Driving the car on this sunny afternoon with my twelve-year old daughter yelling at me to turn it down. Disturbing music in question emanates from the cassette player (CD broken since forever) as I blast the Clash’s Combat Rock from 1982. Solid contender—at least—for the very worst Clash LP with its murky whitey funk, tentative proto-sampling, off-key vocalizing, tuneless tunes, and a cameo from the poet Allen Ginsberg (what the hell is he doing here?). Of course I love it and turn it down only slightly.