Rebel Dread (2022) Movie Script

Punk Rock is the spirit
that can inform whatever you do.
It's about how you do what you do.
Being prepared to turn left
when everyone else is going right.
Not taking anything at face value.
Punk Rock gives you the licence
to be all you can be.
It's about turning problems
into assets.
And as a first generation
British born black,
that's something I know a lot about.
I now war is declared
and battle come down
I forget it, brother,
you can go it alone
I quit holding out
and draw another breath
I grew up in a two up, two down
in Brixton.
Brixton was kind of cool back then.
We had an attitude. We had a look.
Brixton in the early '70s
was like little Jamaica.
You're walking down Railton Road,
which is the main drag
through the area
and there's Rasta brethren
on the street, there's people selling...
The record shop where you go
every Friday night
with your hardearned money
or your dole money
and try and buy the latest releases.
And it was just a tremendous sense
of community, no racial tension.
None of that.
Left to our own devices,
this kind of multicultural combination
of misfits kind of got on.
And I mean, racism, it was there.
You see the thing on the walls,
you know, "wogs go home"
or what's the other one?
The national front stuff. NF things.
We knew it was there,
but we didn't really check it.
It certainly didn't affect me.
When you went down the dole office,
there wasn't one queue for black people
and one queue for white people.
We were all in the same boat together.
I got to say that I got the reputation
of being a freak in Brixton.
Because he'd be wearing eyeshadow
and fucking earrings all over the place.
And my friends would see him and say,
"Desmond, what's wrong with Don?
What's wrong your brother?
"How come he's wearing makeup
and fucking dressing like that?"
He was just weird, but he was
into that Bowie shit, you know?
So what can you say?
Very soon, I started to wander over
to the King's Road, Chelsea.
In the early '70s,
that was the most countercultural,
happening place you could go.
So I'm looking for more inspiration,
information, whatever you want to call it,
and eventually ended up working
in a place called the Jean machine.
That was blinding because this is where
all the freaks were -
dykes, the gay crew
and people that were in between...
It was all about hedonism.
The club scene was a big part
of it. Soul started to come into the mix.
Soul was big.
Everyone was listening to soul.
The hip crowd was listening to soul
and the white workingclass kids
were also listening to soul.
And I'm going to lots of gigs now.
I'm seeing Stevie Wonder, Barry White.
I'm seeing the stylistics.
I remember seeing
Marvin Gaye one time.
I'm in the audience and he's doing his
thing and I'm thinking, "okay, Marvin,
"you're there doing your thing,
and that's great, but what am I?"
"Where do I fit in the scheme of things?
"How do I empower myself?"
I remember
consciously thinking about that,
not knowing
quite how to put it into action.
Don was about
three years younger than me, I guess.
But Don was like... let me see now...
He was like... he was fat.
A fat motherfucker,
and he was a pain in the neck.
He thought he knew it all.
You know, that kind of shit.
He'd kind of sharpened up.
He lost a lot of weight.
Once he lost weight, he was different.
From that fat motherfucker,
he's now a young guy
and he's working in the King's Road
and he was happening.
And he was a good dancer.
As a good dancer, you pull girls.
So in between clubbing
in the night-time, seeing lots of girls,
and seeing even more selling jeans
in the shop in the daytime,
I was having a pretty good time
in the kind of early '70s.
So I quit the Jean machine because
they had branches all over the place
and they wanted to move me
somewhere like Richmond,
which definitely wasn't so hip.
So I quit the Jean machine
and again found myself wandering up
and down the King's Road, Chelsea,
and I stumbled into this place called
too fast to live, too young to die.
Or it could have been let it rock
because Malcolm and Vivienne were
always changing the names around.
I walked into this kind
of Aladdin's cave of counterculture.
There was a bit of rubber
and leather gear.
There was some Teddy boy stuff.
But it was very intimidating.
It wasn't kind of user friendly.
I mean, no one ran up
and said, "can I help you, sir?"
But it was something about this place
and I quickly struck up a conversation
with both Vivienne and Malcolm.
Soon after I struck up this friendship
with them, Malcolm went to the states
to manage the New York Dolls.
I spent quite a few months
with Vivienne.
One evening she took me
to see Lou Reed.
I'm wearing like
an electric blue zoot suit
and she's wearing
a translucent rubber catsuit.
Got a great education from those two.
It was very fortuitous meeting Malcolm
'cause it was Malcolm
that really showed me
that these subcultures
that I was so enamoured with...
They didn't happen in isolation.
They had kind of a tradition
and a heritage.
What I gleaned from that was that
if I had an idea and I was brave enough
that maybe I could be part
of this thing too.
It was that period
when he started doing his locks.
He started to grow his locks
because he had a big Afro then.
Hanging out with Viv and Malcolm was
cool but I needed to make some money.
Viv actually offered me a job
at one time,
but I really couldn't see me
in rubber tights and high heels.
It wasn't for me.
It was a step too far.
And eventually I got a job managing
a store called Acme Attractions.
Upstairs it was kind of fuddy duddy,
genuine old antiques.
And then there was me on this one stall
with my kind of demob suits,
'60s clothing and a jukebox
that was pumping hardcore Dub Reggae,
which pissed all the old fogeys off,
really drove them up the wall.
So eventually they gave us a space
in the basement to get rid of us.
And that's when Acme Attractions
really came into its own.
Acme Attractions
was a legendary clothes shop
in the King's Road in the '70s.
It was the cutting edge
of London streetwear at the time.
I can remember seeing Don,
because he was strikingly goodlooking,
proper lady killer, you know.
And I guess at the time,
I was quite envious of him.
Even though we didn't know him,
in those days if you saw
a nonwhite face working in those shops,
there had to be something about them.
There weren't many black people around
who were crossing over
all the roads that there were to cross,
you know?
People would come down
there for three things...
The clothes we were selling,
the music we were playing
or to meet Jeanette,
who was then my girlfriend.
We'd met during the soul scene
a few years previous.
I'd taken a shine to her and asked her
to come and work with me in the shop.
Don was
very charismatic, charming, arrogant,
very smart, funny, quite cocky.
There was definitely an attraction.
I started seeing him immediately.
I'd never had a proper boyfriend before.
He was my first boyfriend.
Acme became like a meeting place for
all the misfits, peacocks and rude boys
because we were
blasting out Reggae,
which attracted
a really unusual crowd.
It really was more like a social club.
John Lydon would come in.
Sid would come in.
Bob Marley came.
Don got quite friendly with him.
Rod Stewart, Debbie Harry,
Hall & Oates, you know, just endless.
