On Donald Barthelme. * Tariq Ali on the legacy of 1968. Gilbert Adair reminisces too. (See May 68 posters here). * French women? Bof! * Tracey Emin’s campaign to save Brick Lane. * Literary Fitzrovia mapped out in Time Out. * Sebastian Horsley, who was interviewed in 3:AM last year, has been barred from the US on grounds of moral turpitude! * Toby Litt digested. * Patti Smith edits Libération. Also: Smith’s exhibition at the Fondation Cartier (in Paris) reviewed. * Has Iggy Pop lost it? * Pillow Fightclub! * Will Self in NME: “I’ve also developed a virus that only destroys U2 albums and is so persistent — it’s like a musical ebola — that it can destroy every written down lyric, every analogue and digital copy of a U2 song. It can even eat into the brains of Bono and The Edge and destroy the next song they’re going to write. I’ve got it here in a little bottle”. And in The Guardian, Self on satire: “One of the things that animates young satirists - and usually the young satirists are the good ones - is a very childish cynicism about the world: ‘You’re all shit! It’s all shit!’ This sort of adolescent, lurking in his room, popping his spots in the mirror and writing in pus”. On his drug-taking: “Later, he bridles at a suggestion that his famous drug problem started in adolescent rebellion. ‘No, no, no,’ he says, ‘not at all, none of it, none of it. That’s a misreading. I’m an arch-conformist. In fact, one of my favourite movies is The Conformist. I’m exactly what my parents would have wished me to be. Obviously, the hard drug addiction was very upsetting for them. But I went to Oxford, I’m a writer — where’s the rebellion? They were left-wing, middle-class intellectuals. Like me’.” * The great cake escape. * The Action. * The rise of digital short stories. Read them here. * Aaron Hemphill of Liars on P. I. L.’s The Flowers of Romance: “Certain records cease to be records, they become resources, like an encyclopedia in a library. No matter where you are, no matter which level you’re at in your own music, you can go back to that record and learn something”. * Drinking for England. * Sean O’Hagan interviews Paul Simonon ahead of his new London exhibition:
“‘It was intense back then,’ he nods, when I mention how violent a place Britain was in the late Seventies. ‘People wanting to fight us, jumping on stage to punch us. If you had short hair and looked at all like a punk, you wouldn’t get served in many pubs. Then, you had the Teds, who really took it all personally. I remember walking down Shaftesbury Avenue with a girl, and seeing this blur of movement out of the corner of my eye. It was this big Teddy Boy running through the traffic to have a go. Mad.’…

…’I want nothing to do with all that stuff,’ he says, settling down with his Scotch and coffee. ‘I’m not mentioning any names, but most so-called art made by rock stars is fucking dreadful.’ Simonon’s paintings, just in their painterliness alone, seem like they belong to another time. ‘Paul’s not a conceptualist who parades his intellectual pretensions,’ says Williams. ‘He really belongs to an older English tradition, to Augustus John and the Edwardians.’ Even as a teenage art student, Simonon had little interest in being contemporary or cutting edge in his painting, preferring the likes of Constable and Sickert to Warhol and De Kooning. He won a scholarship to Byam Shaw but lasted a year-and-a-half, dismayed by the teachers’ total espousal of American abstraction. He points to a painting on the wall of his studio, an angular urban landscape that, were there elongated figures in it, might have been painted by Edward Burra….

…Simonon’s traditionalist approach to painting is surprising given that, within the often volatile creative dynamic of the Clash, he was the conceptualist, the one who paid most attention to the visuals, the image. He painted the backdrop to the Clash’s rehearsal studio, and designed some of the later stage sets, including the dive-bombing Stukas that echoed their often explosive performances. You could tell the Clash were art-school punks from the start, what with those shirts stencilled with slogans and that paint-splashed bass guitar. ‘That was the art student in me trying to find a look that would make us stand apart from the Pistols,’ he says, laughing. ‘The Buzzcocks were very Mondrian, and we were Pollock. As a painter, though, I’m essentially old-fashioned. Conceptualism just doesn’t do it for me. I love Walter Sickert, Samuel Palmer, Rubens and Constable. That’s just the way I am. I love putting paint on canvas, getting lost in the process of painting.’…
…’I was on top of the Shell Mex building for weeks,’ he laughs. …He’d read somewhere that Jeffrey Archer, then still a Tory MP, had an apartment overlooking the Thames, so he wrote to him, asking if he could paint the river from his balcony. ‘He wrote back and said OK,’ says Simonon, grinning. ‘I was there for a week. I think he got a bit pissed off with this hulking great bloody canvas in his kitchen every morning, but, I have to hand it to him, he didn’t go back on his word and chuck me out.’…

…Back in 1976, it was the wily Rhodes who instructed Mick Jones to recruit Simonon to the group that would soon become the Clash, simply because he looked the part. ‘I was a bit Bowie, a bit suedehead back then,’ says Simonon. ‘And, more importantly, I was at art college. Mick liked that. He was always big on pop history. He knew all about Stuart Sutcliffe, who was Lennon’s best mate in the early days of the Beatles, and a proper artist. I remember Mick introducing me to all his mates: “This is my new bass guitarist, Paul. He can’t play but he’s a painter.”‘…
…In September 2003, Paul Simonon made a pilgrimage of sorts to the Hebridean Isle of Raasay, where Strummer’s ancestors came from. Chris Salewicz accompanied him. ‘It was absolutely extraordinary,’ recalls Salewicz. ‘We spent days finding this derelict cottage miles from nowhere in this stunningly beautiful setting. Then Paul carted this big canvas up there and started painting. Suddenly the heavens opened, and the wind started up and his boots are so waterlogged he’s taken them off and he’s painting barefoot on this canvas lashed to a big stone. He was like a madman on the deck of a ship in a storm. Just incredible.’…”


Thursday 27 March






