It’s always fascinating when pieces of The Clash story come together and even more so when someone finds us via the Clash Blog. Last night was one such instant when Mike Paterson, formerly of The Plastic Flies wrote to me.  Who?? Well, the Plastic Flies were a Glasgow band who at the time (1981) were an virtually unknown group of late teens who essentially blagged there way into a support slot for The Clash at the Glasgow Apollo. It led to a brief yet signifcant relationship with the band as Mike recaps below – so with his blessing the full story is below:

Our experience with The Clash seems to be one that was mirrored with many other young bands wherever they played. When they had their “Clash stand at the Glasgow Apollo” in October 1981 we saw them from the audience on the first night and from the stage on the second. As a bunch of cocky kids with a tin-pot band we thought we could just rock-up to the hotel bar after the gig and get a support slot after schmoozing with Joe over a few beers. Which is exactly what happened.

After managing to avoid ejection by hotel staff, myself and our chutzpah-filled singer Martin hid ourselves in the corner of the Albany Hotel bar until the Clash party arrived. They came straight to the bar and as Joe, stood next to me, ordered a round of drinks he turned to us and said “and what are you having?” Beer please, Joe.  We got to chatting. As I’ve subsequently found out, Joe was completely approachable giving you his full attention regardless of who you were or what he was doing. On this occasion he listened to our band story then turned to Kosmo Vinyl (I think, was he with them then?) and set up our support slot for the next night in a thirty second meeting; “Can these guys play tomorrow?”  “Yeah.”  “This guy could play through Mick’s amp.” “Maybe. We’ll see you at the stage door at 5.00”

Joe Strummer with the (still partly bearded) Plastic Flies

Of course nobody at the Apollo believed us. We were just four 18 year old kids with guitars standing in an alley-way. Eventually we got in, sound-checked and took our place in our room backstage. With a combination of youthful bravado and utter terror we sat waiting until we were called. Baker Glare kept coming in to use the phone (pre-mobile days). Mick hadn’t turned up for their sound-check. Not unprecedented apparently. An hour and several increasingly frantic phone calls later, Baker stood in front of us contemplating possibilities. To fill the silence I picked up my guitar and with ridiculous affront offered to fill-in for Mick if he didn’t turn up. I know all the songs, see. Baker looked me up and down, looked at the Fender copy guitar and said “Nah. He’ll turn up.”

After the gig we joined the entourage in the Clash dressing room. Theatre of Hate were depressed at the crowd’s reaction to them. ….Pearl Harbour…. was drunk on vodka. Mick was buzzing and Joe was garrulous (I heard him use the “quintuple E.P” line several times when asked what they were doing after Sandinista). When Johnny Green announced that the band would have to go downstairs to sign autographs for fans queuing up I had the gall to say something along the lines of disapproving of fawning (maybe I thought it was the punk rock thing to say. God knows. I was 18). Joe said, “phoning who?” in mock misunderstanding then gave me a very gentle lecture on the responsibilities of their position with a poignant Sid Vicious anecdote. That was me told.

The Glasgow Apollo (now gone sadly)

Next summer we bombarded Kosmo with requests to join the Combat Rock tour. We’d had a single out in the meantime, had some very encouraging press from Bob Flynn, plays from Radio One (Peel of course but also, very strangely, Peter Powell and an enthused Gary Kemp) and a visit from Adrian Thrills to a gig in Glasgow attended by the Glasgow band clique. I think they left in disgust; it was the summer of the guitar-backlash and words like “rockist” (one journalist called us “The Clash’s wee brothers”). After a summoning to CBS in ..Soho Square.. we clinched just one gig at the Irvine Magnum Centre on the proviso that our bass player, Morris, shave his beard off. We managed to turn this to our advantage by getting the local paper (Evening Times) to run it as a story – “Clean-Shaven Clash; Ban on Beard a Sour Note”

The gig was delayed by the disappearing Joe stunt. We supported Gary Numan’s backing band (Dramatis. The shame of it) the night we had been supposed to back The Clash. They were sympathetic and even announced it to a bemused audience. Eventually the tour was rescheduled and we got to hang out with them again in the odd surroundings of Ayrshire’s Irvine leisure centre (the dressing room was accessed through a weights room full of muscled lifters). Joe was again the model of approachability and good humour, happy to pose for group photos football-team style. Kosmo, with his clippers, was giving mohicans to allcomers in the shower cubicle and Mick was in a delightfully giggly mood (some good ganja obviously) in his Blade Runner cap and army shorts. I sat between Joe and Mick in the dressing room as the fans came in for autographs and chats. He was open and patient with everyone (“Is Mick still going out with Ellen Foley? “You’ll have to ask him.”) even organising a lift for a girl who had missed the last train back to Glasgow. His sense of humour was very dry and at that age I didn’t get his jokes. I tried to tell him about my Dad having secret marks on his passport because of his communist ties, tieing it into the ….US…. “Take the Fifth” tour slogan until Joe halted the polemic by explaining that it had been a joke. The Clash dressing room seemed to be a convivial place where everybody was invited and few requests refused. They were the gang that everyone wanted to be a member of.

The experience of hanging around with Joe for the very brief time that our paths crossed is one that has lived with me for a long time. I don’t believe in unquestioning hero-worship (or fawning apparently) but his positive good humour, passion and humanity made him a role-model of behaviour without me realising it. He showed me that cool and a languid nihilism weren’t necessarily bedfellows and that you could be passionate about issues and still have a great haircut.

Mike Paterson (Spike)

Thanks So Much Mike, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed your recollections of a really remarkable sequence of events. You can learn more about the Plastic Flies here and view additional photos also, which are great. What a different time 1981 was and fabled attitude of The Clash towards their fans is so often quoted – it took both elements to be in place for such windows to open for smaller bands. Must say I’d love to have been a (plastic) fly on the wall especially at the suggestion to fill in for Mick Jones.

Tim

1. This is Curriculum Clash
2. The Clash Cup (back like a rash!) matches 52 and 53
3. The Clash Cup Matches 9 & 10 and more results
4. Clash Landmarks, The Black Swan Sheffield (part 2)
5. Mick Jones on the BBC, Best Double Albums ever, and Clash fans in the desert
6. Mick’s magic library
7. Clash Kids !!