There are many reasons why The Clash remain so vital in the popular imagination. The blistering, unpredictable music is one of them: their desire to expand the textural possibilities of punk rock by fusing it with reggae, hip-hop and other forms was hugely influential and, of course, an ethical and political statement in itself. Another reason might be the enduring romantic aura surrounding lead singer and lyricist Joe Strummer, which has singularly failed to dissipate over time. In this surprising and compelling new collection of essays, both of these aspects attract due attention, but Colin Coulter and other contributors take care to situate them in a precise historical period encompassing, in Coulter's introductory words, ‘the crisis of British social democracy in the mid-1970s’ (p. 7) and the ascent of neoliberalism following Margaret Thatcher's victory in 1979. Emerging, like other punk bands such as The Sex Pistols and The Slits, in response to social crisis, The Clash became, to many commentators’ minds, the most incisive chroniclers of the period, their music reflecting local and global frustrations, a spirit of resistance and rebellion and, by the time of Combat Rock in 1982, pathos, frustration at political passivity and a sense that neoliberalism might already have won. They continue to matter, then, because they engaged more passionately than most with forces the effects of which we are still experiencing today.

Coulter's impressive and wide-ranging introduction expounds on the band's significance, and cutely evokes contemporary phenomena – the unjustness of austerity, the ‘chauvinism’ unleashed by the Brexit debate – that cry out for the ‘cultural gifts’ bestowed by The Clash (p. 27). Yet Coulter, with the criticality and analytical rigour displayed in much of the collection, also reminds us of the dangers of the ‘backward glance’ (p. 19) that is characteristic of the culture industries under late capitalism. Without succumbing to the lugubrious argument that contemporary culture is suffering from total paralysis, the editor acknowledges that the retrospective treasuring of punk, especially politically engaged punk such as The Clash, risks consigning it to nostalgia – itself an integral facet of late capitalism – and diminishing its original power. Acknowledging the similar risks inherent in publishing such a collection as his, Coulter proposes that the way to avoid the traps is first to insist on historicisation, rather than a romantic view of timelessness in The Clash's music. Secondly, the critic might employ the kind of ‘left melancholia’ Coulter describes in his second contribution to the volume, and which is expressed most potently in The Clash song ‘Straight to Hell’: the embracing of dead or lost fragments not out of fatalism or passivity, but in order to redeploy them in moments ‘when radical social transformation seems possible’ (p. 81).

The third way to avoid the pitfalls of the backward glance is to offer specific critiques of some of the more romantic stereotypes of punk, and especially of The Clash. One of Working for the Clampdown's many strengths is that it does just this. Former Clash manager Caroline Coon contributes an article based on the keynote address she gave at the conference organised by Coulter in Belfast in June 2014. In it, she attacks one of the sacred assumptions of punk: that its appeal to two-chord wonders with limited musical skill made it inherently democratic. She claims: ‘It is untrue, a myth, that the musicians that I consciously wrote about as the punk movement in the summer of 1976 were unskilled or musically unambitious or playing “dumb”’ (p. 54). Indeed, she claims The Clash as members of an ‘elite,’ on the same level as trained ballet dancers. Kieran Cashell's assertion – to my mind entirely unwarranted but nonetheless welcome for its audacity – that London Calling is ‘uncritically overrated; at best awkward and inflated, at worst incoherent and generically confused’, that it revealed ‘a band in profound musical and ideological crisis’ (p. 119) might also rely on the old assumption that authenticity lay in musical fumbling. More persuasive is his suggestion that punk's ‘messianic promise’ (p. 107) was already exhausted in 1977, or that, at least, potential was all that was left.

Other highlights include Ruth Adams's article on Englishness in punk. Her argument is that The Sex Pistols exploited a range of English signifiers derived from music hall, seaside holidays (Steve Jones’ iconic knotted hanky), Dickens and the heritage industry to attack lazy nostalgia and its role in the jingoistic jubilee celebrations of 1977. The Clash, in contrast, chose to interact with reggae to undermine fixed and racist notions of British identity, helping to give birth to the Two-Tone movement. Adams's is one of many original and persuasive arguments in this book which help to make it, as its title suggests, much more than just a celebration of The Clash. Although the collection's principle interest is in the ideological import of punk, it is nonetheless regrettable that few of the essays have much to say about the construction of the songs themselves. The notable exception is Pete Dale's article, with the intriguing title ‘What if Keith Levene had never left The Clash? Punk and the politics of novelty’. Dale's analysis of chord progressions and modality in a selection of Clash numbers serves his discussion of the complex relationship between radical politics and musical innovation very well, and it is a pity that he stands alone in exploring the intricacies of the music.

A minor pity, however. Working for the Clampdown is an excellent piece of work. To speak personally for a brief moment: it reminded me why I love The Clash so much but also why I should continue to analyse my motives for loving them. It is intellectually challenging, wide-ranging, readable and expertly edited. In a field that remains distressingly small, it is set to inspire future critics and to make its own lasting impact.