And then after about six weeks
of seeing each other
every single day
and every single night,
he sprang it on me.
He was married and that his wife
was away in America for two months.
And she was coming back
the very next day.
I was in my early teens when I married
Marilyn. We shouldn't have done it.
We were far too young
and I was far too volatile.
Didn't know where the hell I was going.
That whole scene that was going on
on the King's Road, Chelsea
was against a backdrop
of social crisis in the mid '70s.
We're talking about mass unemployment,
three day weeks, strikes.
The bin men aren't collecting the rubbish.
It was absolute turmoil.
We were feeling the pressure
on the streets,
specifically under 'sus law',
which just gave policemen permission
to pull up anybody they want to
if they looked suspicious.
And of course,
everybody black looked suspicious.
So you're getting hassled
all the fucking time.
It got to the point
where I'd be driving my car
and if I saw a cop tailing me
from behind,
I'd stop before they pulled me up
and I'd be like,
"officer, please,
you're making me nervous.
"I can't drive.
Do you want something or not?"
And I hit them with my best English,
which would always freak 'em out.
Another tactic I used
is when they stop me on the street,
I'd have hands spread-eagled,
like in the American cop films.
Sometimes it got a bit more extreme
where they'd pull me up
and I'd jump out of my car
and jump on the bonnet
or the roof of my car,
start taking my clothes off,
you know, screaming,
"why are you crucifying me again?",
to get an audience
to take control of the situation.
Having said that, if you got stopped
by cops on your own at night,
forget about it. It was "yes, sir,
no, sir, three bags full, sir."
Don was very erm...
Take no shit... from nobody.
Whoever it is, police, whatever,
and nothing will stop him.
He's as good as the next man.
Back in those days if...
A black man with a car
meant he was a drug dealer,
meant he was a pimp,
meant that he was the villain.
Black guy had a car,
pull him over.
He must have stolen it.
So, the landscape, racially,
I guess there was a lot of ignorance.
And for us, being the generation born
and raised here,
it wasn't about trying to fit in
and be part of it, you know.
For none of us, it weren't that.
We had a different fight.
That was the thing
about the racial climate in Britain.
It was pretty on fire when it came to
dealing with the authorities
like the police and stuff like that.
And I guess
that would really manifest itself
in the first riots in Notting Hill.
That day,
the riot in Notting Hill carnival,
oh man,
I've never been so frightened in my life.
Police was just running
through the crowd and hitting people.
I didn't know what happened.
People just started rioting.
That riot actually started
around the arrest of a pickpocket
or the attempted arrest
of a pickpocket,
and the cops jumped in
somewhat heavy handedly.
But it wasn't really
about the pickpocket.
It was about the bullshit that we'd had
to put up with the whole rest of the year.
This tension was bubbling. It was like
a pressure cooker that had to go off.
The truth is, we were looking
for any excuse to let it out, man.
And it might sound like a weird thing
to say, but it was a beautiful day.
My father, St. Leger Letts...
Named after a horse race,
can you believe it?
And my mother, Valerie Letts,
came over on the queen Mary in 1955.
My father found work driving a bus
and my mother, she was a seamstress.
I was born a year later, 1956,
in the royal borough of Kensington.
It was six of us altogether.
My mother and father,
me and Norman,
Desmond, who is a child from her side,
and Derek,
a child from my father's side.
That was the thing
about my parents' generation.
It was all about the kids. I mean,
their lives stopped at like 20, 21...
Partying, having a good time
Forget about it.
All they lived for was making sure
their kids were well-dressed,
wellfed and well-educated.
The first school I went to
was Christchurch Primary School.
You know, I remember bonding
with this guy, who was it...? Jeffrey Love.
He was my best mate. You know,
we were going to be friends for life.
We even did the blood brothers thing.
Innocent kids, innocent times.
The whole racial thing didn't come
into it. It's like it didn't exist.
Even when there was trouble,
they didn't revert
to colour-coded insults.
That changed dramatically
when I went to my secondary school,
Archbishop Tenison's by the Oval.
In 1968, Enoch Powell,
he made something called
"the Rivers of Blood" speech.
In 15 or 20 years' time,
the black man will have
the whip hand over the white man.
Before that speech, me and my friends
were all getting on in the playground.
The minute he dropped that statement,
the whole landscape changed.
Politics came into play.
All of a sudden, I wasn't their mate
Lettsy. I was "you black bastard."
And life was never the same after that.
I've been called everything
from the obvious 'black bastard',
'golliwog', 'nigger',
'Brillo Bonce', 'Kitty Kat eater'
and so on and so forth.
And this was relentless.
The saving grace for me was that
by this time the whole civil rights thing
was going on in America.
1968 we're talking about.
I mean, the world was bloody exploding
all over the place.
And that James Brown song
"Say it loud I'm black and I'm proud."..
Really empowered me
and made me realise
that I wasn't the poor relation,
that I had something to bring to the party.
They'd call me a 'black bastard' and
I'd go, "yeah, that's right. Now what?"
So, on one hand, you got
Enoch Powell "Rivers of BBlood."
On the other hand,
you've got James Brown.
"Say it loud I'm black and I'm proud."
And that's what I went with.
And then one day I'm in the playground
and a rumour goes around
there's some band playing in this place
called the young Vic in Waterloo.
Turns out it's The Who doing
what's called a full production rehearsal.
I'm 10 feet from the stage.
I can see the whites
of Keith Moon's eyes.
Townsend's doing his windmills
and my mind was blown.
I didn't know
what was going on in front of me,
but I knew I wanted to be part of this.
Next day, I'm rebelling.
Rock and Roll really ruined
my school life.
There was nothing going to dissuade me
from this new world that I'd seen,
this new universe,
new possibilities.
I remember one day
I'm being ignored in the classroom
and I wanted some attention.
So I set fire to the desk.
That burning of the desk was like
some kind of Rock and Roll rebirth.
Because it definitely lit the way
for a new Don Letts.
As I'm coming out of my formative years
and becoming a teenager,
the whole Rock and Roll thing started to
cause obvious problems with my parents.
They'd sent me to grammar school
and expected all this great stuff for me.
But here I was sort of
going down a different road.
And we were obviously
going to rub heads.
So at 16, I left home, went to live
with my brother, Desmond.
So it was during my time
at Acme Attractions
that the whole Punk thing
really kicks off
with the advent of the Pistols,
it has to be said.
I was a bit jaded to it all at first
because it was stealing the attentions
of my girlfriend, Jeanette.
