At a Clash gig in Blackburn

Sunday Times best-selling author (well, ghostwriter) Paddy Shennan pays tribute to the forgotten heroes of the music industry - the fans, in his new book, ‘Not JUST About The Fall – 50 adventures in a post-punk paradise’

Paddy recalls the musical adventures of his adolescence, including classic (and not-so-classic) gigs by the likes of The Clash, Buzzcocks, The Jam, The Fall, Joy Division, The Cure, The Associates, U2, Dexys Midnight Runners, The Smiths, New Order and The Birthday Party.  

Here’s a brief excerpt about a gig that could have gone better for The Clash, supported by Suicide, playing at King George's Hall in Blackburn on Thursday July 13, 1978…

“One of those gigs that could be listed as a classic if looking back through rose-tinted specs but was actually a bit of a disappointment (though it wouldn't have been cool to admit this at the time because THIS WAS THE CLASH, who could then do no wrong).

Fans were STILL waiting for The Clash's follow-up to their debut LP, which had been released a lifetime ago – well, it was a good 15 months. Indeed, Give 'Em Enough Rope wouldn't appear for another four months. Little did some of us know it wouldn't be worth the wait, notwithstanding its excellent opener, Safe European Home, which was also a rare bright spot of the Blackburn gig.

But hopes had been so high for this summer night in East Lancashire, just over 13 miles away from our safe suburban home just north of Preston (which seemed like a long, long way away to me). 

The band's brilliant, blistering single (White Man) In Hammersmith Palais had been released less than four weeks earlier, while I was still regularly playing their stunning self-titled LP (which they never bettered) on the family record player. In addition, the long school summer holidays were stretching out ahead of me. What could go wrong?

I went to the gig with my brother Guy and several of his friends. Neither of us can categorically say how we all got to and from Blackburn, but I reckon there was a mini-bus involved – driven by a proper grown-up. My mind is obviously playing tricks with me, but it felt like we got to the venue about three hours early. The wait for the support band seemed to go on and on and on. Then again, in those days, there were no distractions to help pass the time. I was only 14 so I wasn't enjoying a few pre-gig pints in a lovely pub a short walk away, while I wasn't there with any of my own mates. 

To add to my personal tedium – and discomfort – I remember one of Guy's school friends, a girl called Katie, grilling me for what seemed like forever (probably about 10 minutes in reality) about my non-existent love life: "Are you going out with anyone? Why not? Is there anyone you fancy? Do you think you'll be going out with someone soon?"

Oh my God, this is so embarrassing. Please will you just shut the fuck up and leave me alone. I'm only 14 and all I care about in my life right now is seeing The Clash. Of course, I didn't say any of this – I just politely tried to answer her never-ending questions. 

Then, about 67 hours later, Suicide took to the stage. 

Oh dear, the more excitable elements in the young and impatient crowd DID NOT LIKE THIS. 

"Where are the fucking guitars? Where are the fucking drums?"

“And what,” they further wondered out loud, “is the singer bloody going on about? And what kind of noises are his equally deranged-looking mate making on that thing in front of him? And what the fuck is it? A keyboard or a piano, or an organ of some description? What did you say? A keyboard/drum machine hybrid the man behind it, Martin Rev, called ‘The Instrument’?”

They were not convinced.

"That's not a fucking instrument. That's just a bloody racket! THIS ISN'T PUNK ROCK! THIS IS SHIT! I WANT PUNK ROCK! I WANT THE CLASH!"

I was only 14. I hardly knew anything, and, at that tender age, I didn't really understand or appreciate Suicide myself. But I knew the response they received in Blackburn – including the constant spitting – was deeply depressing. They didn't fit in with so many people's narrow idea of punk rock and they were most definitely not welcome (but who the fuck did these idiots think had invited them to play if not their heroes, The Clash?) 

Still, things could have been worse. Five nights earlier, when they supported The Clash at Crawley Leisure Centre, a skinhead clambered on stage and punched singer Alan Vega in the face. It was some consolation to find out later that the duo apparently fed off such negativity. Vega and Rev had been performing as Suicide since 1970. Vega, incredibly in an era when 25 was seen as being past it, was 40 at the time of the Blackburn gig, while Rev was a still bloody ancient 30.

Thankfully, I would eventually realise they were fantastic and that their debut LP, Suicide, released in December 1977, is, like The Clash, a masterpiece.

There had been rumours that former Sex Pistol Steve Jones was part of The Clash's entourage that night – and, indeed, he came on for the three-song encore, though I barely have any memory of his appearance. And I don't really have too many clear memories of The Clash's performance. It was all a bit of a blur – like the sound quality. The night could best be described as a much-anticipated special occasion that never was – something I looked forward to, and have, in some respects, enjoyed recalling, as opposed to something I really enjoyed at the time.

It's always been great to be able to boast about seeing The Clash but, looking back, this gig, sadly, seemed to be a triumph of high volume over high quality. 

PS The Blackburn gig was part of the Out on Parole tour, but the venue wasn't on the original itinerary. The band had instead been due to play the Liverpool Empire Theatre on that date – but the gig was cancelled, according to the blackmarketclash website, because the venue feared "punk violence."

PPS Many years later, it was fascinating to read details of the aftermath of the Blackburn gig in the excellent book A Riot Of Our Own, by Johnny Green and Garry Barker (Green was the band's road manager from 1977 to 1980 – and it was lovely to see him in recent years as tour manager and MC for his great friend, John Cooper Clarke). In the book, he recalls – very entertainingly – how, in the early hours of the following morning, the drugs squad raided the hotel they were staying in after the gig, leading to the arrest of guitarist Mick Jones.

Sadly, Johnny Green died, after a short illness, on March 2, 2025. He was 75.”

Pick up a copy of this great book and post-punk time-capsule to read more first-hand accounts from gigs and important events at the time.