Yeah Yeah! Yeah Yeah!

We're coming up on the 10th anniversary of Joe Strummer's death, which to me is still the most surprising celebrity death of my lifetime (so far.)

For those who grew up with Strummer, his death offered this jolting reality check: we were officially too old to die young. Still, we hadn't been cheated musically; the Clash weren't about to hit the classic punk circuit. Why, then, did we feel the loss so sharply? Perhaps it was because Strummer was strong enough to stick to his guns, and helped us do the same. He defied the forces whose vicious, buy 'em-or-beat 'em business-as-usual warped a world that deserves better. He never promised change, but he never stopped trying to equal the score either.

Ten years after his death, I hold on to the Strummer who night after night walked point for a gang that had his back for so long, that was the only band that mattered. I listened to the Clash's music a lot, then and now. And on my best days, I feel like I'm part of Joe's gang, too.