Before the whole Punk thing,
I was the cock on the block.
And all of a sudden there's
these white guys stealing her attention.
Then she took me to see The Clash.
And it was at that moment that I got it.
And then very quickly,
I struck up serious friendships
with people like Strummer
and John Lydon.
I mean, if it wasn't for Jeanette,
I might have missed the Punk thing.
I hadn't told her this
but I was a total Beatle fanatic.
I have the second largest collection
of Beatles memorabilia in the UK.
And then Punk Rock explodes.
Two days later,
I swapped the whole lot
for a fuck off American car.
One like in "Starsky and Hutch."
We're talking with the big wheels,
decals and everything.
Punk Rock was like an extreme thing.
It was like out with the old,
in with the new.
It was like a purge,
a purge of all that had gone before.
By the mid '70s,
the popular music of the time
was all this, you know,
overextended prog rock stuff
that seemed a million miles
from the vibe on the street.
They're singing about Hotel California.
We didn't know
where California was
much less
being able to afford a fucking hotel.
Luckily for me,
I had the soundtrack to ease my pain
and I had the Reggae.
My white mates were not so lucky.
So they set about creating their own
soundtrack and that would be Punk Rock.
And you began to see
the kind of bubbling of this
at the end of '75, '76
and it fully exploded in 1977...
With the opening of the Roxy,
this new place that was started
by Andrew Czezowski.
Andrew Czezowski who was
Acme Attraction's accountant.
And because of the reaction I got
to the music I was playing in the shop
he asked me to DJ there.
I'd never DJ'd in my life.
I had no aspirations of becoming a DJ
but I thought, I'll have a go.
Now, this is so early
in the Punk Rock scene,
there ain't no Punk records to play.
No UK ones anyway.
So what am I going to do? I play what
I like. I'm playing hardcore Dub Reggae.
So Andrew offers me the job at the Roxy
and he says, "oh, I'm looking for staff."
And I go back to Forest Hill,
where I'm living with my Rasta brethren.
I'm like, "do you want to work
for these Punks down the west end?"
They were like, "get the fuck
out of here." Not interested at all.
I said,
"well, just come and have a look."
So the Roxy club is like this Punk club...
Everybody knows about, right? Yeah.
And Don was going to be the DJ
because by now he was living
in Forest Hill with Leo and Jr.
And a bunch of other guys,
had a little posse up there.
There's four of us.
Four black guys living in Forest Hill,
an old couple living downstairs
and the landlord wanting us to make noise
To get the old couple out,
which we tried, but they didn't
move in the long run.
Don said one day,
look, he's got a gig as a DJ at this club
and he wanted us to come down,
we could work behind the bar
and get a little job here and there.
When we decided to go to the Roxy
and we see all these Punks
and guys wearing pins
through their nose
and swastika shit and bondage things...
They were really freaky.
Jamaican boys, we're not used
to this thing. This is weird.
At first, we were frightened.
These were weirdos, these kids.
But somewhere along the line,
man, I mean, you know, we got on.
They come down to the club
and they see two things.
They see the girls
and they see an untapped herb market.
Two days later, all my Rasta brethren
were working at the club.
I was the dealer there.
So that was my job,
that was my little earner.
Sid vicious and guys like that
would come up and ask for
two special brew and a spliff.
We had to keep this quiet
because Andrew would go nuts
if he knew we were selling ganja.
We were probably making more
money than him at the bar.
I'll never forget seeing
Shane MacGowan drunkenly say,
"give me two beers
and one spliff."
Then after a moment's thought he said,
"no, give me one beer and two spliffs."
Perfect example of cultural exchange.
We were there pretty
much every single night that it existed.
And one day he just announced,
"I think I'm going to get a camera."
And from that moment he was filming
practically every band that played there.
He probably saw it
before I did, before Leo and us.
Don saw it. He was ahead.
He saw the young guys coming up.
We saw what they were into,
their attitude
and what they were trying to say,
you know.
These guys were breaking barriers
and doing their own thing.
He probably could see the energy,
these fucking young kids
who had nothing, you know,
just bored out of their heads,
wanting to do something
and get some excitement back.
He just picked up on that and went
with it, just got it and ran with it.
Now, he was involved in this
new movement that was happening.
When we were growing up in Brixton,
there were no black people on TV,
there was no black anybody, so...
For him to pick up a camera
and make videos, we were in awe.
He's not one to sit around
and wait for anything. He's out there.
He's trying to see what he can do.
What he can... make himself better.
I think if you come from a black family,
you have to have some kind of drive.
No one ain't gonna help you.
Don has got that drive.
And, erm, getting a camera,
he found his forte.
Don's an artist.
Don needs a method of expression.
He's not just being a groover,
looking good, playing great records.
He becomes who he is.
He becomes Don Letts at that point.
We wouldn't know about him
if he hadn't picked up that camera.
It was eyeopening
to see these kids brave enough
to do what they want
and making their own kind of music
and dressing how they want.
These guys want to do something
and they're doing it.
They're not asking if they can do it.
They're just doing it.
And you can do what you want
if you want to.
With the right attitude
you can do what you want.
Our background and
where we were coming from, our culture,
we were suppressed
because you'd get in so much trouble.
It like, put you off.
You'd kind of been denied things
because you don't
want to be in trouble.
These guys are doing it
and they're showing you can do things.
You just got to do it.
Believe in yourself and do it.
Don't worry, just do it.
After we finished playing
and working at the Roxy,
a lot of these guys would get in their cars
and follow us back to Forest Hill.
Don's place
in Forest Hill was great fun.
We'd go there after the Roxy
sometimes,
driving Don's little car,
all squashed in,
and go back and pretend
we were big time marijuana smokers.
We went back to Don's house
to hang out and stuff, lots of people did.
Don was really cheeky.
And so he would always
say like the funny thing.
You could tell immediately
how brave he was,
not only because of how he looked.
He would stand up for himself.
Those people that ended up with us
back at Forest Hill after the Roxy
were a very different crowd of people
and they wouldn't normally
be socialising together.
And that Forest Hill scene
made it easier for people
to actually be friends with each other
and communicate
instead of be in tribes.
One of the things that drove Punk Rock
at this fast and furious pace
was this sense of competition.
There was The Clash camp,
the Pistols camp, slits, banshees,
and never the twain shall meet
kind of thing,
except when they went on tour.
But I quite happily bounced
between all of them.
I was never this kind
of choosing sides kind of guy.
One day in the "New Musical Express",
I read,
"Don Letts is making
a Punk Rock movie."
