'Joe Strummer reports from the war for the end of the world, mocking yuppie-era complacency as he beats his breast and exposes an anxiety as deep as the groaning bass line. At the dawn of the age of Thatcher and with Reaganism just over the horizon, Strummer captures the real big chill with caws and the most implacable music of The Clash's career - choppy guitars and ravaged vocals, stuff that sounds like it has looked the future in the face without flinching and understood that humanity is finished. Yet there's not a breath of misanthropy in it, not even a touch of cynicism. Instead there's humour and furious energy and a desire to leave a mark that even the coming Ice age/Sunburst/Nuclear accident cannot erase.'
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