THE JAM: ABOUT THE YOUNG IDEA. LAUNCH PARTY at SOMERSET HOUSE

Paul Weller and Martin Freeman

The Jam: About The Young Idea is a new comprehensive exhibition dedicated to one of Britain’s best loved bands. Or, in the words of Paul Weller’s father which greet entrants painted in huge letters, “The best fucking band in the world.” 

Whichever way you slice it, during their five-year and six-album recording career, The Jam achieved that rare balance of attaining huge commercial success whilst maintaining their integrity. Much has been written and said about Weller’s decision to split the band in 1982 but to have continued without his heart in it would have made a mockery of the band’s honesty and openness. It was the right thing to do and in keeping with their/his ethical code.

That doesn’t mean it’s not nice to have a little reminisce now and again this exhibition provides the perfect opportunity to reflect on those days. It also offers a look at what young Britain was like for many during the 1970s and early 80s. With the entire band and the Weller family opening their archive plus items from collector Den Davis, and curated by Nicky Weller, Tory Turk and Russell Reader it’s packed with memories.

The launch party was last night and thanks to Mrs Monkey’s contacts and the kindness of photographer Martyn Goddard and his wife Bev, we were in for an early view and to hobnob with an array of obvious and less-obvious guests. After passing Bar Italia Scooter Club’s line-up at the gates we wandered into the courtyard of Somerset House and a quick scan revealed, among others: Mick Talbot, Martin Freeman, Paul Cook, Glen Matlock, the Strypes, Gem Archer, Mark Powell, Jeremy Vine, Steve Craddock, Paul Whitehouse, Mark Lamaar, Matt Berry, the grey haired bloke out of Phoneshop, some Mods, the occasional female and, wait for it, Trevor & Simon.

Yet the very first person we spotted was Bruce Foxton and naturally we nabbed him for a photo and asked what he thought of the exhibition. He still hadn’t been in to see it. Bruce, probably wary he was going to get accosted all night, wasn’t very chatty and appeared slightly disorientated so we left him alone before I could ask him to explain that “Freak” single. As a kid I always thought he was quite tall but he’s not, he just jumped high.

After a few glasses of champagne it was time to mooch around the exhibition. It had everything you’d expect: items of clothing (boating blazers, Union Jack jackets, suits, bowling shoes, “Eton Rifles” jacket, boxing boots etc); instruments (row of Rickenbackers including the Wham!, the red one with “I Am Nobody” scratched into the body, the black one, Bruce Foxton’s white bass from “Town Called Malice”, Rick Buckler's drum kit etc); posters, fanzines and music press front covers; photos, badges etc.

All well and good but the real treasure came in the early rooms (think there were six in total) which had gone through Paul Weller’s teenage drawers and uncovered his early dreams and schemes. Like many (guilty) he’d drawn himself in cartoon format (“The Adventures of Paul The Mod”); designed early ideas for imaginary single and album covers (guilty); sketched a row of Black Power fists (“Right On Brothers”); and made attempts at poetry and songs. These were circa 1972-3, when Weller was about fourteen. He had it all worked out but unlike most of us dreamers had the steely determination to see it through. The family photos and pictures of a kipper-tied Jam attempting to entertain working men's clubs are a treat too.  

Martyn Goddard was a photographer for Polydor (starting with Queen in 1973, luckily he moved onto better things...) and worked with The Jam all the way from In The City to Sound Affects and chatted us through some of his work: the picture of Bond Street tube station at midnight, the In The City wall, strolling down Carnaby Street, his own jukebox on the sleeve of Sound Affects which he still has and uses. Martyn said he knew right from the start the band were special as they had something about them and everything came directly from them. They weren’t controlled by managers or external forces, it was simply them and they knew what they wanted. Although Martyn saw them progress from new band with a debut record to a having records enter the charts at number one he didn’t really see a change in them as people. It was noticeable in Martyn’s images that although Weller was the creative driving force the photographs were always of the three of them. They – Paul, Bruce, Rick – were a band. Martyn suggested Paul felt strongly tied to the fact they were a band and that was a contributing factor in splitting to allow him greater freedom, unencumbered (my word, not Martyn’s) by the other two. I don't think there's any argument in that. More of his work can be seen in a separate exhibition, Golden Faces: Photographs of The Jam 1977-80 by Martyn Goddard at Snap Galleries and in a new book, Growing Up With The Jam.