I mean, shit, that's not a bad idea,
I'll call it a movie.
No, I fell. Look.
We had these
little super 8 cartridges.
We'd get them developed
and bring them back to Forest Hill
and string them out across the room
and hold them up and look at them
and edit it with sellotape.
The bands were already there,
the scene was set.
It was just a case of capturing it
and splicing it all together.
The thing about Don was that
he was always on a mission
to achieve something.
He was always going
to make something happen.
And that was the vehicle.
In JuneJuly '77, Bob is living here
after having been shot.
He's living on the King's Road.
He sees all these nasty,
stinky, dirty, Punky people.
Then Don goes round to see him,
possibly to bring him some herb.
Don is wearing bondage trousers
And Bob gives him
a finger wagging rap about this.
But Don stands his ground
and explains, you know,
that actually Punks
are just the same as the dreads.
They're just oppressed
and being shat on as well.
So Bob comes and gets some...
Some ray of light
is flashed down on him.
In a way, you kind of feel
that Bob Marley to Don
was the person
that Don would like to be.
He was the ultimate.
You know, he was Jamaican,
but also from complex mixed parentage.
He's a fully integrated human
and smokes vast amounts of weed.
Back in the Punk days, '77,
where a lot of my friends just come back
and tell me about this crazy dread
that was knocking around
with The Slits and The Clash
and people like that.
He was always...
Had this thing in his hand,
recording everything, you know.
And I was quite jealous, actually,
because he was hanging out
with the real top Punk bands
and all the people we worshipped.
He's a source of inspiration.
Whether he opened his mouth or not,
just by looking at him
you could understand the man
was coming from a different angle.
Don was the rebel dread,
stirring things up.
And to be honest,
I wanted to be Don Letts.
Eventually, John Krivine
and Steph Raynor,
they decided to close acme
and open something called BOY,
which was up
on the main drag of King's Road
because Punk was beginning
to grab the tabloid headlines now.
So they jumped
on the tabloid Punk bandwagon.
Me and Jeannette opened the shop,
and after a few weeks I really
couldn't hold my head up and I quit...
To attempt to manage The Slits.
I sort of took some
of Steph and John's money,
gave it to them to go on the white riot
tour with The Clash and the Buzzcocks.
By the time we hit 'BOY',
Jeannette had just plain outgrown me.
And while I was on the White Riot Tour,
Jeanette went off into the world
and ended up actually working with
John Lydon when he started Public Image.
I had to... I had to dump him.
I just wanted to spread my wings
and experience things.
I wanted to go off and do things,
check things out on my own.
He wasn't good. He wasn't good.
He was upset about it.
The White Riot Tour,
it was fast and furious,
as was the whole of Punk Rock.
And on that tour
you did see a bit of violence
because this negative idea that
had been perpetrated by the tabloids
had filtered out into the suburbs.
One of the reasons that
the Punk Rock thing exploded so quickly
and got misinterpreted so quickly
was the whole bill Grundy fiasco
when the Pistols appeared
on that TV show and John swore.
Shit.
Was it really? Good heavens!
All of a sudden everybody around
the UK knew about this phenomena
through this popular afternoon TV show.
- You dirty fucker...
- What I?
- What a fucking rotter...
- Well, that's it for tonight...
God bless the Pistols,
they kick started everything.
But it was only one album.
Without the Pistols,
there'd probably be no Clash,
but it was left to The Clash
to take that ball and run with it
and give Punk meaning.
That tour was when I first
met Don properly, and his friend Leo.
The thing is the Jamaican community
and how they had to pull together
to protect themselves
and also to get on
was a good template
for the Punk movement
because it was a question of,
well, we're outsiders.
We need to pull together
and get our own thing together
because they've got their thing
to go with it. Let's do ours.
It was on the White Riot Tour
that I really formed my bond
with The Clash,
particularly Paul Simonon.
He had a similar background to myself.
He was working class
and had also grown up in Brixton,
but most importantly,
he was a skinhead.
And we're talking about
the fashion version,
as I said before,
not the fascist version.
So we were brought together
by a mutual love
of Jamaican music and style.
Reggae music...
They talked about what was going on
and how it affected them.
People weren't quite sure of us
at the start
because we didn't really know
what this thing was that was starting.
It was really against everything
that was going on at the time.
Both were outside the norm,
you know.
In managing The Slits,
Don was being quite brave.
It was just so rare
to have this lively, uncensored,
uncut way of approaching the world.
It scared a lot of guys.
That's where Don was an unusual man
because he dug 'em
and they accepted him,
which they wouldn't have just everybody.
He was sensitive enough and had
enough vision for them to respect him.
In the beginning
of the whole Punk thing,
there was sort of quite
a small community, you could say,
and Paloma, he was a good friend
of Joe Strummer's
and Viv with Mick... Albertine.
And so it was sort of like
a little community.
I think it was just the situation of,
look, we're all in the same boat.
So, you know, god help us all.
Let's just get on with it.
And that's what went across,
whether you were male or female.
It was sort of like, let's all play music,
whatever your sex, you know.
"The Punk Rock movie" was so real.
Just so very good that he did that
because otherwise
it would have been made up.
So you can see it for real...
Or bits of it, anyway.
"The Punk Rock movie", I was going
to say put me on the movie map,
but that's bullshit, really.
It just put me on some kind of map
that people knew who I was.
It kind of opened doors for me,
and I quickly realised
I should kind of use that momentum
to try and get to
wherever I wanted to go.
I didn't really know where that was,
but I knew I wanted to be involved in film.
By end of 1977,
the Pistols had imploded,
and John was looking
to escape the media madness
and went to Jamaica
with Richard Branson
to start a record label
called Front Line.
But don't forget, the Pistols had broken
up a few weeks before in a big way
and everyone's focused on this dude
to see what he's going to do next.
Me being black and his mate,
he invited me along.
I got the opportunity
to go to Jamaica and I thought,
"who am I going
to bring there with me?
"I'm not going alone.
"I'm going to bring some special friends
"that really want to achieve
something in this world."
Don wanted to film.
He had Jamaican roots,
he'd never been there.
Give him the opportunity
and let him struggle there on his own
and see what he can come up with.
I'd never been to Jamaica in my life.
The closest I'd been to Jamaica
was seeing "The Harder They Come"
in my local cinema in Brixton.
Seeing "the Harder They Come"
was the first thing
that made me really understand
the power of cinema.
You got to understand
that for a long time
we knew what we were supposed
to sound like
but we never had any visual
interpretation of our culture.
We'd grown up in the UK. We didn't
know what Jamaica looked like.
