On May 25, 2001, there stood on a single London stage Joe Strummer, Mick Jones, Paul Simonon and Topper Headon--all told, "a fucking gorgeous bunch of blokes," in the estimation of one Peter Townshend, who's known his share of rough boys. Their names rang a bell. They looked familiar, if inexplicably fancy. Paul, appearing far more beefy than he did during his days of string-bean cool, wore dark shades, a gray suit, a white shirt with open lapels. He looked like Mafia, like he didn't wanna be fucked with. Mick, beneath a nearly bald head and a thin smile, sported a black suit, crisp white shirt and matching tie; a red kerchief poked out of his breast pocket, very classy. Joe, once the mohawked one, donned a black waistcoat streaked with white pinstripes; his hair was well-coifed. Only Topper wore jeans, but likely he just wanted to be comfortable. He stood between his old mates using crutches to prop himself up. The sight of Topper on crutches initially made Joe laugh. The old days, at that moment, seemed a million years away. It's just hard to be tough when you need... More >>>