I'm Not Working For The Clampdown

"Gods Of Their Own Religion": A Film. A Revolution Rock Reflection

“No man born with a living soul can be working for the clampdown” (Clampdown)**

** All quotations are taken from song lyrics within The Clash’s classic 1979 album “London Calling”, the majority of which are derived from one track, “Clampdown”. Reference to the relevant track follows each quotation.

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Definition.

Clampdown: a sudden action taken by a government or people in authority to stop or limit a particular activity or activities. (Cambridge Dictionary)

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I grew up in the 1970s. I recall distinctly and was influenced greatly by the mid-late 1970s punk rock movement. The Sex Pistols. The Clash. The Damned. I immersed myself in the movement, the Zeitgeist, and embraced the sense of rebellion and disregard for authority. Much of it was mindless, yet some elements, thoughtful yet frustrated, considered yet angry, articulated clearly and railed against the oppressions, restrictions and control of governmental and societal authorities. None achieved this more clearly and effectively than The Clash. “Clampdown”, a track from their 1979 classic album “London Calling” articulates a powerful polemic against a society subjugated and controlled by governmental and corporate holders of power. The Clash critiqued the myriad systems that enforce control of the masses, painting a picture where people are manipulated, controlled, and stripped of their freedoms. Often from childhood too. “We will teach our twisted speech, to the young believers,” (Clampdown), a reference to the sinister methods employed to manipulate and control the masses from a young age. As 1970s young punk rockers we listened and were then ever vigilant against the overreach of our political and corporate masters, rejecting their expectations vociferously. Fast forward forty years, the idealism of youth has been seemingly long since discarded, the passionate rebellion dissipated, sacrificed even upon the altar of ever-encroaching materialist and corporate poison. My generation became soft, hard of hearing and indifferent to the ever-present threats to individual freedoms, and the encroaching restrictions that seek and threaten to extinguish the lamp of the collective human heart.  I suppose, tragically, “We grew up, and we calmed down, and [now] we’re working for the clampdown.” (Clampdown)

In March 2020, the entire world permitted itself to be subjected to the most oppressive and heinous series of suffocating restrictions. Has the world ever witnessed such a global clampdown on individual freedoms? In the UK, the “kingdom was ransacked, the jewels all taken back” (Clampdown), and we recall the suffocating and oppressive actions of Boris Johnson, our then Prime Minster, and his ghastly henchmen, those “evil presidentes” (Clampdown), all demanding lockdowns, restrictions, vaccines and masks. Quite literally it was “London Calling, to the zombies of death. Quit holding out and hold another breath.”(London Calling). And where were the prominent reactions from within the myriad artistic industries, those conduits of rebellious expression, that would lead the way and make it clear in no uncertain terms that these restrictions would not be tolerated? Where were the modern-day equivalents of the outraged 1970s punk movement? Who emerged as the twenty-first century Jon Lydon, Joe Strummer, Jon Cooper Clarke? Where were the artists, the comedians, the musicians, the personalities that arose in utter defiance of all that occurred?  Which band penned the new ‘Clampdown”? Which band called for a “brand new beat.”? For “This here music to mash up the nation, cause a sensation”? (Revolution Rock). Sadly, there were no such bold and prominent dissenting artistic voices providing a polemic against all that was foisted upon us in 2020 and since. “London Calling, but don’t look to us. Phoney Beatlemania has bitten the dust” (London Calling). So many cowards, so many bought and paid for, fame-hungry prostitutes, each of them up to that point a  “gimmick hungry yob digging gold from rock 'n' roll” promising as he grabbed the proverbial mike that “he'll die before he's sold.” We should have known.  We should have seen it, “…it's been tested by research, that he who fucks nuns will later join the church” (Death Or Glory). Perhaps to seek such voices is nothing more than a fool’s errand. We have long been warned that “The voices in your head are calling, Stop wasting your time, there’s nothing coming. Only a fool would think someone could save you” (Clampdown). And so we could reflect with Joe Strummer, channelling his inner Spike Milligan, questioning  “What are we gonna do now?” (Clampdown).

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Well, it is not all bad news. In early November 2023, I was invited to attend the premiere of a documentary on the making of a forthcoming film, a critique of the suffocating dystopian restrictions of 2020. I travelled to London to visit a “stylish rock ’n roll haven, with a nod to late-night revelry, mixed with stylish music-inspired decorative accents’’. As I entered, descended the stairs, and walked into the small cinema area, I noticed, adorned upon the walls, paintings of various famous rock musicians and a rather inviting large Marshall amplifier and speaker cabinet. I wondered what these icons of past rebelliousness “would have to say to us, while we were being clever” (Bankrobber). I longed for a guitar, a microphone and an old-fashioned punk rock gig. My inner Clash City Rocker remains alive to some degree.  There was no guitar present to plug in, no microphone, and no gig. Perhaps for the best. No one needs to hear that. Life has moved on. Nevertheless, I felt very much at home, meeting and chatting with the thriving, energetic community gathered to watch. A few hours later I knew I had witnessed something rather unique. “No Budget, No Script, No Permission”, illustrated the trials and travails encountered by director Naeem Mahmood and his wonderfully talented and indomitable team as they set about creating “Gods Of Their Own Religion”.  Filmed in just nineteen days, there was quite literally a zero budget, no discernible script, and a total lack of permission to go about creating this film. Crucially, filmed during the initial lockdown period of 2020, the documentary and that evening’s subsequent Q&A session promised that the film will be no sci-fi fantasy of a possible dystopian future, but shall be an examination and reminder of an all too real authoritarian recent past and present. In my view, this documentary of the making of “Gods Of Their Own Religion”, is essential viewing in its own right, and I am rather glad that I was able to do so before encountering the film several weeks later.