The advent of Bob Marley
and "The Harder They Come."
You want me to go and work
for $10 a week for the rest of my life?
I 'd rather die.
Seeing "The Harder
They Come" made me think,
maybe I'd like to express myself
in a visual way.
Didn't I tell you
I was going to be famous one day.
But at that time, the idea of a black man
being a film director or a filmmaker...
Ridiculous.
So I forgot about that.
24 hours later, a plastic bag with some
underpants and a few bits of clothing,
I was in ja, Jamaica,
first time in my life.
That was
the first time he'd been to Jamaica
and it was kind of
quite profound for him.
You could see from his facial expressions
he was going through some stuff.
He knows Jamaica, but he knows
a sort of mythical Jamaica really.
There's a lot of romance created
around, you know, 'ghetto gunmen'.
The truth is that there isn't
any real romance about that.
It's pretty horrible, actually.
He was out every day going downtown,
filming, you know, in the ghetto areas.
He was really surprised at the extent
of the poverty, the violence.
It was dangerous. This was in the middle
of the civil war there, you know.
So it was very tricky for him.
Children of Jamaican... or parents...
Or from any other country, actually,
it's their parents' country,
and they tend to have
a strange relationship with it.
They're not sure about it whether
to embrace or reject it completely.
I think some of that
was going on with Don.
Richard had booked
the first floor of the hotel...
And the jungle drums went out,
"rich white man in the area
signing up Reggae artists."
Over the next two weeks,
there was an Exodus to the hotel
of artists trying
to get a deal with Richard.
All of a sudden,
I'm sitting around the hotel pool
and there's IRoy, URoy, Big Youth,
The Gladiators, Lee "Scratch" Perry.
Probably the most amazing trip
of my life
being surrounded by all my heroes
over the space of two weeks.
All these names that I'd previously
seen on record labels
and I thought were legendary artists.
I come to Jamaica and I see
the reality of their existence.
You'd think these guys had been living
large 'cause they'd made records,
but au contrare, mon ami.
I mean, it was tough.
These guys were all hustling
and desperate to get a deal
and impress John
'cause John was the taste master.
It made me realise that there's no real
justice in the music business, man.
The real pioneers never get to collect.
It's the people that water down
their ideas that make the money.
I had the idea
of checking out my roots in Jamaica
and going to visit my grandparents
who I didn't know.
I remember, funnily enough,
we went in this bloody white Cadillac
that was available
to the clientele at the hotel.
I actually found
where my grandmother lived.
I remember knocking on the door
and my grandparents looking at me
like we were fucking aliens.
I just went, "Hi, I'm your grandson
from England... and I'll come back later."
Never went back.
It was too much of a trip.
I mean, talk about a culture clash.
I was so disconnected
from their reality.
And...
I didn't really have the time
or the inclination, I have to say,
to kind of try
and make them understand.
And I just went about my business.
Taking Don
to Jamaica opened his eyes.
It opened my eyes too,
I've got to say.
I selfishly used his eyes to see Jamaica
from his family's point of view.
We had the most fantastic time.
John Lydon?
The brother's deep.
I mean, the whole Punk thing
that was never going to work for him.
He was too intelligent for that
and that's why he had to break free
from the Pistols.
There was a lot of time
when John was in Jamaica
and he'd be quiet and staring off
into the distance and all that stuff.
It was only later on
that I realised
that he was kind of thinking about
what he was going to do next
and that would manifest itself
with the creation of Public Image.
You've got to understand
that the people that made the music
are all pulling in different directions.
Partially drug informed.
Some were going up, some were going
down. Some were going sideways.
But somehow John managed
to pull all this shit together
and come up with something
that was truly refreshing.
So when John gets the opportunity
to make his first music video,
he turned around
and asked me to have a go.
It was weird because at that time
you couldn't have stuff broadcast on TV
unless you were a member
of the film union.
I you never listen to word that I said
so we had to have a ghost director.
I sat in a chair
and sort of told him what to do.
I mean, to be honest with you,
I was totally out of my depth.
Before that, I was Don Letts
with my Super 8 camera.
Now I'm surrounded by a union crew
and I'm having to tell them what to do.
It just was really fabulous.
You know, he'd put him
into a new position
and shortly after that he does
the "London Calling" video, of course.
That was Don's first video with us.
We'd done a couple of videos before
and then we found
that we could get what we wanted.
And that was a major thing, you
know.
I now war is declared
and battle come down... I
we met by Battersea late at night.
He had lights rigged up
and we just started filming.
I remembered it rained
during most of the filming of the video.
And one of our guys afterwards
threw the monitors into the Thames.
I fucking can't even swim.
So I didn't know the Thames had
a current. I didn't know there was a tide.
I put a camera on the boat.
By the time we worked everything out,
it's fucking nighttime
and it's pissing down with rain.
Turns out, best of luck I ever had.
After we did the "London Calling" video,
we did "The Call Up", "The Bank Robber"
and "Rock The Casbah."
The creative side developed
where, like, "Rock The Casbah",
there was an idea
of having an Arab team
play football against an Israeli team,
showing them getting on,
so to speak.
But the record company
were a bit shocked by that idea.
Don had brought an idea to simplify what
the record company were terrified of.
"Rock The Casbah" was a big deal.
Man, that was a massive hit on MTV
and probably one of my favourite videos.
As is "Radio Clash"
that really utilised images
from when they were doing
the whole bonds scenario,
when they played those
twentythree dates back to back.
Our manager went out
and did big posters up in the Bronx.
You wouldn't really expect that
because we were in Times Square.
We were booked there
to do seven shows.
We'd done seven shows in Japan,
seven shows in London, seven in Paris.
We were going to do the same
in New York.
But because we were taking over
the whole week,
we were taking a lot of business
away from the other clubs.
So they sent the fire chief down
and announced that we had
too many people in the building.
And Don was sort of around
filming a lot of this chaos.
Some stupid shithead
fucking sold too many tickets.
They really took New York, man.
There were riots in Times Square.
Scorsese's turning up,
De Niro's turning up.
For all of you
who wanted to see The Clash
at bonds tonight,
they were about to appear about...
Ooh, about 40 minutes
from now and...
We 're anxious to play.
You know, you get pretty wound up
when you're going to do a show.
We were willing to do
two shows on Saturday...
That's double wound up.
We want to play, you know.
So, we're just pleased
to be able to get on stage.
When we went
to New York in the '80s
and we did a residency at bonds,
we fell in with a lot
of the graffiti artists.
It was just that moment when hip-hop
and rap was just starting.