I wouldn’t have put much money on Paul Weller attending the launch do but he was there. There were scores of Wellers in fact. Getting access to him was nigh on impossible though as he was scuttled in and then out by security. He did grab a few folk for a hug, a couple of photos, a photo opportunity with Martin Freeman - who rather than prepare for his forthcoming role as Steve Marriott had come as Max Headroom - and then off to a secret hideaway away from pestering acolytes desperate to touch the hem of his garment. Not sure about the blue lensed shades but he looked fit and well. I cannot answer Mrs Monkey’s query as to whether he uses a spray tan with any great authority.

Back outside and on to the free beer we had a good chat with Paul Cook about the Sex Pistols and their contribution to Britain’s history; working with Edywn Collins; and getting the Professionals back together (Cook and Steve Jones, not Bodie and Doyle). Author and man-about-town Mark Baxter and I chewed on the idea of an equivalent Style Council retrospective, something I put to Mick Talbot shortly afterwards (I can work fast sometimes).

Mick didn’t really think there would be much call for a Style Council exhibition in this country but Italy or Japan might be more accommodating. Ever the Internationalists the Style Council. Like Paul Cook, Mick wasn’t a hoarder of stuff but did have a few pieces knocking around. “Haven’t you got a pair of your old espadrilles in the bottom of a wardrobe?” Mick couldn’t confirm that. I should say this was the third time I’ve spoken with Mick and he’s always been interesting and good fun. He also spoke about playing on The Jam’s version of “Heatwave” (I love that version) and memories of joining the band at the Lyceum to do it live. He sounded like a Jam fan, just like the rest of us.

The Jam: About The Young Idea is at Somerset House, London. Open daily until 31 August 2015, admission £9.50.

Golden Faces: Photographs of The Jam 1977-80 by Martyn Goddard at Snap Galleries, 12 Piccadilly Arcade, SW1 from 1 July to 8 August 2015 (Tuesday to Saturday), admission free.

Details of Growing Up With… The Jam can be found here.   

From The Jam. Bruce Foxton's attempt at reforming the band aren't going to plan...

FEBRUARY PLAYLIST

Gene McDaniels. Over the moon at making the February Playlist.

1.  Billy Fury - "Don't Jump" (1962)

In Tony O'Neill's latest book, the brilliant Black Neon, one of the main characters - a half Haitian, one-armed, murdering, thieving, junkie, black magic practicing, lesbian (it's that kind of book) - states "This is undoubtedly the best rock 'n' roll song about someone thinking of throwing themselves off a cliff ever recorded". Don't argue with the nice lady.

2.  Dean Jones - "Women (Ska-Da-La-De-Da)" (1964)

Don't let the word Ska throw you, Dean Jones is a white TV actor and star of the film The Love Bug but somehow cut this storming Latin/popcorn dancefloor filler.

3.  Gene McDaniels - "Hang On (Just A Little Bit Longer)" (1965)

Marvellous, although surprisingly not one of McDaniels' big hits. Can only assume Scott Walker/The Walker Brothers didn't hear it or else they'd have been all over it and would've had a smash on their hands.

4.  Donald Byrd - "Brother Isaac" (1965)

Byrd's I'm Tryin' To Get Home LP was released under the title Donald Byrd Brass With Voices, for that's what it was. The voices are used rhythmically - there's no actual words, just what I suppose is scat singing. Sounds a terrible idea but works a treat, especially on the opening soul-church jamboree. Should add there are musicians of neither brass nor voice as a stellar line-up including Freddie Roach (organ), Herbie Hancock (piano) and Grant Green (guitar) testifies.

5.  Steve Cropper, Albert King and Pops Staples - "Big Bird" (1969)

In May 1969 Stax released something like 27 different albums and I've yet to hear one which isn't great (makes note to collect all 27). On Jammed Together the three guitarists all compliment each other, allowing the listener to clearly identify their distinctive styles. 

6.  Wayne McGhie & the Sounds of Joy - "Fire (She Need Water)" (1970)

Light In The Attic Records last year released a lovely limited edition orange-vinyl version of the Wayne McGhie & the Sounds of Joy album. Jamaican-Canadian McGhie - Studio One veteran and Jackie Mittoo band mate - warmly blends reggae, soul and funk.

7.  Jerry Reed - "500 Miles Away From Home" (1972)

Bobby Bare's 1963 country hit given a more low-down swampy feel by Jerry Reed who's "feeling dirty" apparently.

8.  Four Tops - "Are You Man Enough?" (1973)

Spend a day watching Shaft, Shaft's Big Score and Shaft In Africa. This was the used over the opening credits to the final film and demonstrates how even post-Motown the Tops could still deliver. Their LP for Dunhill, Main Street People, is jammed with other equally great tracks - "I Just Can't Get You Out Of My Mind", "It Won't Be The First Time", "Sweet Understanding Love", "Am I My Brother's Keeper" etc. Co-produced by Brian Potter. Pre-Phoenix Nights I guess. 

