How a bored office worker, a Ford Cortina, a notorious prostitution scandal and a rebellious cabaret singer came together in one of punk rock’s greatest songs.
by Chris Harris
Before we get on to the fascinating life of Janie Jones, let’s look at the song itself. Released in April 1977 as the opening track on The Clash’s debut album, Janie Jones lasts barely two minutes. Yet within that time, Joe Strummer and company manage to capture much of what made British punk so exciting: boredom, rebellion, sex, rock ‘n’ roll and a healthy contempt for authority.
And while the song was named after a real woman, its central character is actually a thoroughly ordinary bloke, whose existence could hardly be further removed from the extraordinary life of Janie Jones.
An Office Worker, a Ford Cortina and a Thoroughly Miserable Job
The song tells the story of a man trapped in a tedious office job. His desk is piled high with paperwork, his boss thinks he’s lazy, and his working day revolves around invoices, an overflowing in-tray and the seemingly endless monotony of earning a living. He drives a Ford Cortina, perhaps the quintessential British family car of the 1970s, and dreams of escaping into a world of music, drink, drugs and sexual adventure.
Janie Jones represents everything his ordinary existence isn’t: glamorous, dangerous, rebellious and gloriously disreputable. There are some wonderful period details in the lyrics. The invoices, the boss complaining about productivity, the Cortina needing petrol and the employee fantasising about telling his employer exactly what he thinks of him.
The reference to payola is particularly interesting. Payola was the practice of secretly paying radio DJs or others to promote records, a reminder that beneath the respectable surface of the music industry there was plenty of dubious activity. By the end of the song, our frustrated employee is preparing to tell his boss where to go. Whether he actually does so is another matter. Millions of people dream of walking out of their jobs in spectacular fashion. Far fewer ever get around to it.
Written on a London Bus
One of the more appealing stories surrounding Janie Jones concerns its creation. Mick Jones reportedly came up with the song while travelling on the number 31 bus from Harrow Road to rehearsals in Chalk Farm during 1976.
He arrived with much of the melody and the idea already formed, and the band immediately recognised its potential. The song apparently began life in the first person, but Joe Strummer was reluctant to sing about being in love himself. Consequently, the central character became an anonymous third-person figure.
Even more surprisingly, the song hadn’t originally been written specifically about Janie Jones. Her name was introduced during its development, transforming an amusing little observation about working life into something with a rather more intriguing identity.
So Who Was Janie Jones?
Born Marion Mitchell in County Durham in 1941, Janie Jones was a singer and entertainer who made a name for herself in London’s showbusiness circles during the 1960s. She released records, appeared on television and mixed with celebrities. But it was her activities away from the stage that would eventually make her notorious.
During the early 1970s, Jones became involved in arranging introductions between wealthy men and prostitutes. Her Kensington home became associated with parties attended by figures from London’s entertainment and social circles.In 1973, she was sentenced to seven years in prison for offences involving the control of prostitutes. She would serve approximately four years, becoming something of a tabloid celebrity in the process.
Jones maintained that she had been treated harshly and that the establishment was riddled with hypocrisy. Influential men could enjoy the services she arranged while she was the one sent to prison.
From Holloway Prison to Punk Rock Celebrity
While The Clash were rehearsing and performing Janie Jones during 1976, the woman who inspired its title was still in Holloway Prison. She was released on 2 May 1977, less than a month after the band’s debut album appeared. Suddenly, she discovered that a group of young punk musicians had immortalised her in a song. Janie subsequently met The Clash, bringing together two rather different generations of British rebellion.
She was outspoken, funny and thoroughly unrepentant about her treatment by the authorities. She had confronted the judge at her trial, refused to apologise and campaigned for better conditions during her imprisonment. Here was a woman considerably older than the average punk, yet displaying precisely the anti-authoritarian attitude that the movement celebrated.
And unlike many of the young musicians railing against the establishment, Janie had already experienced the full force of it.
The Extraordinary Myra Hindley Connection
Perhaps the darkest and most extraordinary chapter in Janie Jones’s life came during her imprisonment. While at Holloway, she befriended Myra Hindley, one of Britain’s most notorious murderers, convicted alongside Ian Brady for the Moors murders. Jones initially believed Hindley had changed and subsequently campaigned publicly for her release.
However, after Hindley confessed to further involvement in the murders in 1986, Jones dramatically changed her position In 1993, she published The Devil and Miss Jones: The Twisted Mind of Myra Hindley, an account of their relationship and her eventual disillusionment. It is a remarkable and disturbing footnote to the story of a woman whose name most people associate with a cheerful two-minute punk song.
Why Janie Jones Was the Perfect Song for 1977
There was something wonderfully British about early punk. Beneath the safety pins, torn clothes and angry guitars, there was often a great deal of humour and an acute understanding of ordinary life. Janie Jones isn’t an elaborate political manifesto. It’s a song about a bored employee, his rubbish job, his Ford Cortina and his fantasies of escaping into a more exciting existence.
Yet it also captures something important about Britain in 1977. The country was experiencing economic difficulties, industrial unrest and growing disillusionment with its institutions. Punk provided an outlet for frustrations that had been building for years. The song’s appeal has endured. It was memorably selected as the greatest opening track on an album by the record-obsessed protagonist of Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity, both in the novel and its film adaptation.
And it’s difficult to disagree. There are few better ways to announce the arrival of a new band than those opening seconds of Janie Jones.
The Clash would go on to tackle racism, unemployment, imperialism and international politics. But their debut album began with something considerably simpler: an ordinary bloke who hated his job and wanted to have a good time.
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Welcome to Denham, a fictitious Sussex village where behind respectable doors, well-tended gardens and familiar faces, things have a habit of going badly wrong.
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