The first time
I went to New York was with The Slits
when they played
at a club called Hurrah's.
It was winter,
didn't really get into the vibe.
When I really got to know New York
was with The Clash.
And at that time,
the whole Hip-Hop thing was emerging.
New York was an interesting place
because you'd see kids
on the street, rapping.
I suppose it was the birth of Hip-Hop,
that we were witnessing.
A cultural melting pot
that felt very similar
to what was going on
in the late '70s in London,
but now it was about Hip-Hop
than Punk Rock.
It was a really great time.
It was an exciting time.
It was a time of change.
When we hit New York
in the early '80s,
I was going to say
it was coming out of a recession.
It was actually in the recession,
'cause it was kind of fucked up.
There were what they call shooting
galleries, where you get your drugs.
It was there that a lot of graffiti artists
had taken out spaces 'cause of low rent.
I became friends with people like
Fab 5 Freddy and Futura.
And Dondi and Haze and Zephyr,
all the emerging graffiti writers.
So we transferred
the energy from London,
Punk had kind of transferred
for us, to New York.
I did have another boyfriend
in New York who was Futura 2000.
He did a rap on one of The Clash tunes
and he became a big part
of the scene for a while.
It was about identity,
trying to find meaning,
trying to work out who you are,
where you fit in the process.
The bonds I was going to say fiasco -
the event, whatever you want to call it,
I mean, really put The Clash
on a world stage.
And took them up to here.
And I think it
kind of caught them off guard.
Joe always tried to keep it real.
He never got taken and enamoured
with that whole cult of celebrity stuff.
He was a very grounded person, Joe.
But Joe was human like the rest of us
and kind of fucked up too.
If Joe had to make
a horrible decision,
he'd often manoeuvre things
so other people would kind of carry out
whatever he was thinking.
I remember when they sacked Mick...
And they got Paul to call me up
and say, "well, look, Don,
if you're hanging with Mick
"you can't really be friends with us."
And I knew that Paul
didn't want to make that call.
I remember when I got that call,
I was sitting in Los Angeles
watching the TV
in a bar called Juke's,
and the video for "Rock The Casbah"
came up, and I cried.
I fucking cried.
You can't push Don Letts
into that position
of you have to decide this or that, Rasta.
You know, I can't do that.
I suppose it did get a bit awkward
because Don had always worked
with us regarding Clash stuff.
But The Clash had gone in
a different direction
and Don was working with Mick.
So we decided
that I would phone Don to explain
that we'd have to part our ways
in terms of working.
Mick moved on with Don
in creating bad
and me and Joe
wandered off into the sunset.
When Mick had been unceremoniously
kicked out of his own band,
he fairly quickly got stuck back in.
And one night, I find myself
in a nightclub with Mick,
Mick looks to his left
and to his right and he's like,
"you know what?
We look like a band."
And that was the beginning
of my next eight years.
You got to understand,
from seeing the who back in '71
and wanting to be in this world,
now I was presented
with the opportunity.
I didn't think that you could get
so much from a picture show... I
Big Audio Dynamite's sound was
a combination of what we were into.
We're talking about heavy Jamaican
bass lines, New York beats...
Mick's Rock and Roll guitar
and me doing the sample
and dialogue thing.
What was interesting about
Big Audio Dynamite,
no one seemed
to notice this at first,
they're this first act using movie samples
from the soundtrack, the dialogue.
B.A.D. really reflected us
and our lives.
That kind of cross-fertilisation
is the thing that makes magic happen.
I loved all that because, you know,
stick a black guy in there
stick a Punk in there,
stick a Dread in there
and you mix it all together
and what do you get?
You get something
quite interesting, you know.
I wanted to do
something more of that time.
I wanted to make music that reflected
the music that we were hearing.
It was just difficult 'cause...
Considering where I'd come from.
It was a bit hard for me
coming out of that.
I immediately wanted
to get on and do something.
So, we did it all very fast
and by '84 we were out there playing.
Our first gig in New York
was at this place downtown.
Grace and her friend Jessica
were there.
We went to the show and I met Don,
and Don used to wear at the time
dark sunglasses.
And I just remember thinking
that, you know,
"who wears sunglasses
at night in a nightclub?"
It started... right from the start,
we were kind of friends.
And then they came to New York
to record "Upping Street"
and they were there
for the whole summer.
Problem with that was Audrey,
who I'd met the year before,
was about to have my first son.
Just as jet's being born,
Mick asked me to join
Big Audio Dynamite.
And I throw myself into that
like I do with every project I do.
I was going to say our relationship
suffered as a consequence of that,
but it wasn't
as a consequence of that.
Our relationship suffered
because I met grace.
Grace is your archetypal new yorker.
When I met her,
she had peroxide blonde hair,
legs for days, easy on the eyes.
But what got us together
was her character,
eager and open to ideas
and kind of inspired me to be better.
I wanted to be a better person
to earn her respect, earn her love.
And having that behind me
drove me toward.
And it was a horrible overlap.
I was leading a double life
for like eight years.
I can't actually remember,
it was just a fucking big blur.
We were really
just experimenting with things
and seeing if we can
put this stuff in and...
Don's contribution was so big.
Don wrote lots of lyrics for the songs.
His contribution was not just musical.
I think it brought the cinematic element.
He brought something different
Mick wouldn't have thought of,
and the combination of the two
working together was brilliant.
He couldn't play, he didn't sing...
But he can write.
He can write.
I think he soaks up
all that he's been through
and he can put it to paper.
And obviously he was feeling
like he had to follow
someone like Joe Strummer.
I mean, come on, man,
that was a special chemistry.
That was a Jagger and Richards,
Lennon and McCartney,
Morrissey and Marr.
These things don't happen that often.
For the second album,
Mick had the brilliant idea
we should record it in New York.
That was a real buzz
'cause while we were there,
I went to Times Square one day
and I bumped into Joe Strummer.
One day, Don was walking down
the street and he bumped into Joe
and he said, "come to the studio.
We're doing a record."
And then he wouldn't leave.
Try and keep it steady.
He ended up co-producing the record
and that was so, so great.
For me, especially.
I let the DJ play...
that was a good thing,
because Joe and I, after The Clash,
we soon became friends again.
We just never got back together
again as a group.
You have no time when you're young
because you're just rushing.
If you thought it out, it might have
been different, but no, you didn't.
And so that was good.
What happened over
the next month or so
was that I had a front row seat
watching these guys
I guess kind of creatively
fall in love again.
And we just sat back
and watched this thing happen.
