An Album I Love - The Clash's Sandinista!
- Elizabeth Guest
- 2 days ago
- 3 min read
We asked our new reviewer Elizabeth Guest to pick an album she loves and tell us why. So here we go with Sandinista! by The Clash
One afternoon whilst listening to The Clash’s Sandinista!, it struck me that I still am yet to listen to a more full bodied, assorted yet simultaneously harmonious album, than The Clash’s fourth output. Released in 1980 and spanning six whole sides of vinyl, with six tracks on each side, the sheer volume of Sandinista! could perhaps be branded as excessive, verging on tedious and maybe even by some, as horrendously self-indulgent. Yet I must offer a counter and I must confess my disagreement. (Also in its favour was the sticker which mandated "pay no more than £3.99 for this album" - Ed)
For all artists, music genres can pose the same danger as quicksand, or cement, or some other adhesive that holds you tight and won’t let go. What I mean by this is that once a band takes an initial step into a genre, no matter how tentative that step may be, it can be a tricky task to deviate and experiment at a later date. Bands get stuck, they get steadfast and they get stationary. They get repetitive in their music and they suffer from the final condemning blow - they get boring. However, with Sandinista!, The Clash forcibly blew open new avenues for further musical exploration and in turn, ensured the band’s notoriety.
Whilst it would be entirely ignorant to herald the album as faultless, and perhaps Sandinista!’s true fate lay in being a double album, it would be an even harsher crime to label it as a complete disaster. Released following the success of The Clash’s triumphantly received third album, London Calling (1979), the band’s follow up was duly primed to be a success. And in many ways, a success it was.
Acting as a vessel for genres such as rock, funk, reggae, jazz, gospel, rockabilly, rap and even disco, Sandinista! was a musical menagerie. Its instrumentation was dynamically diverse, its lyrics politically charged and for the first time ever, all the band’s songs were credited to The Clash as a collective, rather than just to songwriters Strummer and Jones. Sandinista! audibly embraced eclecticism, whilst also being instrumental for intra-band equality.
Not only did the album honour the musical contributions of the stylish bassist Simonon and the hi-hat flourishes of drummer Headon, but Sandinista! is also akin to a musical tour guide. One which takes listeners through music’s many forms, weaving from genre to genre and from country to country.
The album is a mentor, which, from a tender age, bestowed upon me a worldly and historical education. For example, The Magnificent Seven and its rap laced grooves exposed me to the likes of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. The rapid whirring of helicopters of Charlie Don’t Surf was an audible insight to the Vietnam War. Through the reggae rhythms and daring, declarative lyrics of Washington Bullets, I met Fidel Castro, Salvador Allende, Victor Jara and even the Dalai Lama. Maybe documentaries, books or lectures could do the same, but what other artist in my discography can rival that?
I have always christened Sandinista! as my favourite album from The Clash. Whilst this often induces perplexed looks born out of surprise, appreciation or complete disgust, I stand firm in my judgement. The story of Sandinista! is a simple one. If you look and listen closely enough, the brilliance is there for the taking. After all, they say don’t judge a book by its cover and the same applies here: don’t judge a triple album by its swathes of sleeve.
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