9.  The Style Council - "Big Boss Groove" (1984)

After seeing the Style Councillors at the 100 Club on Thursday I've slightly altered my opinion about tribute acts, or at least am prepared to make an exception in this case. Done with meticulous attention to detail I thoroughly enjoyed them. Largely centred around the '83-'85 period it highlighted what a purple patch it was in Paul Weller's career; such a range of styles although with a strong soul influence. The Councillors well chosen set even included covers the Council only did live - The Impressions "Meeting Over Yonder" and Chairmen of the Board's "Hanging On To A Memory" - which was indicative of where songs like "Big Boss Groove" came from; a track I'd clean forgotten about until hearing it played live the other night. "Get on up."

10.  Hookworms - "Radio Tokyo" (2014)

The rocking organ intro sounds like the greatest few seconds the Inspiral Carpets never made before the pained screeching vocals take it some place else. Some scary, noisy, but exciting place.

SUBBACULTURE - ISSUE 2

“In my final years at school in the early eighties it seemed everyone was a – something. A Mod, a rocker, a teddy boy, a rockabilly, a rudeboy, a break dancer, a punk, a participant in any one of a number of street revivals”. The further we get from that period the most fascinating it becomes and it’s what informs one of my favourite websites, the nicely nostalgic yet inspiring Subbaculture, and its spin-off fanzine.

Neatly designed and intelligently written, issue two includes – amongst other things - the birth of Acid Jazz; the film Faces In The Crowd centred on the Glasgow Mod Weekender; Skins and the Melbourne Sharpie scene (who knew what Sharpies were?); early 80’s indie; and a smart appraisal of the first years of the Style Council and Paul Weller's "pure Mod thinking" which contains this memorable passage: “The word pretentious began to be bandied around to describe the Style Council. In response Weller simply shrugged his shoulders, draped a sorbet coloured piece of fine knitwear around them and began singing in French”.

Subbaculture Issue 2, 36 x A5 pages, limited to 200 copies. £3 including P&P from Subbaculture.

SPIN DRIFTING: REFLECTIONS OF THE STYLE COUNCIL – THE CLASSIC ALBUM SELECTION (2013)

I’ve been listening to The Style Council. Not for the first time of course but thanks to a new six CD Classic Album Selection the first time back-to-back chronologically.

Their career, between 1983 and 1989, neatly spanned my teenage years so it’s difficult to listen to them without old memories spin drifting past. They’ve never been afforded the elevated status of The Jam but in their own way The Style Council had a similar effect shaping the political, sartorial and musical worldview of elements of my post-Jam generation.

I bought their debut single from WH Smiths in Hounslow on the week of release whilst visiting my Granma. I sat in the chair under the grandfather clock, eating a cake mountain, and tried to comprehend The Cappuccino Kid’s gobbledygook on the back cover as Giant Haystacks wandered around the ring with some little fella bouncing off him on World Of Sport. “Speak Like A Child” wasn’t a big departure from The Jam’s last knockings but the emphasis Paul put on the “A” in the title jarred then and jars now. The eight minute politicized funk of “Money Go Round” took “Precious” a step further yet “Long Hot Summer” didn’t sound like anything Weller had put out to that point and if he was keen to severe ties with The Jam’s terrace mentality then a shirtless, greased up, ear stroking frolic with Mick Talbot on the riverbank was one way to go about it.

Those three singles and a few extra tracks make up the first CD here, Introducing, but Café Bleu was the proper album coming out in 1984. There’s five jazz instrumentals with Paul only occasionally taking the main vocals on the album, happy to share them, including giving Tracey Thorn the lead on “The Paris Match” yet driving her round the bend with his unhappiness at her pronunciation of “fire”. It’s a pity the unified jazzy vibe of the first side didn’t continue on the flip but Weller’s restlessness and refusal to get stuck in a groove meant experiments in rap (“A Gospel”) entered the fold. “A Gospel” was dreadful then and sounds worse now – hideously dated - especially as the rest of the record still sounds fresh.

The Style Council’s attempt to turn us (by us I mean me but I was far from alone) into skateboarding, body-bopping B-Boys was mercifully brief (for now) as their primary goal was to mould us into sophisticated Europeans: pastel pullovers draped over shoulders, sauntering down the Champs-Élysées, stopping for a frothy coffee and reading Le Monde before shopping for Blue Note LPs. The reality for a bunch of fourteen year olds was walking home from school in our bowling shoes with grey Fred Perry jumpers tied over our shoulders, pulling out a packet of Gauloises we’d bought from the garage (they didn’t stock Gitanes) and looking down at the other kids with their boring B&H and Rothman’s fags. Those Gauloises tasted bloody disgusting but they rarely touched our lips and our jazz collections consisted of half of Café Bleu and a few Mick Talbot B-sides.