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It is now early December and I have a ticket for the Welsh premiere of “Gods Of Their Own Religion”, being screened at Swansea’s famous Covid lockdown-defying Cinema and Co. I arrive alone and am quickly immersed once again, chatting with the gathered community. Naeem Mahmood and his brother, Ash, emerge from the back of the cinema, head towards me and greet me with huge warmth and familial friendliness. I am astonished. These are busy men, well-known men, so how on earth do they remember me from a brief meeting several weeks earlier? Interestingly, there is a revealing moment within the documentary, where Naeem takes some time to greet a classroom of children, who had just performed in several scenes in the main film. He addresses by name each child who had taken part, ensuring they are valued personally and feel that they have contributed.  This is the mark of the man, a wonderfully engaging man, energetic and passionate. He is a man of great style and substance, of deep conviction and eloquence. He looks like a world-class lightweight boxer, celebrating life as if he has just clinched the world title, but don’t be fooled by his lithe and fit physique, this man belongs in the heavyweight category of artistic output. And he is a champion there too.

“Gods Of Their Own Religion” is no simplistic viewing experience, expect no spoon-fed, trash Holywood television here. The film does not just challenge the cerebral machinery, as it assaults it at every possible point.  A deliberate lack of dialogue between the main characters creates enigma, ambiguity and possibility for the viewer. The main characters, strut throughout the film like the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse, raw, hungry, and not “fed the grapes that go ripe in the sun, that loosen the screws at the back of the tongue” (Four Horsemen). All four actors, relatively unknown, convince in their respective roles. The riotous  Kyd Nereida “Kid”, mesmerises throughout with flamboyant but subversive jouissance.  Orbiting her are the brooding, menacing, half-dressed Ricki Hall, astonishing throughout in his portrayal of “King”, the well-tailored, silent, questioning and thoroughly stylish Christopher Chung and the enigmatic, intense Michael Hagan.

Yet I hesitate to venture beyond this point and to describe further or review this film. And for several reasons. Chiefly, almost a week after viewing the film, I am still yet to parse out and understand the meaning and message portrayed. In the post-modern milieu, it is customary to have the audience experience a piece of art, music, film, theatre or other endeavour and require them to create their own meaning and conclusions. I have always been somewhat reluctant to engage in such a manner, preferring always to locate my understanding as close to the artist’s intent as I am able. Authorial intent precedes and controls audience response. Or should do, at least. Here, unlike The Catcher in The Rye’s Holden Caulfield, wishing that the author of a piece of literature was a terrific friend to be called up on the phone to ask him what he meant, I had an immediate opportunity to engage the author, and without need of a phone. I felt Caulfield’s burning jealousy as following the premiere of the film I took time to speak with Naeem Mahmood about his vision and intent with this film. I pointed out that as a classic overthinker, I would need time to reflect and consider the details. He was somewhat candid, of course, assuring me that the film functioned much as the proverbial onion with many layers. These layers would peel back with subsequent viewings and reflections. Meaning would come, but not easily. Thought and hard work would be required. I like that. Yet I was able to glean some direction and help from this amiable gentleman.

Before the March 2020 lockdown, Naeem Mahmood, had returned to the UK via Beijing from a business trip. In Beijing, he first encountered what he saw as a sinister masking of the airport’s visitors and users. Returning to what he felt was normality in the UK was a rather short-lived experience. Weeks later the country was locked down and masked. This dystopian, sinister and authoritarian government diktat provided the inspiration, the direct backdrop, and the Sitz im Leben of “Gods Of Their Own Religion”. Mahmood perceives, and via his film warns against, the dangers of abdicating personal responsibility and permitting authorities to lockdown, suppress and herd their populations. In a Q&A session at the end of the Swansea premiere of the film, he was asked how as individuals we can wake up others to the sinister realities that surround us. His response was enlightening, pressing home the point that our primary task is to wake ourselves up, to be on alert to the dissipation of personal freedoms, to resist all oppression, and to seek no permission to live our lives with truth and authenticity. I almost thought I heard him sing “Let fury have the hour, anger can be power. Do you know that you can use it?.” (Clampdown). It all felt very 1979 to me.

This film will not appeal to the majority. It requires thought and considered reflection. It will expose those who went along with official narratives. It will however act as a lightning rod, attracting those who now see clearly what has been done to us. Naeem Mahmood promises that this film is just part one of a three-part trilogy. In 1977 The Clash released their first self-titled album. It was a classic. A raw, unapologetic, masterpiece created speedily with limited budget, script or permission. Their second album ‘Give ‘Em Enough Rope” elevated their artistic output to a new dimension. Their third album “London Calling” is popularly acclaimed as the Magnus Opus of their musical output. The parallels here are obvious. Over to you Naeem Mahmood. London Calling. The stage is yours.

Naeem Mahmood, yours truly and Ash Mahmood meet at the Swansea Premiere.