SECOND INTERVIEW BACK IN THE studio a week later, they're at the stage of putting on the vocals, no-one would find the Parisian haphazardness even slightly amusing and Pearlman and Statisiak have got themselves a new name in tribute to their nightly pursuit of new culinary delicacies - the Glutton Twins. Only Joe was really needed this night but Topper had dropped round sporting a large 'I'd rather be playing pool' badge and Mick hung around watching TV till he decided he might as well go home to bed. But mostly it was Joe stuck up there in the studio by himself, ploughing through endless takes of 'The English Civil War' ('When Johnny Comes Marching Home'). With a clean handkerchief stuck loosely in his breast pocket and his own little bar of honey-sweetened teas set up in front of him on an amp case, he looked a bit like a seedy and tee-total Bryan Ferry. When, even with constant soothing with honey, his throat could no longer stand the strain, the session was halted and we started the second interview, again at his squat just off Marylebone Road but this time with a brand new set of batteries. In the studio, I'd heard some mention of finishing the album in the States. "That's just bollocks, pie in the sky. It's just that we were gonna go over and do three gigs and we got the cold shoulder. We were told it was a waste of time. We were gonna do the gigs and then mix the album at the place they (the Glutton Twins) know best. I just never even bothered to consider it. I'd like to go over there really strong with a thing like the Anarchy tour — load of groups, a whole evening, a whole spectrum of punk rock." A way from the record for the moment, you don't play live very often now do you?

FINAL PART OF THE CLASH

"No, we don't really, do we? Of course I was ill. I was only in hospital for a couple of weeks but it took me a long time to realise what was wrong with me. You don't think you've got hepatitis. You just think you feel ill. "Rocco (who took the photo on the back of the album) said "Ey, my friend, you looks a little yellow". And he turned round with this floodlight and my eyeballs were bright yellow and my face was all yellow and I took off my shirt and my body was all yellow. "I reckon there's an epidemic. Princess Margaret. I mean people like that — what have they been up to? "We've been doing a gig every couple of weeks lately — the Nazi League, Birmingham, Paris. But playing London is a very difficult thing for us. We're trying to get a London date as hard as we can at the moment. It's only two weeks to go... It's just all their prejudices against punk rock. 'The Rainbow said they were going to use us as a dry run. If those three nights went alright, they were going to take out all the seats in January. They never did. I don't think they've even taken one out." As Paris was the first gig I'd ever travelled to with them, I wondered if they were always so disastrously organised. "We're always like that. It was so typical, I don't even notice any more. It starts with Bernie and it comes down to us. Bernie lives in another universe to most people. But it's not true we're gonna get rid of him. It's just we're always washing our dirty laundry in public. It's a natural gift that Mick Jones has got. He prefers to have a good fucking argument with an audience. He likes someone to play to. . .l can dig it." How about the view of you as a punk Rollers? "What? That's a new one on me . . . It's like the Lurkers talking about Strummer and those three other posers he hangs around with. The Lurkers just don't know us at all. But how can they know us? But they certainly have no idea of us if that's what they think. They think they're doing something new, grovelling around in sweaty places but I've done my share of that and so has everybody. "If you listen to everybody, you just end up as a fucked up cunt. You've gotta do what you think's right. 'Cos no-one's here when you're writing a song, there's no-one to help you" Aren't those jibes because you somehow go beyond being a mere group, and for some people become some kind of moral paragons? "Don't ask me mate. I'm in the group . . . Do you mean they think we're like the Pope?" Yes "What a lousy job".

How do you feel about being treated as some kind of hero because in the beginning you were saying it was something you wanted to avoid and now you've found yourself trapped. "The truth is it's very hard to believe it's happened." Well, for example, Rotten's freaked by it, locks himself away in a house. "Well, you can't really compare me and him because he went through the whole heavy thing. Suddenly everybody in the world descended on him. He went through something, a lot more pressure, a million tons more. You can't compare." But do you ever feel that kind of pressure? "No. I feel pretty good . . . I don't know anymore. You end up thinking you ain't got no fans really. You only think you've got no fans in between gigs. I've completely forgotten now what it's like to do a gig and I must have done a million. Then, when you see a good group on tele you can get a bit of a feeling. Like when I see Sham, I get a shot of adrenalin' cos I remember what it's like to be onstage just by watching them. But I don't get that off any other group on tele."