Our Favourite Shop was the most consistent album they’d make; it all fits together and like 22 Dreams many years later is greater than the sum of its parts, however, when listened alongside the others it’s noticeably their least ambitious and experimental LP, which is an odd thing to say bearing in mind Weller sings a track in French and Lenny Henry talks one in Brummie. This album also has the dubious distinction of spawning my first piece of published writing; a review for The Phoenix List, a folded A4 newsletter that grandly claimed to be a “The Weekly Newspaper For Mods”, which landed on doormats every Thursday. In fairness, there was a lot of Mod news in 1985 so the font was tiny. From the dark corner of my bedroom while my little brother was asleep in the bottom bunk surrounded by his Roland Rat posters, I wrote this (brace yourself):

“Although Paul Weller’s not so young anymore, he’s still angry and those of you who thought he’d gone soft should have a listen to this album. Gone are the biting Rickenbacker chords of The Jam which have now been replaced by breezier pop tunes. But Weller’s lyrics have never been more direct and harsh. Throughout the record he tackles a number of today’s social problems, i.e. unemployment, racism, drugs, government, even new towns with such clear and crisp lyrics that it almost makes you feel guilty. The tracks themselves are a mixture of slow acoustic-style numbers; funky “Soul Deep” songs (“Internationalists”); and excellent up-tempo pop songs (“Luck”, “A Man Of Great Promise” and “The Lodgers”), these are the best as they sound happy when you listen to them but their underlying messages are clear. The ace track is “Homebreakers”, sung by Merton Mick and is so classy I can’t describe it. The album is worth buying for that song and “A Man Of Great Promise” alone. Paul Weller, Spokesman For A Generation? Too true. 10 out of 10.”

And yes, I did take that into school, and no, nobody was interested. Apart from squirming uncomfortably reading it now a few things strike me. Firstly, and most disheartening, is how very little my writing has improved. I’m acutely aware I still write like an average 15 year old fanzine editor and here’s the proof but the crux of the review is about right. It is the directness of Weller’s attacks (and that he had come back firing after the largely innocuous lyrics of the previous LP) that stand out here and which he would lose throughout his solo career. I'd later have many drunken conversations with my mate Guy, sitting round his flat playing records all night and when he'd stick on Wild Wood or Heliocentric I’d launch into a rant about how I couldn’t relate to Weller's songs any more, they were either too personal or ambiguous. Our Favourite Shop isn't like that – it’s a vivid scrapbook of Britain in 1985 yet musically (bar only one of two brief moments) has hardly dated. I was over generous with my initial review but I there’s no way I’d give it anything less now than 8 out of 10.

All well and good to this point. We’d moved from being Europeans and were now Internationalists. We were politically motivated off the back of campaigns for CND, miners, even Red Wedge which prompted Neil Kinnock to crack the hilarious gag, “Can I first of all disabuse anyone of the idea red wedge is the name of my hairstyle.” I’d turned a blind eye to Weller’s slicked back hair do and his floppy soul boy wedge but come The Cost Of Loving I was down the hairdressers getting my spiky blonde highlights put in. The rubber cap I had to wear left such a deep indent in my forehead it looked like I’d had a lobotomy so chose to walk home four miles rather than get the tube in case I saw anyone I knew. I wasn't copying Paul Weller, we just had similar taste...

1987’s The Cost Of Loving is the one with the infamous plain orange sleeve. The one which made John Weller splutter “What’s this fucking bollocks? You’re not the Beatles, you cunt”. John was talking about the artwork but he could just as easily been talking about the album. Originally released as a double album with a couple of songs on each side it was only side two with the decent “Heaven’s Above” and excellent “Fairy Tales” that saw much turntable action. The flat singing on the lifeless single “It Didn’t Matter” was bad enough but having a loved up Weller and Dee C. Lee crooning to each other on Anita Baker’s “Angel” or reciting embarrassing lyrics like “I’m gonna love you anyway, I don’t care what people say…” on “Waiting” was atrocious, as was the attempt to transform themselves into a full blown US style modern soul act.

