \u201cwhich I did, though obviously not on my own person.\u201d The police found what they were looking for \u2013 a pillowcase and keyring taken from the Holiday Inn hotel in Newcastle; Topper and Joe were later charged with theft.<\/p>\n With only two nights off in a month, the tour ended on May 29 at Dunstable\u2019s California Ballroom, where Subway Sect, Slits and The Prefects jammed a cacophonous version of Sister Ray. It was then back to London to recuperate and take stock. The Clash had performed to tens of thousands of people nationwide and established themselves as a powerful live act. But the achievement had come at a price \u2013 physical, emotional and, it transpired, financial. Strummer told the music press later that year that the White Riot tour lost the group \u00a318,000; Baker contends that the figure was closer to \u00a380,000 \u2013 \u00a340,000 to underwrite travel, hotels, insurance, equipment hire, sound and lighting crews, plus a similar sum for bar bills, food, phone calls and damage to property.<\/p>\n Just four months after banking the \u00a3100,000 advance from CBS that had so rattled punk\u2019s purists, the band were already skint again. Rhodes thus resolved not to pay The Clash and Subway Sect\u2019s wages for the rest of the summer.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/flatplan-plus-content.s3.eu-west-1.amazonaws.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/7\/2024\/11\/gettyimages-85231957-594×594-1.jpg” title_text=”gettyimages-85231957-594×594″ _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text module_class=”image-gallery-caption” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”|300|||||||” text_font_size=”16px” text_line_height=”1.2em” custom_margin=”-10px||||false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n White Riot: Stummer in full frontman mode, 1977.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text module_class=”text-with-dropcap” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n DURING THE CLASH\u2019S ABSENCE ON TOUR, CBS followed-up the group\u2019s debut single White Riot in a fashion that made a mockery of the group\u2019s much-publicised contractual right to \u201cartistic control\u201d. Not only was Remote Control the \u2018softest\u2019 song on The Clash, but it was backed by a dodgy \u201clive\u201d version of London\u2019s Burning \u2013 actually a sound studio recording for a promo film they\u2019d shot. The group were incensed at the label\u2019s old-school skulduggery, but there was a silver lining \u2013 it inspired what many fans still regard as their greatest-ever single. The White Riot tour, and the Remote Control debacle, exposed the fact that, apart from Capital Radio, Strummer and Jones had written no new original material since February, when Cheat was quickly knocked up for inclusion on The Clash. So it was that, in June \u201977, the songwriters knuckled down to a series of intense writing sessions in Jones\u2019s bedroom. Robin Banks was one of the first to hear the results. <\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n \u201cI was with a girl one night and these yobs came out of the Lyceum and attacked me, five or six of them,\u201d he recalls. \u201cThe police arrived, let them go and nicked me! That was the danger of being a punk. I spent the night in a cell, then went straight up to Wilmcote House. Mick said, \u2018What\u2019s happened to you?\u2019 I had blood all over the blue Lewis leather jacket he\u2019d given me as a present. We went inside and he said, \u2018Listen, we\u2019ve just written a new song\u2026\u2019 It was Complete Control.\u201d<\/p>\n Complete Control was one of Strummer\u2019s first lyrics about life in The Clash \u2013 later to be a recurring theme \u2013 referencing CBS\u2019s dealings with Remote Control, the band\u2019s mid-White Riot tour one-night-stand in Amsterdam (on May 14), hassles from police, and smuggling fans into provincial concert halls. It was followed that month by (White Man) In Hammersmith Palais, Strummer penning the words after attending an edgy Jamaican all-nighter with Roadent on June 4\/5, and for which Jones crafted a backing track that hybridised punk rock and reggae into an exhilarating new form.<\/p>\n The two tracks, together with The Prisoner and Pressure Drop, were recorded at Sarm West studios in Whitechapel in the last week of July, with Jamaican dub general Lee Perry \u2013 hanging out in London with an exiled, post-shooting Bob Marley \u2013 producing. Perry\u2019s version of Complete Control was later remixed, as his dubby treatment sadly didn\u2019t suit the song; even more frustratingly for posterity, his work on White Man was never completed due to The Clash\u2019s impending engagement at the Mont De Marsan Festival in south-west France on August 5.<\/p>\n The show, in a bullring with The Damned also on the bill, proved to be an appropriately anarchic and unusual setting to debut White Man and its future B-side The Prisoner. \u201cBefore the show, Bernie told me to climb up a ladder with some spray paint and write, \u2018This is Joe Public speaking!\u2019 behind the stage,\u201d recalls Baker. \u201cAll the Frenchies were trying to get me off the ladder, it was insane. Then halfway through The Clash\u2019s set Captain Sensible casually walked on the stage and let off two stink bombs. So amid all the political ferocity there was this most juvenile of schoolboy pranks. Joe couldn\u2019t even sing the words. I was livid! I caught up with Sensible under the stage and I threw him against the wall.\u201d<\/p>\n The White Riot tour may have been over, but, for The Clash, newly armed with several of their greatest-ever songs, another eight years of pandemonium had only just begun.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n This article originally appeared in Issue 285 of MOJO<\/em><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_divider color=”#111111″ module_class=”custom-divider” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”||0px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_divider][et_pb_text module_class=”credit-names” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font_size=”14px” text_orientation=”center” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n Images: <\/strong>Getty<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The White Riot Tour: the real reason The Jam got fired; how much money it actually lost; and which Clash member packed his Noddy jim-jams<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":13,"featured_media":1917,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_lmt_disableupdate":"","_lmt_disable":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1914","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-mojo-presents"],"acf":[],"modified_by":"kschwarz","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1914","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/13"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1914"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1914\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1931,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1914\/revisions\/1931"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1917"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1914"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1914"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1914"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}“Paul Simonon was constantly taking the piss out of The Jam. We all thought they were a mockery.”<\/h2>\n
Barry \u2018Baker\u2019 Auguste<\/h2>\n