But you 're certainly more relaxed about things these days, like you no longer lie about your age. "I thought it was important. When you're about 23, I think you feel worse about it. When you're 25, you don't care. It's 'cos you've gotta say goodbye to being a teenager forever at 22/23. Whereas when you're twenty one, you can still kid yourself." But changing it from 24 to 22 is such a small difference. "Do you think I should have taken ten off then I would have been twelve. That's the silliness of it. When you're worried about it, it's a big difference. It's like women. They always used to say in the old days that you should never ask a woman her age ... I had a lot to conquer, y'know. Like in the old days, this (plays slow riff on guitar) was banned and it was all this (fast riff) and we've got a bit of this (back to slow riff) on this record". Another way in which you've changed is the change in emphasis over politics. "It was like a defence thing. I'm prepared to talk about it more realistically now, I suppose, about us being a political group. It was like the Damned are a fun group (big smile) and the Clash are a political group (big frown). We certainly have a sense of humour, a really highly developed one, amongst ourselves. A lot of things that made us fall about laughing, people took very seriously. Some of the words on that first album ... me and Mick laughed till we cried. "I tell you what it was about the politics. We never thought of what we were doing as political. What all those politicians are up to is what we thought politics was. And when people said we were political, that was what we thought they meant. And we didn't want anything to do with those bastard boring cunts. Who wants to be labeled with that lot of lying bastards. That's what freaked us out. "We just thought politics was like the Socialist Workers Party and the Communist Party. And the people you meet from those organisations — I'm not knocking them, maybe they're doing good work — are just deadly boring, really just deadly fucking boring. And we didn't want people to start thinking we were like that. 'Cos we thought they were just creeps." Some people think Bernie used you as a political mouthpiece. "That reminds me of once when I was talking to Viv of the Slits and it was the time that Malcolm was doing something with them and we were talking about being Malcolm's puppets. She just said, 'At Least it's better than being Rhodes' puppets'. "Bernie never told us what to say. He just told us to stop singing songs like 'She's Sitting At The Party'. He said toss that fucking song out of the repertoire, write something else. It was great to meet him. Along comes this guy who says "Think about what you're doing, have something worth taking out there. Don't just shamble out there". And it was great... we don't really have a relationship like that with him anymore . . . still, everything changes." But is there still a mutual trading of respect? "Yeah, on good days. On bad days, there ain't much of anything." How do you feel now about the treatment of you as a working-class hero? Do you think it was a fair representation? "Yeah, I do." Well, you certainly don't come from any poverty-stricken background. "Yeah, but it's not where you come from. It's where you've been, what you've been through. If you just stood on your own two legs, do it that way, then it don't matter where you come from 'cos you learn all the lessons and you get wise, just 'cos you have to, to survive. Songs like 'White Riot' were written walking along the street in my head...endlessly." And what about those photos of you in Belfast, posed like you were local guerilla fIghters? "It's funny being in a group. Whenever you go to a city, it's like in and out. It was like that in Belfast. Straight in, soundcheck, zoom round the streets, few shots. I didn't want to do it. It was disrespectful to the people who live there. If you wanna know the truth they say to you "Well you won't get your picture on the front of Melody Maker if you don't do it. Don't you want to get ahead? Do you want to be a small group all your life?' Anybody'd go for that. It's just that your ego takes over." Talking of ego, how about the name Joe Strummer? "I thought it out in the Charlie Pig Dog days. That's more defensive paranoia. I could only play chords and at the first two gigs I ever did, there were like ten, twenty people in the room who could play better guitar than me. But I was the only one with a guitar. When you can only hold an A chord, you feel... I felt very inferior about it... playing music ... I thought it was something difficult. That's what's so great about punk rock. Almost everybody I know knows how to play something now." At the first encounter you mentioned that you were listening to a lot of country music. That could mean we'll now have a million country punk bands. "I refuse to accept that. It's just crazy. I just flit about. I mean I was red hot on cajun for like a month and now my cajun discs are all dusty at Micky Foote's house. And now I just went mad on country music, Joe Ely, people like that. Next week I won't be playing it. "I only like good music and the country that I listen to is fucking good. And if it's good it ain't gonna harm anyone if they listen to it." How about the reggae you were into? "I'm more strong on bluebeat now. There's a point where it stopped being R&B and suddenly became bluebeat and that's the fucking stuff I like. I heard some great stuff like Greek reggae...really, I've got it on tape. I think reggae was in a bit of a rut lately." So does that mean the Clash will be doing bluebeat? "I have written a couple of bluebeat numbers but we haven't had time to work them up yet. We do a great version of 'Israelites'. We do a load of covers for fun at sound-checks. We was thinking of making a record like our sort of 'Pin-Ups'. "We've come up with some great ideas. Like the thought of us doing this or that number is mindboggling. We do a stonking version of 'Train Kept A Rolling', like the Johnny Burnette Trio.

We also do a great version of 'Your Rockin' Mamma' by Carl Mann. I saw him when he came over, really one of the best gigs I've ever seen. It starts off with a waltz but I'm sure that ain't right - I only heard him do it onstage." AFTER HE'S had a piss out of the window, I said that rnade it sound like the Clash were a concept. Some people see them as the concept coming first and then everything being fitted into it. "No. First and foremost, it was always a group. Our main concept was that everyone should move. All action, no fucking lazing about. No-one riding on anyone's back. Everyone working full-tilt. It's much better to have a group working full-tilt. It's a real group." Like the Clash. END (SOUNDS JUNE 17TH 1978)