June 10, 2010

Although they were so immovably British in both form and content they couldn’t get arrested on commercial American radio, the socially conscious punk-pop band, the Jam, were far and away the most popular group in England when they called it quits in 1982…and that massive success was supposed to be why they broke up!

At the time, Paul Weller - the Jam’s lead singer, key songwriter, and maniacal guitarist - basically said that the group was winning every music award in every conceivable category, their albums and 45s immediately shot to the upper reaches of the charts, and they could fill any hall in which they cared to play. So it was time to Try Something Different before he and his band mates, bassist-vocalist Bruce Foxton and drummer Rick Buckler, got too big for their working class hero britches and could no longer convey their raised-fist message. Better to quit, Weller insisted, while they were way, way ahead.

But I never believed Weller, not completely anyway, just as I only rarely believed his blue-eyed Socialist posturing with the Style Council, the group he formed shortly after the Jam’s demise. Weller was the kind of guy who’d write booming “let’s all get together, people” anthems and present himself onstage, in photos, and in videos as Jesus in a tailored suit, then act embarrassed when the masses expected him to give them a clue as to which direction they should charge.

But, man, he sure could write a musical call to arms, and, before his ego took over and the squabbling set in, the Jam rocked as ferociously as any group from the period. At the top of their game, these guys were plugged-in monsters. And they were nothing if not committed.

Like Bruce Springsteen, an artist with whom he shared more traits than were immediately apparent 30 years ago, Weller wore his rock & roll fandom on his sleeve, and saw himself as the next step in a grand musical tradition. The Jam was at the forefront of the Mod revival that originally played out via bands like the Who, the Kinks, and the Faces in the mid-1960s.

The Mods, as opposed to their arch enemies, the leather-clad Rockers, were pill-popping R&B-heads who accelerated and amplified American soul music to meet their dilated pupil needs, and they sported super-crisp threads while they did it. In the Jam’s early days, Weller simply added a degree of savagery to the Mod beat that would have left even the Who cowering behind Moonie’s drum kit.

Unlike the straight-up punks who surrounded them, the Jam had no qualms whatsoever about covering Wilson Pickett and Motown, because that’s what the Who did. And, even more jarringly to the safety-pin crowd, Weller shared Ray Davies’ rosy fondness for a civil, post-blitz England that no longer existed, and probably barely existed in the first place. This, when coupled with enormous record sales, set the Jam up for more than their share of derision from self-consciously nihilistic hipsters.

By now, that contempt seems close to idiotic, but so does ramming a sharp piece of metal through your cheek to prove your parents are boring. As annoying as Weller could often be when he was posing, there was nothing milquetoast about the Jam once they started playing.

The above photo of Foxton leaping like an adrenalized jackrabbit was not a one-time only event. When they were on stage, the Jam jumped a lot— I’m convinced Weller and Foxton run second only to Michael Jordan in being photographed in mid-air, with Charles Lindbergh rounding out the field. This Townshend nod was utterly fitting, though, because the Jam’s sound was designed as get-off-your-ass stuff. Weller was a showman, and, once he got going, he could convince damn-near anyone to hop around with him.

Need proof? Check out the following electrifying performance of one of the Jam’s earliest and greatest singles, 1977’s “In the City.” Give me one reason why this is anything less than spectacular. (Note that Mr. Slick Presenter throws a gentle smack-down at the gobbing punks who were already on the Jam’s back at this early stage of the game.)

In the city there's a thousand things I want to say to you
But whenever I approach you, you make me look a fool
I wanna say, I wanna tell you
About the young ideas
But you turn them into fears

In the city
In the city
In the city there's a thousand things I want to say to you

Weller had a thing for immediately blaming the rich for whatever ailed him and assuming the only hope on earth resided in the young, which, if you think about it, was no more ridiculous than the Clash suggesting Karl Marx and Toots & the Maytals could save the day. His eventual awareness that it wasn’t quite that easy was certainly one of the things that led to the Jam falling apart, although, as I already said, other less idealistic factors were just as important.

The line that redeems “In the City,” though, that adds a sense of encroaching melancholy and gives it more of a grounding in reality, is this: “And if it don’t work, at least we still tried.” That’s a degree of maturity that was in short supply on the original punk scene, where having no answer whatsoever was usually viewed as an answer, and admitting self-doubt was tantamount to being a pussy.

