A Rose in the Jam

In a time when being a "Mrs Nine o clock" news was a breakthrough on the mainstream middle aged sober male model television, that was in all colours bar black, at least for a while. When teenage fashion meant DMs were de riguer, punks in suits were not cool except to prive the rule there is an exception, the exception was the Jam. The Jam wore suits and ties be damned. How come?

Perhaps because the music was damned fine. Hard and edgy like a 45" vinyl edge to cut a thumb quicker than paper when drwn from its cardboard wallet.

And yet for all the swagger, the all mod cons, the punk with ties, the inner city chants, the aggression, there was a subtle coup d'etat of always being angry. There was a moment of metamorphosis to make a teeanger grow a tad towards his inner grown-up, there was a softer tune, a more poetic take on life. A cuddly toy in withthe Action men. Paul Weller could still write a tune that would sit back and re-set the button marked "so what if its not in yer face". "English Rose" acoustically meandered path to a gentle place and others like "Butterfly collector" meandered a path of pleasantness wrapping sadness in melancholy.


It nice, he's still here too.