A while back, Terry Chimes (the original drummer of ‘The Clash’) played Valencia in a supergroup ‘The Crunch’. The touring band consists of former members of bands like ‘The Cockney Rejects’, ‘Sham 69’ and ‘Diamond Dogs.’  They encored with ‘White Riot’ by The Clash, which went down a storm with the crowd. Before the show at ’16 Toneladas’, we interviewed Terry Chimes about his days as a drummer with The Clash, Johnny Thunders, Billy Idol, Hanoi Rocks and Black Sabbath. He also told us about his eventual conversion from the heady world of rock’n’roll to that of a highly successful and dedicated chiropractor.

Terry Chimes’ autobiography, The Strange Case of Dr. Terry and Mr. Chimes, is a fascinating and heartfelt journey through the life of a musician who not only played with some of the biggest names in rock but also reinvented himself in an entirely different field. Best known as the original drummer for The Clash, Chimes offers a deeply personal, often humorous, and surprisingly spiritual account of his experiences in the volatile world of rock and roll and beyond.

From his early years and introduction to music to his time with The Clash, Generation X, Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers, Hanoi Rocks, and even Black Sabbath, Chimes gives readers a front-row seat to the highs and lows of life on the road. His storytelling is engaging, full of behind-the-scenes anecdotes, wild tour escapades, and the raw realities of being in a band at the centre of the punk explosion. However, what makes this memoir stand out is its depth—Chimes is not just recounting rock-and-roll war stories; he’s reflecting on the bigger picture, particularly his personal and spiritual growth.

The book also explores why he left The Clash and his journey towards becoming a successful chiropractor, a transformation that might seem unlikely for a punk drummer but makes perfect sense as Chimes narrates it. His insights into health, well-being, and kindness show a man who has evolved beyond the chaos of his youth, offering wisdom without preaching.

Written with warmth, humour, and self-awareness, The Strange Case of Dr. Terry and Mr. Chimes is more than just a rock memoir—it’s an inspiring tale of reinvention and following one’s own path. Fans of The Clash will certainly appreciate the firsthand accounts of the band’s formative years, but this book will also resonate with anyone interested in music, personal growth, or the unexpected twists life can take. A must-read for music lovers and those who enjoy stories of transformation, this memoir is both entertaining and uplifting.

Exclusive ’24/7 Valencia’ Interview with Terry Chimes

24/7 Valencia: You were The Clash’s original drummer, then returned in the early ’80s. What pushed you to walk away the first time?
Terry Chimes: I wasn’t enjoying it because we were always arguing. (The clue was in the name…). I was 19 years old and suddenly in the middle of this whirlwind—punk was exploding, we were playing raw, aggressive music, and it was exciting. But the atmosphere in the band was constant tension. Every rehearsal, every meeting seemed to spiral into arguments. That wears you down. For me, music was supposed to be about joy and energy, not endless fighting. So after recording the first album and touring, I decided to step away. It wasn’t an easy decision, but I knew I couldn’t live in that kind of negativity for long.

Even as a kid, you were drawn to science and medicine. Did that predate music?
 As a kid, I preferred a microscope to a football for Christmas, but I got distracted by music and the option of joining the Clash seemed more fun than medical school. Science was always my first love—I was the kid taking things apart to see how they worked. At school I was more comfortable in a lab than on a football pitch. I actually thought I’d go into medicine from the beginning. But then punk came along, and it was like a tidal wave—you couldn’t ignore it if you were a young musician in London at the time. Suddenly, I had this chance to join a band that was part of a movement, and medical school felt very dull compared to that.

 After The Clash, you drummed with Billy Idol, Hanoi Rocks, and even Black Sabbath. Was there a moment that nudged you from rock to chiropractic?
 Once I was in Sun City with Black Sabbath and we went ten-pin bowling. After three hours, my shoulder locked up… [A chiropractor] came in, cracked all my joints and I could move my arm again. It made a big impression.  Imagine that—you’re touring South Africa with Sabbath, playing huge shows, and suddenly you can’t lift your arm. For a drummer, that’s terrifying. This chiropractor showed up, did his adjustments, and in minutes I was pain-free. It was like a lightbulb moment: this was real healing, hands-on and powerful. It stayed with me for years. Later, when the constant grind of touring wore me down, I kept coming back to that memory and thinking, “That’s what I should be doing—helping people like that guy helped me.”

