One off gig to celebrate the anniversary of the Paris 68 riots

There is no known sound recording of this gig.

Extract from Sounds article 17 June 78 Edition
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PARIS

THE BAND’S decision to play Paris was almost as sudden as mine to go. They’d cancelled out of the gig weeks before but the promoter had gone ahead regardless and spattered the city with posters announcing the appearance of le Clash. The replacement band, Subway Sect, also managed by Bernie Rhodes, understandably fearing a riot, refused to play it when they realised there’d be six thousand odd Parisians expecting the Clash.

So, with only twenty-four hours notice, the Clash organisation was at a higher pitch of streamlined efficiency than ever. When I arrived at the meeting point - somewhat delayed by the roadie being forty-five minutes late and Toper having to buy salt tablets, hair-spray and vitamin pills - Bernie had just done a runner on the band, taking with him not only the car but all their pass- ports. Paul had irked him by painting his naked portrait on a blank white wall and then drenching him with a hose. When he returned he explained he’d only gone to get some petrol anyway. Naturally the journey out to Heathrow in the Clash-mobile was rather tense, enlivened only by Paul’s incessant practical jokes at Bernie’s unwitting expense and Mick pointing out the famed Westway tower-block - `That’s where some of our best songs were written’ ` - and the rest of them joining in with gobbledegook choruses of `London’s Burning’.

RUNNING STRICTLY to Clash schedules, they landed in Paris ten minutes before they were supposed to be onstage. Not that they knew that till after they left the stage. The promoter who met them was so out of it that it took him several attempts to find the car he came in. “See, that’s how you’ll end up if you keep on smoking dope’ announced Bernie to no-one in particular. The promoter, his eyes surrounded by heavy layers of silver glitter, grinned wildly and had another go at trying to find his car keys. The gig was the show piece of the last night of a festival celebrating the tenth anniversary of the French uprising in May 1968 . Organised by the largest French Trotskyist organisation, the Ligue Communiste Revolutionaire, it was held in the Hippodrome which is normally used as a circus. The Subway Sect really needn’t have worried about a riot. They would’ve got it anyway.

Just before the band were about to go on, I wandered out to have a look at the crowd. I only had time to notice that rather a large number of people were wearing crash helmets before a Clash roadie pushed me back to the dressing room with a shout of “Ammonia”.

As far as I can makeout, there’s a French political faction, les Autonomes, who consider all forms of political organisation to be intrinsically bourgeois. So they break up everyone else’s meetings. However, as they were heavily outnumbered, they were soon forced out and the rest of the crowd broke into a couple of verses of the Inter- nationale to clear the air and psyche themselves up for a touch of le vrai punk politique. With the odd bottle still flying at the stage and the sound on stage being about as good as a ten quid tranny’s, the show was the Clash at their most disorganised. The highpoint was Topper and Mick’s duet version of `White Riot’ - Paul had dropped his bass and Joe had knocked over his `mike and thrown down his guitar in disgust.

What they couldn’t understand was why the crowd were threatening another riot if they didn’t do an encore. Almost unable to speak for laughing, they told the promoter: “If you can’t get `em to leave, tell `em we’re coming back again.” Only later did they find out that the sound in the hall itself had been excellent and the French hadn’t totally lost their senses when they demanded more. Still, as one of them said: “The way we played tonight, Don Revie . . . he’d transfer us.”