A lot of people
could have been pissed off...
By them getting back together
in the middle of us making our album.
But I felt privileged
to see that happen.
You know, you're talking about one
of the greatest writing duos in history.
They asked me
to be their tour manager,
and to me, that was a big buzz.
And if it wasn't for Don
and Big Audio Dynamite,
I wouldn't have had the opportunity
to be in places like Rome
and Hollywood and New York.
That gave me an opportunity
to travel and see the world.
Big audio liked
having people backstage.
And the fans loved to hang out with Don
and Leo and them guys, making stuff.
So part of my job was to kind of like...
After the gig, I'd probably
find some fans and whatever
and give them
a little sticker or something,
to come backstage and... hang.
Ok, I'm ready for the show, Mick.
I'm ready for a show.
He was mischievous Don, you know.
He loved to play pranks and he was...
He's... a prankster.
He's a joker.
It's an important part of his makeup,
his sense of humour.
We were playing
a great gig in Boston, early bad,
and then the dressing room was...
It was crowded afterwards.
It was so crowded.
Don and I went into the cupboard
because we wanted to talk,
and we were in there talking.
And then the janitor came in
and got his mop and bucket.
Yo... what's up.
Bosco is my main homie, man.
You know what? No, no.
Joshy... uh, this is...
On one night in Irving Plaza,
we had Pete Frampton in the audience,
Dave Stewart,
Jimmy Cliff and David Bowie.
That was a buzz for the little black kid
from Brixton, I can tell you.
From that moment on, from the time
we were doing "Upping Street",
that's when grace
becomes part of my life.
Not officially.
We kind of couldn't separate.
We tried a few times,
quite a few times, actually,
and it was just... something that was
just inside. It was just what it was.
I was trying
to fight the inevitable.
I was trying to do the right thing.
I didn't want to leave my kids.
But in so doing,
I did the wrong thing.
What I should've done
was put my hand up and go,
"look, I'm sorry.
I've fallen in love with somebody else."
I mean, easier said than done.
Undoubtedly, when we first went out,
people were expecting us to play
Clash tunes and blah blah blah,
but we were doing so well
with this new sound.
It sounded really different.
No one had kind of done
that mix before
and had hits
with the sample and dialogue.
We were having commercial success
with a new way
of approaching music writing.
When I first held our debut album,
"This Is Big Audio Dynamite",
it felt like I'd arrived.
I got my ticket, da da da.
For this child that had grown up
so enamoured with music
and part of the vinyl generation
and having this analogue attitude,
I finally get to chip in
my five cents, man.
And I started to find my feet
and became a lot more confident
'cause from then on, it was
a fairly cool run for about eight years.
I ain't going to lie,
there was some kind of...
Behind the scenes
business shenanigans going on
that were beginning to grate with me,
but there was something else going on.
I realised I was starting
to write these lyrics
that were very personal to me
and I didn't think it was fair
to ask Mick to sing those songs.
Between that
and the normal things
that make great bands implode,
I was off.
And I started a group
called screaming targets.
I wanted to know
what I could do without Mick.
Same way probably Mick wanted
to know what he could do without Joe.
The problem is
Mick's a musician and I'm not.
Having said that,
I ain't ashamed of screaming target.
Should have got a vocalist,
only mistake.
Ugh, yeah, fucking ego, man.
Get you every time.
Call it synchronicity or some weird shit,
but I get fed up with screaming target,
I get a phone call.
"Do I want to come and film second unit
covering the independence of Namibia?"
Liberations.
The idea was to go round
the country and interview people
and cover the effect of Namibia's
independence. That was a buzz.
First time I'm going back
to the land of my forefathers.
I mean, first off,
I'd never been in any environment
where everybody was black.
The other shock was I'm there
with, like, a white film crew,
must have had
about six people under me.
I don't know what you're saying
about me. It's my hair... mine.
And the Africans, kind of,
"ok, you are white people.
"We've seen you.
We know what you are."
Don't be taking it off me.
Don't take it off me.
With me, they were totally freaked.
And they couldn't figure me out.
- I'm home. I'm home.
- Aw!
That was a major eye opener.
I think what really freaked me out was
how alien my roots were to me.
You felt like
through the Reggae and your education
and all the rest of it,
you had some connection.
But no, man.
I realised I was the lost tribe.
I actually went out
to the Namibian desert.
It's a vast place -
you'd be driving in your jeep
and you'd see these people
coming towards you.
You can see behind them and there's
nothing for miles in the distance.
You've just come from the same thing.
These people are just walking
through the desert.
We were in the Namibian desert
for three or four days,
and we actually got lost.
At one point,
I thought I was going to die.
I mean, we ran out of gas,
we'd broken down
and, uh, we were rescued
by some German safari people.
Never been so glad to see white people
in my fucking life. I can tell you...
I think what I took
from that African experience
was the fact that,
for better or worse,
I was this kind of unique
black and British thing,
and to pretend that I was
anything else was ridiculous.
You've got to understand,
from the time I did my first video,
Public Image's debut,
I kept that going on for quite a while
and sort of squeezed one in
whenever I could.
I did nearly 400 music videos
for various bands.
You know, I don't think I stopped
till around the mid-90s.
I did videos for Elvis Costello.
I did Chrissie's video
"Back On The Chain Gang".
The Pogues,
"Summer In Siam", S'express.
Baaba Maal,
Maxi Priest, Shabba Ranks,
Jimmy Cliff, The Gap Band,
Linton Kwesi Johnson,
Black Uhuru,
Sly and Robbie,
did Eddie Grant in Jamaica,
took Shaun Ryder's group
Black Grape there.
I shot the first video with Ice T in it.
Got to make a couple
of videos for Bob Marley.
Then one day, there was a week
when nothing on the slate appealed to me.
And... a track came in
by this band called Ratt.
"Round and round", it was called.
And we put it out there on tour
supporting Mtley Cre.
This fucking video is a smash,
and in the middle of the tour,
they had to switch the headlines
and Ratt became the headlining group.
That's probably in the states,
my most famous video.
I guess some
of my proudest video moments
would be things like musical youth,
"pass the Dutchie".
That was number one
in 18 countries around the world.
It was actually
the first black video on MTV.
But they didn't count it the brother's
like this big and had a Birmingham accent.
In the '80s,
I'd kind of made a name for myself
as a video director,
and I get a phone call from MTV,
"you're the guy
that makes The Clash videos,
"we'd like you to come in
and do an interview."
Great... I'll do an interview.
I go to their office
in midtown New York somewhere.
This is the early '80s.