 You’ve described the music business as pretty wild. How did you see yourself in that world?
 After 15 years of that, I kind of had enough of being on the road and traveling and all the craziness… It’s full of crazy people, the music business — I was the only normal person there!” It really was chaos—late nights, parties, the temptations that swallowed so many musicians I knew. And yet, I was never that person. I didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t take drugs. I was a vegetarian and into health, long before it was fashionable. So I always felt a bit like an outsider in that world. I loved the drumming, the music, and the camaraderie on stage, but offstage I often thought, “What am I doing here?” It was like living in two worlds at once—one healthy and disciplined, the other reckless and destructive.

 You’ve also called fame “a drug.” How did you come to terms with leaving it behind?
 Fame is a drug. It’s very hard to walk away from it. But the funny thing is, if you walk away, it’ll come running after you. If you chase it, it runs away.” That’s one of the strangest lessons I learned. When you’re young, fame feels like the goal—you think it’ll fix everything. But the truth is, it often creates more problems than it solves. You see people chasing it desperately, and it always seems to slip through their fingers. For me, when I decided to leave music and study chiropractic, I thought I’d be forgotten. Instead, people respected the choice, and opportunities came back around. Fame has this paradoxical quality: it clings to you most tightly when you don’t need it.

What made chiropractic feel like the right second career?
I’d always known I wanted to heal people, so I enrolled on a chiropractic course in Bournemouth… Drums are the most hands-on instruments; chiropractic is the most hands-on medicine.” When I finally committed, it felt completely natural. Playing drums had trained me to use my body with rhythm and precision. Chiropractic is very similar—you’re listening to the body, working with your hands, and restoring harmony. And unlike the music world, where egos and chaos can take over, chiropractic is about service. You’re not thinking about yourself; you’re thinking about how to make someone else’s life better. That was the shift I needed.

 You’ve called yourself a “non-drug taking, non-smoking, non-drinking, vegetarian, health nut.” Was that at odds with punk?
 Yes, totally. Punk had this image of destruction, nihilism, and excess. I was the opposite—into exercise, health, and self-discipline. But that’s why the change to chiropractic “made much more sense.” It wasn’t so much a break with who I was—it was returning to who I’d always been. When fans read that, they’re often surprised, but for me it was just consistency. I always knew music was temporary, health was permanent.

Working with Billy Idol and Johnny Thunders put you in the thick of very different rock scenes. Any reflections from that chapter?
 Playing with Billy in Generation X and later his solo projects was a very different energy—slicker, more showbiz, but still full of fire. Johnny Thunders was the opposite: raw, unpredictable, living on the edge. With him, you never knew what was going to happen from one night to the next. Whenever success was beckoning, Johnny Thunders would self-destruct in some way. I feel lucky to have experienced all of those worlds—punk with The Clash, glam chaos with Hanoi Rocks, heavy metal with Sabbath, rock ’n’ roll danger with Thunders, and pop-punk with Billy Idol. Each taught me something different, and by the end I felt like I’d done it all. That made it easier to walk away and “jump in with both feet” into chiropractic.

 Did your Clash mates ever cross paths with your new life as a doctor?
 Mick Jones and Paul Simonon [from the Clash] have sent musicians to me for treatment, and I get some Clash fans. That’s been one of the joys of this new chapter—people come into my clinic not realizing I used to be “Tory Crimes,” the drummer from their favorite band. Others come specifically because of it. And my old bandmates have respected the path I’ve chosen; they’ve sent fellow musicians my way. It’s like the two halves of my life—punk and chiropractic—sometimes overlap in the nicest ways.

For readers who only know “Tory Crimes” from the first album credits, what’s the one thing you’d want them to understand about your story?
That my life has always been about using my hands—whether to pound out a rhythm or to heal a spine. People often see music and medicine as opposite, but for me they’re connected. Both require focus, discipline, and a desire to make other people feel something. I just changed the stage—from arenas to a treatment room. The purpose stayed the same.

Interview  by ’24/7 Valencia’ team

Article copyright ‘24/7 Valencia’

More info: https://www.amazon.com/Strange-Case-Dr-Terry-Chimes/dp/1922178241

Chiropractic clinic: https://chimeschiropractic.com/