And on “Walls Come Tumbling Down”, Weller wrote a supreme piece of protest pop, finally making good on his Curtis Mayfield ambitions.Įntering the charts at No 1, Our Favourite Shop was the culmination of a stunning two years’ work. The slow-burning opener, “Homebreakers”, depicted a family torn apart by the on-your-bike imperatives of the time, while “A Man Of Great Promise” and “With Everything To Lose” were eloquent testaments to doomed youth. While none of the pretensions had been lost, Our Favourite Shop was a far more cohesive work, with lyrical sights aimed squarely at Downing Street in the second term of Thatcherism. You can’t help but feel that had they released a single album in the autumn of 1983, including “Speak Like A Child”, “Long Hot Summer”, “Ever Changing Moods”, “Headstart To Happiness”, “You’re The Best Thing”, “Here’s One That Got Away” and “Spring, Summer, Autumn”, it would be rightly acclaimed as one of the great British pop debuts of the decade.īy 1985, Weller had cemented a working band including Steve White on drums and Camelle Hinds on bass, plus new love DC Lee, around the core of him and Talbot. A relief from the meat and potatoes of much of The Jam for sure, but a lost opportunity that in some ways scuppered the band’s nascent career. As a consequence the album that finally appeared felt weirdly lopsided, like a meal consisting of amuse-bouches and desserts, but no main course. It had originally been conceived as a double but, not for the last time, Polydor refused to indulge Weller’s whims. It featured 13 tracks (which Weller sang on less than half of), a handful of Talbot’s blithe jazz pastiches (‘Café Blue Note’, more like), some daft rive gaucherie in the sleevenotes, and none of the previous year’s hit singles. But when Café Bleu, the debut LP proper, followed in March 1984, it was no less bemusing. Introducing… might have been wished away by diehards as a grab-bag of singles – the sound of a man musically taking off a pair of too-tight winklepickers. While vintage R&B and Motown might have been acceptable to the discerning mod revivalist, “Long Hot Summer” was brazenly contemporary, staking Weller’s claim to be blue-eyed Soulboy No 1 ahead of metropolitan club kids like Spandau Ballet, or even home counties upstarts like George Michael. That’s most evident on “Long Hot Summer”, a track smitten with the lush, synthetic filigree producers Jolley & Swain had tailored for Imagination, and the first undeniable stroke of Style Council genius. But collected on Introducing…, available as a European import in autumn ’83, the extent of Weller’s transformation became clear. While The Style Council had been manifestly born out of “a hatred for the rock myth and the rock culture” and conceived by Weller and new partner Mick Talbot as an attempt to marry the Small Faces and the Modern Jazz Quartet, debut 45 “Speak Like A Child” wasn’t the radical departure many expected. So, with the back catalogue newly remastered and reissued on beautifully hued vinyl, is it time to give The Style Council their due? It’s hard to imagine a debut more likely to infuriate the green-parka army of betrayed Jam fans than Introducing… (1983). Since that night, all manner of supposedly outdated ’80s ideas have gained a surprising new currency. On record the scathing lyric was strung up in needless orchestration here it was stripped back, delivered with rueful urgency. Ignoring calls for “Eton Rifles”, Weller revisited “A Stones Throw Away”, from the Council’s 1985 state-of-the-nation address, Our Favourite Shop. You could sense fresh bearings last December, when he persuaded Wyatt out of retirement to join him and Danny Thompson in a people-power trio for the first Concert For Corbyn in Brighton. It’s to Weller’s credit that he’s still evading the main road even as he approaches 60. Sometimes the most important part of what you do comes out of the moments when you sidestep the main road.” “I know some people think of it as Paul’s period in the wilderness, but the wilderness is a very underestimated place. “I really empathised with The Style Council,” said Robert Wyatt. There was one distinguished dissenting voice. The post-Britpop narrative still had it that the ’80s were a regrettable detour for Weller – a decade of pretensions, anodyne funk, questionable politics, dodgy haircuts and toe-curling sleevenotes. When Uncut published its Top 30 Paul Weller songs 10 years ago, it was no surprise that only five tracks from The Style Council made the cut.
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