Headstart For Happiness – the early Style Council years
When the curtain came down on The Jam in late ’82 it was undoubtedly a relief for Weller. The intensity of their message was simply weighing too heavily on his young shoulders. The music just too constrictive for his burgeoning mind. It should have perhaps come as no surprise that his next musical venture was going to be lighter in tone.
What was perhaps most shocking was just how adventurous and carefree he sounded on those early singles and albums. Formed almost immediately after the demise of his former charges Weller joined forces with South West Londoner (and fellow Mod) Mick Talbot, who had already played on a couple of Jam tracks (including, single The Eton Rifles) to rage against the Rock machine that had gone before.
Taking MacInnes’ Absolute Beginner’s template to Modernism the duo eschewed Parka’s for continental Alan Delon style cream macs and the monochromatic punk-rock xerox machine palette was swapped for vivid spruce green shirts and pillar-box red summer-weight knitwear. Gone were the stage-shoes and white terri-towelling socks and in came horse-bit suede loafers and correspondence toned tassel loafers; shoes so beautiful that socks were simply not needed.
The gritty high-rise and dirty-grey London town backdrops to their photo shoots were replaced first by the artful and romantic Parisienne streets; all Gauloise smoke, bitter espresso’s and La Monde newspapers before succumbing to the sun-kissed azure skies and fields of gold spun wheat, wind-blown scarlet poppies and dancing effervescent waterfalls of Europe’s capitals. Truly; The Style Council were a band that were broadening their horizons.
Musically, the pair of passionate Modernists did what all Modernists should do and magpied the best of everything, whilst adding their own personal twist. Debut single Speak Like a Child (March ’83) was the opening salvo with its title taken either from Herbie Hancock’s ’68 Blue Note album or the possibly the single by Tim Hardin, both of whom were influencing the pair at the time; It had a joyful soul swing married to an organ groove that mined from Surrender to the Rhythm by Brinsley Schwarz. It’s light-hearted video atop an open-top bus around the desolate fields of Wales was a long way from the claustrophobic intensity of The Jam. It shot up the charts before nestling at number 4.
Money Go Round (Part’s one and two) followed just a couple of months later. It’s title a steal from The Kinks (Lola verses The Powerman and the Money Go Round LP) and despite its taut slap-bass funk groove, trombone hook and half rap half socialist rant it is perhaps closer to The Jam sound than even later hit single Walls Come Tumbling Down – it really wouldn’t have been out of place on The Gift; alongside Precious or Transglobal Express. Far better was the track hidden away on the reverse of the 12” Headstart For Happiness.
This beautiful uplifting song defines the spirit of the band like no other – the stunning lyrics were the new manifesto for the new breed:
‘Naïve and wise with no sense of time, as I set my clock with a heart-beat, tick tock
Violent and mild, common-sense say’s I’m wild, with this mixed up fury, crazy beauty…’
Lyrically Weller was in a purple patch, and the cinematic beauty of their next single, the bona-fide classic Long Hot Summer (title from 1958 Paul Newman film) was a huge hit across Europe – provisionally entitled the A Paris EP (plaintive pieces from the Parisian pair) it also contained one of Mick Talbot’s finest contributions Le Depart, which echoed the cinematic feel of the A-side.
Its video though was another nail in the Rock coffin – playful and coquettish and taking a visual lead from the homo-eroticism of Brideshead Revisited (not for the first time – check out the lyrics for Pity Poor Alfie) with a half-naked Weller fondling Mick Talbot’s earlobes to the synth bass-line soft bongo percussion of new drum lieutenant of just 17 summers Steve White – it had many a Jam fan spluttering into their Cappuccino. The single reached number 3 and became their highest chart position and deserved higher. A revisited and remixed version also charted in 1989.
Steve White also appeared on the follow-up single (and fourth in a year – imagine that now kids!!!) A Solid Bond In Your Heart, which like Money-Go-Round reached No 11, was another hark back to The Jam days. The song was actually written the year before and was vetoed as their swan-song in favour of The Beat Surrender. It sounded dated in comparison to what had preceded it and despite a wailing saxophone the four-to-the-floor Northern Soul stomp belonged a life-time away. Again, significantly better was the B-side It Just Came to Pieces in My Hands. Even the video seemed to be a throw-back to a Jam Mod image, although Weller’s hair in it is rightly considered as the definite Mod barnet.
Part Two To Follow
Tales from the Land on the Never-Never.
People are always tempted to choose black shoes to accompany any outfit. This could be due to its versatility, or just the fear of choosing the wrong coloured shoes to complement the clothing. But never fear, here at Modshoes we pair colour with colour, and have advice on how you can too.
Two-minutes and forty-five seconds later and in the dream-state it’s a blink of an eye and it’s a lifetime all the same. The shoes are dull and matt with small wispy clouds of polish. I set the shoes down and click the replay switch. A quick check that the coast is clear and I drop a couple of bombers as the mechanical clunks and whirrs ready themselves for another pull at the very core of me. The cloth is switched to the dry end and I start to press harder, buffing the leather, like a spinning dancer, gathering pace as the tune reaches its imploring crescendo.
The harsh clicks and whirrs a distant memory, so discordant after the emotive swell of soul, now replaced by the silence that screams through the room. The only sound the vague monotone buzz from the Dansette, matching the one from the Durophet. I inspect my handiwork. The shoes catch the light, shining, and glistening. I roll them slowly, devouring the glossy radiance. Yes! They’re ready! I’m ready! I lower them gently into the waiting mouth of my bag. Open like a lover’s arms.
Satiated, I light a cigarette, breathing out slowly, watching the neon-blue smoke chasing its myriad tails, tumbling blindly, before climbing leisurely towards the ceiling, consigned to history and memory – but who needs memories? It’s the promise to come that’s important, not even tomorrow; it’s the promise of tonight that’s essential – vital as life itself!