Why “Waiting” was given a single release instead of “Fairy Tales” I’ll never understand. A bonus point though awarded for having Curtis Mayfield mix “Fairy Tales”, even if all Curtis did (bless him) was turn the treble up on the guitar and pocket a few a dollars for five minutes work. But ask most people about the album and I’ll put money on them mentioning “Right To Go”, another ill-advised venture into rap or electro or whatever it was (thankfully it wasn’t Paul and Mick rapping). Nowadays I admire in their balls in attempting to do things like this but then I was near apoplectic. No one liked it, it lost them lots of followers, but they didn’t give a stuff.

This album coincided with Jerusalem, their indulgent satirical film (reasonably funny now, especially Talbot who had a natural comic flare), which showed before their gigs. I was more tolerant than my mates and the majority of a bemused audience at the Royal Albert Hall. It was difficult to hear what was going on, what with being crushed by a stampede off disgruntled punters pushing past, “Fuck this bollocks, I’m going to the bar”. I can’t remember anything about their set. I think I saw them three times but only recollect things around the gigs – like wanting a black and orange TSC college scarf – rather than any music. They did look good though around this period: lots of white denim, Cutler and Gross sunglasses and Bass Weejuns being order of the day. I’d never bought such expensive shoes before.

Like all their albums, Confessions of a Pop Group, bore no resemblance to the previous one. Side one - “The Piano Paintings” – was their take on classical music which prompted Mrs Monkey to scoff yesterday, “The Style Council were so pretentious”, a charge I can’t defend but I like. One again it was a complete shift in styles but this one suited them better (pretentiousness always sat well with The Style Council). Side two played it straighter and the run of “Life At A Top Peoples Health Farm”, “Why I Went Missing” and “How She Threw It All Away” is the best three-in-a-row they ever made. Simply getting the lyrics to “Health Farm” on the radio and television now would be impossible.

The tears of young men splattered many a badger-like shoe when news of The Jam’s spilt surfaced yet throughout the whole of The Style Council’s existence I collected all their records (including imports); had a notebook I’d write all their recording details just in case I needed to quickly check whether Steve Sidelnyk played percussion on “The Story of Someone’s Shoe” ; taped everything I could off the telly on to a couple of video tapes I made special boxes for (“The Style Council: Probably The Best Pop Group In The World. Volumes 1 & 2”) yet their disbandment in 1989 hardly registered.

Polydor refused to release Modernism: A New Decade, which only got saw the light of day on The Complete Adventures of The Style Council box set in 1998. I didn’t buy it so it’s inclusion on this Classic Album Selection was a major draw I wouldn’t ordinarily repurchase things but the set only costs around fifteen quid and is neatly presented with all discs in separate gatefold sleeves.

I didn’t expect to like it. In 1989, deep house (or maybe it was called garage) was the thing. I wasn’t greatly into it but was interested enough to go to Ibiza and root around record shops buying Ibiza House & Love albums of mixes popular on the island. The catch-all “dance music” was everywhere, rave was still around, "Funky Drummer" break beats were on every other record, the Happy Mondays were coming through, The Stone Roses were about to go overground, and bands with guitars would all claim “there’s always been a dance element to our music”. It’s not difficult to understand Polydor’s stance. Those wanting house records were not interested in the Style Council and for the most part the opposite was true. Even we bought and said we preferred Joe Smooth doing “Promised Land”. If the Albert Hall crowd were dismissive of Jerusalem they were openly contemptuous when greeted by an unfamiliar acid house Council in July ’89, in what would provide the band’s death knell. I wasn't there and was more likely listening to Inner City records.

Yet, against the odds, Modernism now, rather than sounding like a tired band about to be put out of its misery, sounds like a band rejuvenated and optimistic of the future. It does sound of its time (although less than I'd expected) and of all the albums this is the one I’ve listened to in the most nostalgic way (despite not hearing it until now). Other "pop" acts were moving in a similar direction (The Blow Monkeys and ABC to name two) but TSC - in retrospect - sound far more convincing and authentic. Discovering it in the recent hot weather with a beer in hand has helped. Mrs Monkey, far less forgiving and unencumbered by an 80s past, asked “What on earth are you playing?” It’s the Style Council. “It’s shit”. It’s the Style Council’s house album. “It’s still shit.” You probably had to be there.

I’d planned to play these six albums through once but have kept going back to them. The ground they covered in little over six years is incredible. Sure, it didn’t always work but they were brave, they challenged themselves and their audience and they never stood still. In Paul Weller’s career this is far from the wobbly part in the middle it is sometimes thought (although there’s been a discernible shift in that) and no one should underestimate the contribution of Mick Talbot.

In 1990 Paul Weller told the NME, “We created some great music in our time, the effects of which won't be appreciated for some time.” Now is the time.

Mickey's Monkey (2009)