So sad to hear of the death of Clem Burke from cancer. He was such a lovely guy – a real gentleman of rock’n’roll.
I have a couple of Clem Burke stories. In the Spring of 1996 I did a little tour of Spain with a Los Angeles band named The Plimsouls. I was the only guitar tech and it was quite a demanding job. They had nine guitars between them, in all different tunings, and they liked them to be re-strung if possible after every gig. I would close my eyes at night and see the tuning meter. Anyway, Clem was drumming for this band and it took me at least three days to realise who he was. The penny finally dropped: Oh my God! You’re Clem Burke the drummer from Blondie. Clem smiled. I think he liked that I hadn’t known who he was and we became fast friends. We bonded over The Who and Jimmy Reed. Such things can form deep bonds. Especially on tour. Clem had the New York/ New Jersey attitude down to the nth degree. I’ve never seen anybody shrug with such effortless insouciance. Clem was on a strict macrobiotic diet at the time and therefore could not eat 95% of the food that was set in front of him. In Spain they had the severed legs of dead animals hanging over the counter in most of the cafes we frequented so he was basically fasting most of the time. This did not stop him from drumming like a Keith Moon crazed maniac on all the gigs. Nor did he ever once complain. When the tour ended we kept in touch for a little while. The Plimsouls disbanded due to real life getting in the way. Peter Case had a flourishing solo career. Eddie Munez had a good job as an illustrator. Blondie got back together. Clem went back to being an international rock star. But still he took the time to send me a handwritten note telling me of the band’s sad demise and when Blondie came to London he got in touch to invite me to the show at the Drury Lane Theatre. With my guest ticket was a backstage pass so I ‘went round’, as you do, and Clem was the genial host, introducing me to the singer who looked like the coolest auntie you never had, taking off her make up. She was lovely, but I didn’t stick around to make a nuisance of myself. “If you’re ever in LA, give me a call”, said Clem.
Well it so happened that I WAS in LA, a year or so later, visiting a dear friend. So I called the number Clem had given me. He picked up straight away and asked me for the address where I was staying. I gave it to him. “Give me 45 minutes,” he said. 45 minutes later he turned up in his beautiful rock’n’roll car and gave me a guided tour of his Los Angeles. We stopped at a juice bar on Santa Monica. He bought me a carrot juice. We clicked paper cups. “Welcome to Hollywood!” said Clem. We walked to the end of Santa Monica pier and I had my little American epiphany. Very poignant to consider now, with the unravelling of the America I loved. “I get it!” I said to myself. “I understand!” What the Americans get so protective about. The whole American THING revealed itself to me in a blinding rock’n’roll flash. All those Beach Boys songs suddenly made sense. I know it’s silly but it’s a very fond memory and Clem made that happen for me. It was him. I told him about it and he just smiled. What could he say?
We ended up in a diner. I offered to pay my whack but Clem wouldn’t hear of it. We said our goodbyes and I never really saw him again until a couple of years ago when my old friend Kevin Armstrong brought the ‘Lust For Life’ band to Glasgow. Trish and I went and had a great old time, dancing around to the rock’n’roll and I went backstage afterwards, looking forward to catching up with Clem. But I don’t think he remembered me and I didn’t want to press the case and besides, Kevin was being such a gracious host, introducing me and Trish to all sorts of people. It was a lovely evening. As I left Clem was sitting in an armchair looking tired.
Now he’s gone. Bloody cancer. Bless his rock’n’roll heart. Thank you, Clem. Wherever Keith Moon is playing, that’s where he’ll be.