It has been widely acknowledged the part that The Beatles and The Stones played in gaining a wider audience for Soul and R&B artists in the UK. Their early albums are awash with covers of music of artists of black origin. The intoxicating and hypnotic rhythms captivated young (mainly white) audiences opening both ears and minds in the process. That spiritual connection between the black struggle and white working classes oppression has remained ever since.
Her first single I Only Want to Be with You married a Phil Spectre Wall of Sound production, awash with luscious layers of strings to a Shirelles pop/soul style melody (one of her big influences). It matched her glamorous excess of smoky heavily made-up eyes, her towering peroxide bee-hive and her flowing floor-length gowns. It was a huge hit and went on to sell a million copies.
1964 was a defining year for Dusty. Hot on the heels of two more massive selling singles, the Bacharach penned Wishin’ and Hopin’ and the emotive (and career defining, musically at least) I Just Don’t Know what to do with Myself Dusty toured South Africa with her group The Echoes. The tour was controversially terminated and resulted in her deportation for playing to an integrated audience at a theatre in Cape Town which was against the then government’s apartheid segregation policy. Dusty’s contract went on to become one of the first to exclude segregated audiences. She often appeared as the only white artist in black-artist reviews.
Its exposure gave the associated touring Tamla-Motown Revue featuring many of the same artists a much-needed shot in the arm and there was a huge uplift in interest at both the shows and on record. What was once the preserve of a few clued-up Mods and music-fans was now a national passion. The charts across the latter half of ’65 and ’66 are awash with Tamla tunes. Even Dusty’s singles from the period like Stuck in The Middle and Little by Little carry a certain Motown swagger.
Sadly, with the progressive counter culture pulling away from her now ‘unfashionable’ classic-pop stylings and with perhaps some poorly advised sojourns into orchestrated jazz Dusty’s latter sixties output was a little hit and miss. That is, until she revisited her more soulful roots and decided to sign for her idol, Aretha Franklin’s record label Atlantic Records and to record her next album in Memphis at the renown American Sound Studios. Producers’ Jerry Wexler and Tom Dowd recognised her natural soul voice and dispensed of the all-too-often saccharine orchestration in favour of back-up vocal group the Sweet Inspirations and seasoned Soul musicians’ The Memphis Cats. Despite its critical successes (Dusty in Memphis received excellent reviews both sides of the pond) it failed to translate into sales, even with the comparative top-ten success of Son of a Preacher Man. Latterly of course the song and the album have both been lauded as the classic and essential listens that they are.
Little in Jamaican music is clear. Smoke and mirrors doesn’t begin to cover it. Any fans of Ska, Rocksteady and Reggae will be well versed in multiple releases of the same song, by the same artist on differing labels. Then, to cap it all, those that played the records often scratched the labels off so that those listening in for rival sound-system would be unable to identify the most popular records on the dancefloor. Underhand deals, backstabbing (sometimes literally) and clashes were common. The most famous of these ‘musical wars’ in Jamaican music of the early sixties was between Cecil Bustamente Campbell, better known as Prince Buster and Derrick Morgan dubbed ‘The Ska King’.
Amid the faint whiff of corruption, he so very nearly fell at the first hurdle when immigration stopped his attempt to buy American records via the Farm Work Programme to play on his system. His competitors knew he would have been a serious threat to them, so perhaps ‘interference’ was inevitable. Buster if nothing else was a fighter, so he moved into recording and producing and created his own music to play; producing successful hits for not just himself but Eric ‘Monty’ Morris, Owen Grey and his soon to be arch-rival Derrick Morgan.
Buster lit the touch paper on Blackhead Chineyman in no uncertain terms within the stinging lyrics “you stole my belongings and give them to your Chineyman; God in heaven knows you are wrong; Are you a Chineyman or are you a black man?”
There were a few more exchanges such as Buster’s 30 pieces of Silver but it wasn’t until Buster threatened to release a song called Chinese Jacket which explicitly named Morgan, that Morgan warned Buster that should he proceed, he would release one with the lyrics “Buster while you were at sea, I was alone with B (Blossom Buster’s wife) and all your children have the mark of the Blackhead Chinaman”.
Town Magazine September 1962 and three young men from Stamford Hill; Mark Feld, Peter Sugar and Mickey Simmons appear in an article called Faces without Shadows. It is the first article about Mods (not that they are named as such in the article itself) to appear in the Media. Across the 6-page article amid the stunning Don McCullen photos they pass judgement on a raft of subjects from politics to scooters but mostly clothes; especially tailored clothes. Mark Feld, of course went on to become 70’s superstar Marc Bolan via proto art-popsters John’s Children. It’s probably one of the reason’s that copies of the magazine now change hands for several hundreds of pounds.
The article is very much geared to where these young Princes see themselves going. Their self-assuredness is absolute. What is not really touched on is their Stamford Hill home which has given them this self-belief. All three were young Jewish boys whose clothes obsessiveness was well served within its tight-knit community and not least by its tailors who were more likely to entertain the ‘eccentricities’ of the young dandies than a more traditional West End tailor. Bedecked in bespoke clothing at 12 and 13 years of age, making them feel head and shoulders above their peers. Their group also contained the likes of Henry Moss, Gerry Goldstein, Barrie Milner and perhaps more famously (Sir) Alan Sugar of TV show The Apprentice and Michael Abraham Levy whose charms have raised tens of millions of pounds for the Labour Party. At an age where they were too young to congregate in pubs (which no doubt they would have considered beneath them) there chief hangout was the Bowling Alley. The first that was opened in the UK.
