Featured Essay: The Brief But Memorable Adventures of Bob and Me

by Rich Wilhelm

The Mystical Dice of Random Musical Destiny decreed that I listen to the Clash’s London Calling and who am I to deny the Mystical Dice of Random Musical Destiny? I love London Calling*, and I’m always happy to give it a spin.*

Let’s just get this out of the way: Henry Rollins’ quote about Joe Strummer preparing us for the current state of affairs might have gotten overexposed over the last month, but the defiance of London Calling sounds necessary right now.

Revolution rock indeed. With bongo jazz being our “spe-ci-al-ity”.

London Calling was released on December 14, 1979 in the United Kingdom, and about a month later in the United States. A wildly eclectic album that absolutely justifies its double-record status, London Calling wowed critics and fans alike upon release and has continued to grow in stature ever since.

Beyond the music, London Calling immediately became iconic for its cover—an homage to Elvis Presley’s eponymous debut album—featuring a photo of Clash bassist Paul Simonon smashing a bass guitar during a New York City show in September 1979.

The Elvis Presley album was just 24 years old when the Clash co-opted its cover. In 21st century terms, this means that, if London Calling was released in 2025, then Elvis Presley would have appeared in 2001.

Think about that for a minute, contemplate your mortality, then we’ll move on.

I’ll be honest: I didn’t know much about the Clash or London Calling in 1980. I was digging ever deeper into music at the time, but London Calling eluded me. Purists will cringe but 1982’s Combat Rock was the first full Clash album I experienced, and it wasn’t until several years later that I finally circled back and discovered London Calling.

I’d like to think I’ve made up for lost time, but it almost doesn’t matter that I came to London Calling late. Whenever you first experience a brilliant work of art, it’s always the right time.

I wasn’t totally clueless about the Clash in 1980. Thanks to my friend Bob, I knew all about “Train in Vain (Stand by Me)”, the single from London Calling that reached #23 on Billboard’s Hot 100 Singles chart in the U.S. that spring.

Let’s talk about Bob. If my life as a 14-year-old was an ‘80s teen movie, Bob would have arrived at just the right moment, which would have been the day I started ninth grade at a large public junior high school, after eight years in a small Catholic grade school. That day was September 5, 1979. As I noted in my diary:

“Began Jr. High School today. Really neat. I think I may get used to it.”

Bob was not there on September 5.

Eventually, I did begin to adjust, but it was tough at first. My family was in between houses, having moved out of the house where I grew up in June. Our new house took longer than expected to be built, so we were temporarily staying with an aunt and uncle until we were finally able to move into the new place in October.

I was looking forward to ninth grade in a new school, but also nervous and self-conscious. I had no friends at the junior high.

While I did make some friends early on, I also became the target of a bully who, for no apparent reason, I’ll call “Bender”.

Bender, when he wasn’t advising classmates that they had probably been duped into buying little plastic baggies of oregano rather than what they really thought they were paying for, would sometimes turn his attention to me, offering me the following thoughts:

“I’m gonna break your face.”

“I’m gonna break your fuckin’ face.”

“I’m gonna break your glasses, then break your fuckin’ face.”

That first day of school would have been a great moment for Bob to show up, and in my memory he did within a week after that, but my diary proves that my memory is faulty.

Finally though, here’s my entry for January 17, 1980:

“New boy, Bob K, started and I helped him get around—I think he was in my kindergarten.”

Again, per my teen movie scenario, our teacher assigned me to show Bob around. Not sure exactly how I felt about that; in the movie version I would have been the surly new kid having to show the newer kid around.

If I harbored any negative emotions about showing Bob the ropes, they dissipated quickly, as Bob and I immediately struck up a quirky friendship that I’ve been thinking about, now and then, ever since.

Incidentally, I can’t remember what made me think Bob and I went to kindergarten together, but in my next day’s diary entry I confirmed that Bob and I had indeed been kindergarten classmates, before going on to note that I had watched the American Music Award with host Elton John that night.

Bob and I had art class together. Our cool teacher, Ms. Dantonio, encouraged us to bring records to class, which several of us enthusiastically did. As you can imagine, we heard a lot of Led Zeppelin’s In Through the Out Door and Pink Floyd’s The Wall in early 1980.