The other tune that’s mentioned in the video clip, “All Around the World,” gets my vote as the most powerful of all the Jam’s early singles, and is simply one of the greatest rock & roll records of all time. Play it LOUD to get the full impact!

"All Around the World"

Oi!

(chorus)

Is that naïvely idealistic? Um, yeah— so is “Born to Run.” But the urgency of Weller’s vocal - anyone who can shout a phrase like “Youth explosion!” in a commercial pop song and not appear to be shouting “Fab with Borax!” is more than pulling his weight - and the “whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp,” bass-heavy drive of the arrangement convinces me, if only until the end of the tune, that the streets will soon be filled with teenagers carrying clubs and torches.

This is what great rock & roll is all about, and the Jam pulls it off in high style— a couple minutes of sheer roar and release, with a heavy dose of hope tossed in amidst the wreckage. When your head and your heart are in the right place, especially if you’re 17 years-old, it can make you feel like Superman.

At the risk of sounding like an old-timer, it’s a shame you can’t find stuff like this on the radio anymore, and that you could barely find it in the U.S. when the Jam was setting crowds on fire with it overseas. We were too occupied listening to the Atlanta Rhythm Section.

                                                ***

By the time the Jam released what Weller considers their best record, “Sound Affects,” in 1980, there was no chance of pigeonholing them as mere punk rockers. Weller has said “Sound Affects” was deeply influenced by the Beatles “Revolver,” which is more than readily apparent in the track, “Start!,” with its bass line and guitar part lifted whole-cloth from George Harrison’s “Taxman.” But, somewhat more surprisingly, Michael Jackson’s glossy soul album, “Off the Wall,” was also on Weller’s mind.

This is easily the most “recorded” of the Jam’s albums, and I agree with Weller that it’s probably their best. The studio itself is now an instrument, with the often dense tracks featuring everything from backward guitar effects to layered vocals. My favorite cut on the record is easily “That’s Entertainment,” an acoustic-based burst of proletarian grief that’s catchy enough to strum its way into your unconscious and set up shop there.

Who knows why we connect with certain songs, but I often find myself singing “That’s Entertainment” while I walk the streets of Manhattan. It’s just a killer piece of work.

"That’s Entertainment"

A police car and a screaming siren
Pneumatic drill and ripped up concrete
A baby wailing, stray dog howling
The screech of brakes and lamplights blinking

I say that’s entertainment
That’s entertainment

Wow. If I’ll forgive that “tranquility of solitude” line that Weller crowbars in there, you know this one hits me deep.

                                                ***

The Jam’s last studio album, “The Gift,” was released in 1982 to middling critical acceptance, although the public gobbled it up right on cue. “The Gift”’s generally muddled content, with the exception of a rousing Motown pastiche entitled a “A Town Called Malice,” suggested the end was near for the group, that the engine was finally sputtering. So Weller gathered together a bunch of soul horns and a girl backup singer, then unveiled a masterstroke that stands as one of the more compelling farewells in pop music history.

“Beat Surrender” marches out all the Jam’s key concerns, everything from exhortations to make your passion work for you to a necessary cry of “bullshit,” and blasts them home with a punchy brass section and a final amphetamine ramble into the mist. It also lit the way to Weller’s work with the Style Council, but with a lot more heat than he usually generated in that particular guise.

"Beat Surrender"

Beat surrender

Wake me up with your amphetamine blast
Take me by the collar and throw me out into the world
Rock me gently and send me dreaming of something tender
I was brought here to pay homage
To the beat surrender

What an exciting way to shut the door on a remarkable run as the darlings of British youth. This makes “The Long and Winding Road” seem like the last breath of a bunch of crybabies, which the Beatles may well have been when they finally collapsed. At least the Jam got out before they started romanticizing their own weariness.

                                                ***

And now that the boys have had a cigarette break, let’s bring them out for one last encore. Feel free to get up and dance.

"Heat Wave"

Thank you! The management would like to remind you not to forget your jackets and purses on the way out.

Download: “Snap!” (2006) by the Jam, one of the finest greatest hits collections I’ve ever listened to. Be sure to get the 2006 edition, which is remastered and contains all the songs that appeared on the original 2-album set. “Snap!”’s version of “That’s Entertainment” is an acoustic demo that’s strangely spooky, and every bit as great as the studio version. If you also want to go for entire albums, I’d suggest you start with “Setting Sons” (1979) and “Sound Affects” (1980), but there are at least a few hellacious songs on all the studio releases.

Paul Tatara