Sounding genuinely shocked at his good fortune, Mick Jones confesses that he never expected to find himself in the position he’s in today. At the age of 52, the punk founding father is on the road with Carbon/Silicon, a project that started out with two legends messing around in the studio and ballooned into something much more. Reached on the phone at South by Southwest in Austin, Texas, the ex-Clash guitarist reports that reactions to the group’s live shows suggest that the world is happy to see him and former Generation X bassist Tony James back in action.

“It’s been maybe 15 years since I’ve done a tour like this,” marvels Jones, who, over the course of the interview, proves to be one of the nicest guys in rock ’n’ roll. “I’m beginning to think, though, that maybe I need to be 15 years younger to do this. It’s all been a bit nerve-racking. I have young children now”¦So it’s been a bit of an upheaval, but it’s really nice to be back.”

As much as he’s missing his kids—aged five and three, in case you’re curious—what has Jones feeling blessed is that Carbon/Silicon feels like a banging-on-all-pistons band. In the beginning, it was only he and James making music in the studio and distributing it for free over the Internet. Late last year—a half-decade into the group’s existence—Carbon/Silicon left the digital-download-only world, releasing its official debut, The Last Post. Along for the ride are drummer Dominic Greensmith and bassist Leo “EezyKill” Williams, who cofounded Jones’s first post-Clash project, Big Audio Dynamite.

“I like to think that we’re like the Beatles in reverse,” Jones says, laughing with the rasp of a man who smokes a carton of Dunhills for breakfast. “We were a studio band first that decided to go live. We’re like the Beatles, only old. And we’re a bit deluded.”

He is, of course, being self-deprecating. Based on The Last Post, both he and James still have plenty to say, both lyrically and, more importantly, musically. The album wastes no time getting to the good stuff; the kickoff track, “The News”, starts out as beautiful as a Spanish sunset before the tightly coiled guitars and rock-steady drums roar in, all held together by the singsong vocals of Jones, who sounds like a man convinced the world can still be changed. “The Magic Suitcase” is, fittingly, a wash of pure magic where gauzy waves of distortion are counterbalanced by sunrise-in-heaven vocals, and “National Anthem” brings the funk with a laid-back, too-cool-for-school vengeance. Those looking for political content can head directly to “Oilwell”, which trains its sights on Iraq with such lines as “We’ll try to make a humanitarian case/For dropping some love on the human race.”

Mostly, The Last Post is Jones and James sounding just as relevant as whatever flavour of the month the NME is slobbering all over this week. That’s doubly impressive when you consider what the rest of the class of ’77 is up to these days. The Damned and Buzzcocks make going-through-the-motions records that serve no purpose other than giving them an excuse to tour so that fans can yell for “Orgasm Addict” and “New Rose”. The Jam and the Stranglers continue to milk it despite having lost their singers, and, in the ultimate sellout of everything punk supposedly stood for, the Sex Pistols have become a glorified nostalgia act. Asked why his former peers seem to have given up on trying anything new, Jones laughs and says, “ ’Cause it’s bloody hard, that’s why.”

Dating back to his run with the Clash, the Rock and Roll Hall of Famer’s career has been marked by a determination to take risks. When Jones was fired from the Only Band That Matters in 1983, he returned to the frontlines with Big Audio Dynamite, which took deadly aim at the dance floor. Over a decade-long run, B.A.D. would mash up white-man funk, old-school hip-hop, mechanized synth-pop, and disco-jacked punk. The goal with Carbon/Silicon, Jones notes, was to keep moving forward artistically. As easy as he and James make that sound on The Last Post, it wasn’t without plenty of hard work.

“That’s the great trick of it all,” he offers. “What appears effortless was actually composed in blood and sweat. When we started, we could hardly sing a note or play a note—we were that weak. It was like all the time you sit at home, Charlie’s out there getting stronger in the bush. But now I feel like we’ve found our voice through all the struggle.”

And what Jones likes best about that struggle is that it’s far from over. The iconic rocker doesn’t mind admitting there have been times when he’s had no desire to make music. Eight years ago, he walked away from the industry, disillusioned after London Records sacked him as the producer of Contempo, whose singer, Richard Archer, would later form Hard-Fi. “I got a bit messed up by that,” Jones confesses. “I knew what I liked, but I didn’t know where that fit in the world at that time. I really took a knock, to where I was down in the dumps for a while. But you go up, and you go down.”

Happily, there’s no doubt where he’s at with Carbon/Silicon.

“Everybody loses it, but sometimes you get your mojo back,” Jones says. “Part of the struggle is to ask yourself, ”˜What’s happening here? I’m not getting complacent here, am I?’ These are the questions that you ask yourself. But at the same time, you can’t be filled with self-doubt. You’ve got to have some sort of belief. And I’m always thinking that the best songs are yet to come. They’re just around the corner. I just have to get me one of the Second World War rifles that shoots around corners so I can see them.”

Carbon/Silicon plays Richard’s on Richards on Saturday (March 22).

In + out

Mick Jones sounds off on the things that enquiring minds want to know.

On leaving the digital-only realm with The Last Post: “I always like to have a hard copy of everything. I actually like vinyl, myself. I look at the album sleeve while I’m listening to the music and it feels like a libretto to me. I love that. Plus you can roll a joint on it.”

On refusing to trade on past glories: “I’ve tried to join Clash tribute bands, but no one would have me. So instead, I had to do this. It’s funny because I’ve met guys who play in Clash tribute bands. I remember saying to one, ”˜Which one are you?’ He said, ”˜I’m you.’ He looked like Buddy Holly! I was like, ”˜No way—c’mon, get out of here.’ ”

On his legacy: “Everything takes time before it’s appreciated. I’m starting to see things being appreciated that I did ages ago. [The Clash’s] Sandinista! wasn’t well received by a lot of people at the time, even though we liked it. But as the years grew, people started to look more fondly upon it.”

On Vancouver: “Do you still have a static-electricity problem in Vancouver? I always remember the first time we [the Clash] were there—every time you’d walk on a carpet and touch an elevator button, you’d get an electric shock. Everywhere we went, we’d get a shock. To us, it was like North America was somehow more charged than Europe.”