A Stray Cat Struts by Slim Jim Phantom Page A

them when he sat in with the Cats at their legendary 1980 New Year’s Eve show at the Venue, Victoria, London, SW1. I saw him a couple of years ago; he’s doing okay. I’m happy to have had some quality time with him.
    Joe Strummer was at a few of the early Cats shows and really helped the cause when he said some truly nice things about us in one of the big weekly rock papers. His word was respected, and it went a long way when he told the NME that we weren’t a hype. That was one of the worst things a band could be called at that time; it suggested a lack of substance. Our rapid rise and seemingly overnight success had caused a little jealousy, and the word hype was floated around in an attempt to hurt us. Joe batted that down in an interview. He didn’t have to do that, and I’ll always be grateful to him for it.
    The Cats had done our own run at the Lyceum at the end of the first English tour. We also filmed the video with Dave Edmunds for the song “The Race Is On,” recorded during the making of the first Cats record at Eden Studios, Chiswick, London, W4. We did it in one or two takes. This version of the George Jones classic was a top-forty hit in England and features a perfect rhythm track from the Cats and two of my favorite guitar solos, first one by Brian and then one from Dave.
    The Clash had some problems on the day of the U.S. Festival. Topper hadn’t been doing too well and didn’t make the trip with them. There was a replacement drummer, and he did the best he could. I think the guys were all fighting, and it famously was the last gig that Mick Jones ever played with his own band. After a set by Men at Work that was good but left the Cats’ set unchallenged, I was leaning on some road cases and noticed some kerfuffle behind the stage. The roadies from the Clash, having heard how much the band was being paid for the performance that day, were going on strike and refusing to move their equipment onto the stage and set it up. They were laying down their demands to the flabbergasted manager.
    That’s the dichotomy to punk rock band / road crew politics, the “we’re all in it together” versus “worker’s rights against the boss” argument. Certain punk rockers had preached about poverty, and when they found themselves successful with a little money, they were embarrassed and tried to hide it. That’s a very hard thing to pull off; it always shows through in some way. I never thought there was anything wrong with success. Unless you give it all away, there’s no way to hang on to the original ethic. I’ve never known anyone who really did it that way. The Clash road crew were that certain breed of professional English roadies in the 1980s who had nicknames and thought they were rock stars, too. From where I was standing, it looked like they were promised more money and started setting up the stage.
    Just when the manager thought he was safe, Joe came up to him with a new problem. As part of the technology theme behind this show, the organizer had arranged for a few minutes of the show to be simulcast to the USSR using some type of satellite technology. Through a Soviet/USA agreement, coupled with the wizardry of Apple, a certain weather or military satellite passed over the concert site and would be taken over for five minutes and used to beam the gig to the whole of Russia. The only catch to this experiment was that it had to happen at an exact time. Whoever happened to be onstage at the time of the satellite passing was the band that would be shown on Russian TV. That day, it happened to be Men at Work, and I suppose that the Russians who tuned in thought it was cool for five minutes to see any band from a big concert in the USA. I’m not sure if the Clash had been promised that slot and the timing of the show prevented it, but when Joe found out he wasn’t going to be on Russian TV, he went ballistic. I was still leaning