Clem Burke: The Beating Heart of Blondie and the Greatest Drummer of the Punk Generation

Clem Burke, the dynamic and stylish drummer behind Blondie, was a towering figure of the punk era — and arguably its greatest percussionist. Known not only for his thunderous playing but for his relentless drive and vibrant stage presence, Clem passed away at the age of 70 from cancer. His death marks the silencing of one of rock and roll’s most powerful rhythms. The world will undoubtedly be a quieter place without him.

I first witnessed Clem’s extraordinary presence at two Blondie concerts in Edinburgh back in 1978 — and “pounding” truly is the right word to describe his drumming. Clem didn’t just keep time; he commanded it. His powerful arms were a blur of motion as he drove the music forward with passion and precision. There was nothing subtle about his technique. Unlike jazz-influenced drummers such as Charlie Watts with their graceful flicks of the wrist, Clem raised his sticks high and brought them crashing down with thrilling intent — a visual and sonic spectacle.

He wasn’t overly technical or flashy in a traditional sense, but Clem was a master of rhythm, always perfectly in sync with the band, always pushing the energy higher. He was less like a metronome and more like a cheerleader in the engine room, injecting infectious vitality into every beat. The only drummers I can think of who matched his joy and showmanship behind the kit are Keith Moon and Ringo Starr. And none of them matched his style.

Clem Burke may well have been the best-dressed drummer in rock history. With his voluminous mop of hair and his sharp, Mod-inspired wardrobe — all vibrant Pop Art t-shirts and perfectly tailored jackets — he defied the usual onstage image of drummers. While most stickmen dressed down for comfort and sweat, Clem looked like he’d stepped off a ’60s fashion shoot. Even at the height of Blondie’s stardom, when Debbie Harry’s magnetic presence naturally commanded the spotlight, Clem held his own. You couldn’t help but notice him — sharply dressed, skinny tie intact, bashing the drums with gleeful abandon.

It’s often said that the drummer is the heartbeat of a band. In Clem’s case, it was entirely true. He was Blondie’s rhythmic foundation and musical compass, embodying the band’s aesthetic and energy. He looked exactly like Blondie sounded — edgy, fun, sleek, and bursting with that cartoonish pop-art brilliance unique to the best of the new wave.

He was also, quite possibly, Blondie’s biggest fan. He once told me Debbie Harry was his Bowie — a guiding star. From the moment they met in New York in the mid-1970s, he knew he wanted to be part of her journey. When Blondie quietly disbanded in 1982, Clem was genuinely heartbroken. But it never occurred to him to quit. He referred to himself as a “Rock and Roll Survivalist.” For Clem, as long as he had his drumsticks, he knew he would be alright.

His career outside of Blondie was equally impressive. He played on the first Eurythmics album and toured with the synth-pop pioneers for a decade. He even had a brief stint with the Ramones in 1987, during which he was dubbed “Elvis Ramone.” His collaborators read like a who’s who of rock legends: Bob Dylan, Pete Townshend, Iggy Pop, Joan Jett, Wanda Jackson, Nancy Sinatra, the Go-Go’s. He also worked with members of the Sex Pistols and lent his talent to beloved garage rock bands like the Fleshtones and Adult Net.

Clem’s joy when Blondie reunited in 1999 was palpable. He remained a core member of the band ever since, contributing to every album and tour. As recently as last year, he was in the studio working on new Blondie material. It’s comforting to think we haven’t heard the last of him just yet. His love for Blondie was so deep, in fact, that in 2019, he even played shows with a tribute band, Bootleg Blondie, touring British clubs — a testament to his undying enthusiasm.

He simply loved playing. Whether it was a massive stadium or a cramped pub, Clem brought the same energy and devotion. When one tour ended, he would find another — sometimes with other veterans of the punk scene, sometimes with up-and-coming bands. He believed in staying sharp and saw constant performance as essential to his craft.

I had the privilege of speaking with Clem several times over the years, in both recording and TV studios. He was unassuming, sincere, and deeply knowledgeable about music. One unforgettable evening, I found myself at dinner with Clem, Bob Geldof, and Glen Matlock — icons of Blondie, the Boomtown Rats, and the Sex Pistols, respectively. I remember thinking, “This is the teenage bedroom wall of my youth, gathered at one table.”

The last time I saw him perform was at London’s 100 Club in March 2023. He was playing with an Iggy Pop tribute band, tearing through Lust For Life in its entirety. It had been 45 years since I first saw him live, and though time had etched its lines on us both, his energy and flair were undiminished. He was still the sharpest-dressed drummer in the room, still rocking that legendary hair, and still playing like his life depended on it. It was an electric performance.

I once asked him, given all the small gigs he played, whether he needed the money. His response was immediate and heartfelt: “I just like to play.” That’s who Clem Burke was — a true believer in the power of music, a lifer in the best sense of the word.