One day, Bob brought two 45-r.p.m. singles he had just bought: a song called “Set Me Free” by Todd Rundgren’s progressive pop band, Utopia, and “Train in Vain (Stand by Me)”, the new Clash single. He’d play them one after another and we enjoyed them both, but it is only in listening to them back-to-back this week, 45 years later, that I realized, despite Utopia and the Clash being very different bands, the two songs share a similar vibe. It must have been a vibe that Bob liked. A Bob vibe.

Meanwhile, Bender may have been planning a new strategy to incorporate Bob into his torments toward me, which, I should note, had never ventured beyond the verbal threats detailed above. But whatever Bender might have done after that was ineffective. What seemed scary when I was dealing with it solo, seemed kind of funny once Bob and I teamed up.

As winter turned to spring, Bob and I continued to bond, mostly over music (but also over an Australian soap opera, Prisoner in Cell Block H, which was being broadcast on weekday afternoons on a Philadelphia station during that season. I just now learned that Sammy Davis Jr. was also a fan!). While we continued to enjoy “Set Me Free” and “Train in Vain (Stand by Me)” together, we branched out to full albums as well. Two of our favorites:

· The Flying Lizards—The Flying Lizards. The Flying Lizards are remembered today almost exclusively for their deconstructive cover of the early Motown classic “Money (That’s What I Want)”, which appears on this debut album. In my February 28th diary entry, I noted: “Went to Tri-State [Mall] for pizza and I bought Flying Lizards. **** Weirdo! Watched Blondie on 20/20.” Our art class companions were understandably confused and occasionally provoked by Flying Lizards, but Bob and I were on board 1000%.

· Billy Joel—52nd Street. Whatever other new wave/no wave inclinations Bob and I might have had, even at 14 we knew a good mainstream pop song when we heard one, and 52nd Street is full of them. It’s also filled with Billy Joel making all kinds of wordless moans, grunts, belches, etc.–give 52nd Street a good, loud listen sometime if you don’t believe me– and Bob and I got a kick out of hearing every one of these extraneous noises.

Nullifying our bully Bender and exposing our classmates to the Flying Lizards weren’t the only ways Bob and I bonded. Possibly encouraged by each other, though I don’t remember that specifically being the case, we auditioned for the junior high musical, Cheaper by the Dozen. We both played two of a trio of high school football players, with our resident ninth grade dreamboat, Joel, playing the third. We appeared onstage in football gear, and, in our big scene, we sang a song called “Hey Angel.”

So, there’s that.

I can think of one more album that Bob and I enthusiastically shared: Blondie’s debut album. We were already Blondie fans, thanks to the hit singles and the Parallel Lines and Eat to the Beat albums. But Bob took us to next level fandom when he gave me a copy of Blondie’s first album, simply titled Blondie, for my 15th birthday in early June. We proceeded to listen to the album several times during the birthday party, howling with laughter at “Rip Her to Shreds”, “Kung Fu Girls”, and “The Attack of the Giant Ants.” And, as much as I love Blondie’s more well-known work, that first album remains one of my favorite records.

School ended a few weeks after my birthday, and almost immediately, my friendship with Bob ended as well. There was no fight or even disagreement. Bob moved away and we simply didn’t keep in touch. But he was undeniably my best friend for the six months I knew him. I think of Bob every time I bond with somebody over music, which happily, still happens with some frequency.

About 15 years or more ago, Bob and I briefly reconnected via social media, but again, no lasting connection was made, and we haven’t connected since. Maybe we will again sometime, but if not, we had “Train in Vain (Stand by Me)”, “Set Me Free”, Flying Lizards, 52nd Street, Blondie, Cheaper by the Dozen, Prisoner in Cell Block H, and our own personal Bender.

And, apparently, kindergarten.

Rich Wilhelm is a writer and record collector who lives in Royersford, Pennsylvania. Rich is the news editor for the communications department at ASTM International. He has written extensively for Cool and Strange Music Magazine, PopMatters, and his own website, The Dichotomy of the Dog. Rich is also a certified volunteer tour guide at Laurel Hill Cemetery in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Rich can be found on social media at Bluesky (@rfwilhelm.bsky.social).

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