A Walkin’ Chunk a Mean-Mad: Pretty Boy Floyd & Robin Hood
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Probably no punk band mined American crime for signifiers with more style and intelligence than The Clash (whose class-conscious co-leader, Joe Strummer, was that movement’s Woody Guthrie). In 1979, with Thatcher in office, Reagan in the wings, and both countries veering rightward, the staunchly leftist Clash released London Calling – a brilliant, ragged blend of rock, jazzy blues, and reggae that celebrated gangsters and rude boys alongside Spanish Republican anti-fascists. They followed the LP with a single – the infectious “Bankrobber” – about a “Floyd”-like hood that “never hurt nobody” whose philosophy is articulated early in the song:
Some is rich and some is poor
That’s the way the world is
But I don’t believe in lyin’ back
Sayin’ how bad your luck is
The Clash – Bankrobber
Outlaw motifs permeated hip-hop long before “gangsta” was a designated genre. In 1982, pioneering South Bronx rappers Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five unleashed “The Message” on a public conditioned to think of rap as mere novelty music. A spine-tingling mid-tempo meditation on being trapped in ghetto life, “The Message” took its template from contemplative ’70s soul hits like Sly & the Family Stone’s “Family Affair” (1971) and The Temptations’ “Papa Was a Rolling Stone” (1972), but adapted their claustrophobic, pull-no-punches tone to the new street style.
Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five – The Message
The song’s repeated refrain – It’s like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder how I keep from goin’ under – grows tenser with each utterance as the song’s protagonist sinks deeper into hopelessness and crime. Towards the end, our (anti-) hero makes a surprise appearance:
Now you’re unemployed, all non-void
Walkin’ around like you’re Pretty Boy Floyd
Turned stick-up kid, but look what you done did
Got sent up for a eight-year bid
Unlike Floyd, however, who at least died a fugitive and some kind of hero, this rude boy’s run ends not with a bang but a whimper: consigned to a prison cell and unable to take it anymore, he hangs himself.
If the years since “Floyd” have seen a wild jumble of reiterations of its Robin Hood theme, perhaps it’s appropriate to close with one of the wildest and most jumbled. “Robin Hood” by post-punk veterans The Mekons (whose class-conscious co-leader Jon Langford is surely that movement’s Woody Guthrie) is a sprightly anthem to rebels everywhere – a kind of haphazard compendium of the heroic outlaw myth that crisscrosses oceans, centuries, and ideologies from their 1988 album So Good It Hurts. If The Clash extolled crime over tyranny by conflating bank-robbers with Spanish freedom fighters, here The Mekons – whose “country punk” period was partly an angry roots-rock response to Thatcher’s crushing of the 1984/5 Welsh miners’ strike – gleefully add Irish Republicans, medieval Nizari Assassins, and Greek Resistance fighters to the anarchic mix.
As a song, “Robin Hood” is a funny almost-shambles with so many words crammed into its verses Mekon Tom Greenhalgh can barely spit them out. Lyrically it’s an unwieldy hoot where the Merry Men are gay and pirates hide on estate grounds, waiting to ambush Tory fox-hunters. Its unlikely sing-along chorus – catchy and inspiring after two or three goes – is something you can almost imagine Woody Guthrie writing in a puckish mood, once again winning hearts and minds with a wink:
Rise like lions, shake your chains, babe
Ye are many, they are few
Take from the rich and give to the poor
Take from the rich and give to the poor
— Mekons: “Robin Hood”
Mekons – Robin Hood