I walk into the office. Everyone's looking
at me kind of fucking weird.
I'm like, "what the fuck?!"
Like... I smell all right.
And then this guy
sheepishly comes up to me
and takes me into this office,
and he sits me down,
hangs his head and says,
"this is really embarrassing.
"Donnelly can't do
an interview with you."
I'm like, "how come?"
He's like,
"we didn't know you were black."
There were no black artists on MTV.
So putting them
right in front of parliament
was a message to the then government,
kind of knocking on the door, as it were.
He took them
to the living rooms of Britain.
Don was the spearhead of making
videos in England for black groups.
One - he's intelligent.
Two - he's very brave.
He's not afraid to knock on the door
of someone like Chris Blackwell
and say, "look, I've got an idea.
Fly me to Jamaica.
"And when I come back,
you're going to have
"the most amazing film
you've ever seen."
"Dancehall Queen."
A homage really
to "the harder they come",
which is about this larger than life,
macho Jamaican male character.
And it struck me
that it was really the women
that were keeping Jamaica together.
- You can't stay here, so you know.
- This plot reserved.
- I no move, sister.
- Move for me now.
All the guys still wanted
to be like, Jimmy cliff...
- What you think I do? Eh?
- Me try keep you move.
- You no hear what me say?
- Me say, I no move.
He's great because the topics
he chooses to work with
are culturally very important, um to...
Shaping opinions
and forming perceptions,
especially, you know,
of black British.
He makes these films and documentaries
from the platform of personal experience
and he's able to bring all of that personal
lifestyle experience to the screen.
When he talks
about something in documentaries,
he talks about it
from a personal point of view,
like you're looking out of his eyes.
It's always about a black kid
growing up in this society
with all these different things going on.
So there's some sort of relation
to what he's about
or how he felt
within that situation.
When you look at Don's body of work,
things like Gil Scott-Heron.
Sun Ra,
The Clash documentary,
all of that stuff, there's a link.
All of those people, their creative
and cultural output is about freedom
and it's about
a kind of fire in the belly.
And that's really key and really important
because if you're actually changing
the world around you
or crossing boundaries,
what you need to be doing
is following your creative path
and just pushing yourself down the road
that you want to be down.
I do something I feel
needs to justify the space it occupies.
Made films about things
that mean something, man,
they deserve that space,
and they can actually help
to move things forward.
I'm always trying to make a film
about myself through these people.
I've always gravitated to artists
that aren't defined by their colour.
I believe that these people
are doing something
that's worth passing on
because they're part of me,
and it's about passing on this energy.
It either speaks to me or doesn't.
One second, started to shoot edit,
phones buzzing.
Oh, I got to take it, it's my daughter.
Hello. Hello.
- Hello, dad?
- yeah, hello. Go on.
Hi.
We 're just down Oxford street,
having a sit down 'cause it's hot.
Ok, baby. And then what are you doing
after Oxford street?
Ok, baby, hang out for...
If it's a nice day, hang out down there.
It's safer than other places. All right?
- All right.
- all right. Speak to you later. Bye.
- Sorry, guys. Bye.
- Ok, bye.
Where was I?
After, um, I got busted
and Audrey kicked me out,
it was inevitable
that me and grace would get together.
And eventually, we got married.
Don and I got married
November 20th, 1997.
It was almost like destiny,
like we were supposed to be together,
even through all these kind of,
uh, you know, ups and downs.
From quite early on, I always knew
that it's going to be forever.
It was just something I just knew.
And inevitably, a few years later,
we had our first child, honor.
We had another child, Liberty.
So, I had grace,
Liberty and honor.
I had two beautiful kids with Audrey,
Amber and jet.
And despite their father being
somewhat of a dick
when they were growing up,
they've turned out as really great adults.
And there was
a very, very frosty period with jet
when I left his mother and met grace,
and he didn't speak to me
for, like, four or five years.
But time heals a lot of shit, obviously.
And now we've got a great relationship.
In fact, he's just had a son himself,
so I'm a grandfather.
I've actually got two other grandchildren.
Both girls.
To see Don with kids
is a really sweet thing.
That's the softer side of him.
It kind of melts the heart.
Everything I am
comes from music.
It was music that got me to the Roxy.
It was music that got me to Jamaica.
It was music
that got me into being a filmmaker.
Music is the elixir of life.
It's a great way to kind of
communicate to people through culture.
Music has that potential
to change people's life,
to inform and inspire.
I've learnt more from music
than anything else to this very day.
My love of music, art, film and that,
it's a very personal thing.
I don't give a fuck if you like it.
I'm not on some life mission
to educate the people.
I'm trying to educate myself.
Wake the town
and tell the people. I'm Don Letts,
and for the next two hours, I'm your guy
for a musical ride on BBC 6 music.
I've spent my whole life...
Charging forwards.
I've always hoped I'd be so busy
that I wouldn't have time to look back.
Most people come and go,
and no one even knows
they fucking existed.
I guess I don't want to be
one of those people.
You just work toward something that's
slightly better than when you arrived.
It's like you have this vision
of yourself and who you might be.
And you try your hardest to become it.
And Don certainly has become it.
I would say there's a lot of larger
than life characters in Don's life,
but that's because
that's effectively what he is.
He's a person of conviction.
He had something to say.
Wasn't shy in saying it.
His heart's always in the right place.
He's honest to goodness,
what you see is what you get.
That's his voice.
He was trying to always make people
feel inclusive to his thing.
It's not just our thing.
This is your thing too.
We're not here to take something.
We're here to give.
I know what it's like
to be allowed
to break down racial stereotypes,
to break down perceptions of who you are,
what you are and what you represent.
It works in two ways, I think.
It either motivates you,
or it can crush you.
But he's still making films,
he's deejaying, he's doing radio shows,
still innovating, using culture
to change the world around him,
and that is power.
That's fire. And that's essential.
My parents' generation
were like work fodder
as far as England was concerned.
They gave their hearts and soul
to help rebuild this country.
And, uh, yeah, it's not appreciated.
It never is, is it?
Punk Rock's a living thing.
It's something to look forward to,
not something to look back on.
It's the birthright
of all young people, of everybody.
And this spirit and attitude
is not just about music.
- It's not even just about art.
- Black lives matter!
You get Punk Rock
about anything you do.
And it wasn't something
designed to look back on.
I this land is your land...
You can take it forward.
Maybe they'll realise
the best you can do is to work towards
things you probably won't see happen.
Let them take the board
and take it to the next base.
Have a good time.
Look good.
And try your very best not to be a cunt.