Clem Burke was the greatest drummer of the punk generation, and the hardest working man in rock and roll. He was such a vibrant, enthusiastic, vivid character, it is hard to believe he is dead, aged 70, from cancer. The world is going to be a quieter place without him, that’s for sure.
I first saw him pounding the drums with Blondie at two shows in Edinburgh in 1978 – and pounding is the right word. Clem was the kind of drummer who liked to hit things hard and make sure they stayed hit. His strong arms were a blizzard of action as he played, thundering around his kit. There was none of that slick Charlie Watts wrist jazz action when Clem played. He lifted his sticks high and brought them back down so you could see as well as feel the impact.
He wasn’t a fussy drummer, and maybe not technically audacious, but he was always right on the beat, driving the band along, urging them to give it more. It was like having a cheerleader in the engine room. I can’t think of anyone apart from maybe Keith Moon and Ringo Starr who ever looked like they were having more fun making that kind of racket. And nobody who looked more stylish.
Clem was surely the best dressed drummer in rock history, with his huge head of mop top hair and his sharp, bright and colourful Mod clothing style, all pop art t-shirts and snappy jackets. As a rule, drummers tend to be amongst the more slovenly band members, at least whilst in action on stage, where dressing for comfort and physical movement is a priority. But at the height of Blondie’s pop fame, if you could tear your eyes away from supercool frontwoman Debbie Harry, there would be Clem dressed like he had just stepped off the cover of a 1960s style magazine, jacket buttoned up, skinny tie firmly in place, thrashing the living hell out of his kit with casual joy.
It is incredible really that in a band fronted by a star as gorgeous and charismatic as Harry, Clem Burke stood out so powerfully in his own right. It is a cliché to say the drummer is the heartbeat of the band, but Clem was Blondie’s musical touchstone, a man who looked exactly like Blondie records sounded: sharp, fun, with a cartoonish zest locked tight into the ideals of rock as a perfect pop art form, especially when blasted out with a bit of new wave speed and energy.
He was probably Blondie’s biggest fan. He once told me that Debbie was his Bowie, and he knew when he first met her in New York in the mid-1970s that he wanted to hitch his fortunes to hers. He was a bit heartbroken when Blondie broke up (or really just drifted apart) in 1982, but it certainly didn’t make him want to throw down his sticks. He sometimes called himself a “Rock and Roll Survivalist”. As long as he could play, he knew he would be alright.
The list of rock greats Clem played with over the years is astonishing. He is all over the first Eurthymics album and toured with the UK’s great synth pop duo for 10 years. He sat in with the Ramones when they were between drummers in 1987, earning the honorary sobriquet Elvis Ramone. He backed Bob Dylan, Pete Townshend, Iggy Pop, Joan Jett, Wanda Jackson, Nancy Sinatra and the Go-Go’s, frequently collaborated with members of the Sex Pistols, as well as lending his talents to such garage band heroes as the Fleshtones and Adult Net.
I know he was totally delighted when Blondie reunited in 1999 and has been a mainstay of their albums and tours ever since. Indeed, he was in a studio working on a new Blondie album last year, and so I don’t think we have quite heard the last of him yet. Clem loved that band so much, he was even known to play with a Blondie Tribute act, Bootleg Blondie, with whom he toured around British clubs in 2019. That might seem weird but actually it was a reflection of Clem’s greatest quality – his enthusiasm.
He was such a sucker for playing music, such a fan of rock and roll, he genuinely did not seem to care whether he was playing in a stadium or a sweaty dive bar, as long as he was playing. So when one tour finished, he would find another one to busy himself with, working with all kinds of pick up bands and offbeat projects, often with other hard-working survivors of the punk generation. He had a ”use it or lose it” attitude. He felt playing was the best way to keep his skills tuned up.
I had the pleasure to chat with him a few times over the years, in TV and recording studios. He came across as surprisingly humble and sincere, and very knowledgeable about music. I once found myself out at dinner with Clem, Bob Geldof and Glen Matlock, members respectively of Blondie, The Boomtown Rats and the Sex Pistols. I had a little moment when I thought, “this is my teenage bedroom wall, right here at this table”.
The last time I saw him play was in the 100 Club in London in March 2023. He was part of an Iggy Pop tribute band playing the entirety of one of my favourite albums, 1977’s Lust For Life. It was 45 years since I had first seen Clem Burke play, and of course he looked older, and so did I. But his energy and drive and passion was undiminished. And he was still the best-dressed drummer in town, with the best head of hair. That was a hell of an exciting show.
Clem played so many small gigs, I once asked him if he actually needed the money – which would have seemed astonishing given the career he’d led. He assured me he was financially fine. “I just like to play,” he said. And I just liked to see him play.
