(1980) ‘Start!’ was the first single I purchased new, as opposed to second-hand, which accounts for me being able to say that both it and ‘Here comes the summer’ by the Undertones were the first singles I ever bought. First records are supposed to be embarrassing, necessarily purchased before taste of any kind has been acquired. But somehow I managed to land on two gems. Perhaps it was that there just wasn’t the money for me to fritter it away on pop or indeed novelty records before I reached the age of 12. The shop was an old-school type in West Byfleet which also sold cameras and sports goods and had its vinyl shelved behind the counter. ‘Start’ had been a number one; I was buying it a while after it had dropped away from that height. Famously it borrows bass and guitar riffs from the Beatles’ ‘Taxman’, though the vocal melodies and ultimately the song are Weller’s own. At this distance, the perfection of the music is slightly undermined in places by the youthful intensity of the lyric. But back then ‘if we communicate for two minutes only / it will be enough’ and ‘knowing that someone in this world / feels as desperate as me’ was exactly what a boy about to become a teenager wanted to hear. SWITCH (1984) The Ipswich Gaumont, for the Our favourite shop tour. The Style Council supported by Billy Bragg and the Questions, with Weller and Mick Talbot playing Funkadelic’s ‘One nation under a groove’ as well as the Impressions’ ‘Meeting over yonder’. He opened up worlds, with those choices, among others. SWITCH (1985) My General Studies AO level required an essay-length review of a cultural artefact. Mine was of The gift LP; it borrowed heavily from review excerpts quoted by Paolo Hewitt in his book about the Jam, A beat concerto – lines I had read with sufficient frequency and obsession to be able to recall verbatim. SWITCH (1987) A sharp-suited and consequently somewhat overdressed Weller and D.C. Lee are at the head of a youth CND march as I come towards it to join it. It ended with a concert in Kennington Park headlined by not the Style Council, but the Mighty Lemon Drops. I remember nothing of that, though, just the sight of those two exotic creatures leading a procession of rather more drably dressed students. SWITCH (1992) What a revelation the first solo Weller LP was. Gone were the conceptual excesses of the Style Council, and in their place, a renewed emphasis on his craft, which made for a crop of songs both as great and as humble as any he has written before or since – ‘Above the clouds’, ‘Amongst butterflies’, ‘Remember how we started’, ‘Clues’, ‘Into tomorrow’. But I must have dreamt that I went to see the comeback Paul Weller Movement gig at Dingwalls in Camden in 1990, as I thought I had; I can’t find any record of it – no notebook entry, no preserved ticket, no sense of the occasion. I guess I very much wanted to be there, but wasn’t. SWITCH (1995) At the Blue Note in Hoxton, when my friend Jack’s band was supporting Ocean Colour Scene, Weller was there, in the upstairs bar. Did he watch Jack in action? I don’t suppose he did, but in a way it was enough that he was simply in the building. SWITCH (2004) On my lunch break, who should I see skipping over a zebra crossing on Marylebone High Street? He is smaller than I remember, elfin almost, but again, immaculately dressed. Possibly he is on his way to visit with his mate Noel G., who lives down the road and round the corner from my office. But my day is made, a sighting of the lesser-spotted Weller being nearly as auspicious as, say, seeing a heron rise into the air from a riverbank. SWITCH (2009) Writing for the first time about Weller since that AO level effort, this time focussing on ‘Tales from the riverbank’ for my B sides blog. As ever when I read a piece back, there are sentences which would be better for being more simply phrased, but in it I think I got at something about the relationship between avid listeners and their musical heroes, and also about the friction between musical realism and escapism: ‘At the time, and throughout the eighties, the decade which saw new heights of political conflict within modern Britain, no fan of the Jam or the Style Council would be likely to admit that Weller’s songs as much as [Duran] Duran’s were an escape from precisely the reality that he often wrote about, or at least the intimation of the reality that was waiting for you upon leaving school. Even as he reeled off his list of doubtful delights in ‘That’s entertainment’ – ‘sticky black tarmac’ and ‘slashed-seat affairs’ – we dwelt not so much on the portrayal of reality as on Weller’s wordplay, his melodic gifts, the liberty espoused by his vocal delivery, the heights that his guitar could reach when set against the solid foundations of Bruce’s bass and Rick’s drums. These were things which on one level had nothing to do with external reality, nothing to with the world. They were cerebral, and of the heart. Consciousness and emotion – the essence of what it means to be alive. They set many of us dreaming of a time when we would have the confidence to express ourselves in the same way; about what, it almost didn’t matter.’ SWITCH (1982) So I’ll finish this journey back through my life at 45 revolutions per minute using the words with which Weller signed off his sleeve notes on the back of the cover of the live Dig the new breed LP, the one that brought the curtain down on the Jam after his shock announcement that he was disbanding the group. SWITCH What have I learnt? BELIEF IS ALL!
- The Jam – Start! (Polydor, 1980)