Kim Wilde: "Love Blonde"

21 July 1983

"Now that summer's here, I suppose the charts are likely to be groaning under the weight of a load of sticky, syrupy slop designed to get everyone holding hands under the moonlight and being quite vile."

— Deborah Steels

"She's got that sen-su-a-li-DEE..."

When I was in my late twenties I went through a period of underemployment followed by not having a job at all. When not preoccupied with fretting over my bleak future, I was busy having stimulating conversations with friends, listening to lots of jazz and reading some superb books. (Appropriately, it was during this period that I discovered the works of Geoff Dyer, who describes the transition from studying at Oxford to life on the dole in South London: "The difference was the quality of study — which, of course, was far higher in Brixton") Not interested in heavy semiotics, I took to the more creative writings of French philosopher Roland Barthes: Roland Barthes by Roland Barthes, A Lover's Discourse (which we'll likely get to in two or three years from now) and Camera Lucida, his study of photography.

In Camera Lucida, Barthes puts forth the notion of the punctum, a detail in a picture, which may or may not be relevant to the image but which nevertheless touches a nerve in the viewer and is typically the very first thing they happen to notice. I flipped out. I scanned every photo available to me in search of a punctum and then, once that source had become tapped, I started trying to spot them in song. (I once wrote a not-at-all-pretentious piece about the "punctures" of Bill Evans' Sunday at the Village Vanguard in which far too much of my attention was on the cover photo, a sign that the 'audible punctum' was beyond me) Of course, music operates differently from pictures. We look at a photograph and take it all in at once; a record we have to experience as it progresses from beginning to end. Still, I became fascinated by trying to listen for moments would grab me, throw me off, hit a nerve.

Kim Wilde's pronunciation is this song's punctum. To anyone thinking that "Love Blonde" is a straightforward jazz-pop ditty about a gorgeous woman who has men wrapped around her little finger, listen to how she makes the word 'sensuality' sound so lacking in, well, sensuality. (I first misheard this number as being the story of a young, working class girl who aspires to sophistication and cocktail bars but only ends up tripping up and exposing her real self, which, as I type, kind of still feels like a legitimate take even if the Wildes had no intention of making this point) The femme fatale in the lyric is only seen to be that way. She's off limits to young men gawking at her and only comes alive when she's out of the public eye ("Situation: no-go zone / But she'll cut loose when she's alone") The attention is empowering and she gives no quarter. While the song was conceived as a joke, it needn't necessarily be taken lightly. Wilde winks audibly at the listener here and there but refuses to ham it up. And if you think she was singing about herself then the mangling of the last syllable of 'sensuality' should remove all doubt: she's just there to observe admiringly from a distance.

Considering the weightiness of her previous batch of singles, it's strange to think that people had Wilde down in the dumb blonde bimbo category. Prejudice towards her hair and image obviously played a part but so too was the implication that her dad and brother were doing much of the heavy lifting. Just reading back at the glowing reviews her two previous records received, it's easy to spot that Marty and Ricki Wilde being praised just as much. That may be right or wrong but at this point it appears to be a situation unique to her; other solo artists weren't having to share the acclaim among critics with their songwriters and/or producers. (This isn't to downplay the crucial role the two played, just to give Kim her due as one of her generation's premier vocalists, one who made those outstanding tunes and pristine productions into such fantastic singles)

"Love Blonde" is Kim Wilde's third Single of the Fortnight — and on the bounce to boot — making her the first act to hit for a trifecta. Having seen her chart fortunes dwindle with her remarkable trilogy of devastatingly bleak singles ("Cambodia" followed by previous SOTF'ers "View from a Bridge" and "Child Come Away"), it provided a welcome relief to fans and got her back into the Top 30. Not a big hit, no, and it would be a while before she began to really storm the charts again, but it's a single that adds luster to her already admirable discography. Having a record based in early rock 'n' roll and jazz (which I suspect may even be in on the joke: the likes of Weekend and Rip, Rig + Panic were then being heaped with acclaim, in no small part because of their use of jazz, a music that is to be taken seriously not like that synthy new wave rubbish) is a wonderful one-off for Wilde and a testament her underrated vocal range. She may not have had "sen-su-a-li-DEE" but she was way ahead of her peers in the game of crafting dazzling pop.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

XTC: "Wonderland"

"So sloppily romantic and sentimental it's got to be tongue-in-cheek," observes Steels, perhaps assuming that cheeky old grump Andy Partridge had more than a little to do with it. And, for all I know, maybe he did. But "Wonderland" is a Colin Moulding composition. Sure, XTC's bassist was reserved and buttoned-up in the most classically English sense but his music has feeling to it that his much more prolific partner struggled with in the group's early years, only really getting it later on with beautifully expressive numbers such as "Chalkhills and Children" and "Wrapped in Grey". One of those XTC singles that they must have known had no hope but that's not a knock on it.

(Click here to see my original review)

Fun Boy Three: "Our Lips Are Sealed"

28 April 1983

"Romantic? Just pass me that hanky."

— Deborah Steels

It's the middle of 1981 and a single has been released by an LA all-female quintet. It's immensely catchy with a chorus you find yourself singing along with almost from the off. The sunshine power pop helps propel a defiant song about not giving a crap what other people think and the singer's cheeriness makes it easy to buy what they're selling. It's a bit slow to take off but it eventually becomes an enormous hit in several countries — except for in England where the public are far too cynical for such stuff.

Jump ahead nearly two years and a single has been released by an all-male vocal trio with backing from mostly female musicians. It's catchy in an ominous way that sticks to the listener long after it's been played. The rumbling low key funk mixed with deep-voiced backing vocalists and a stark cello helps propel an uneasy song about wanting not to give a crap what other people think and the singer's brittle monotone makes it easy to buy what they're selling. It's a big hit in England but it doesn't do much elsewhere — it's presumably way too depressing for those bloody foreigners.

A co-write by Fun Boy Terry Hall and Jane Wiedlin of The Go-Go's, "Our Lips Are Sealed" is reputedly an account of their hook-up while on tour together in 1980 (when Hall and bandmates Lyndval Golding and Neville Staple were still members of The Specials). Since they both had a hand in it, it seems wrong to suggest that the FB3 version is a cover of the original. Rather, it acts as a response to it.

While both have their merits, I can't see how anyone would possibly opt for the Go-Go's version. Where Hall's vocal offers up heartbreak, Belinda Carlisle's reading is so blandly cheerful that it lends little to the song. It's a shame that Wiedlin didn't have the opportunity to take the lead as her brief solo in the bridge (the 'hush my darling' part that won Deborah Steels' heart) is arguably the best part of their recording. It also suggests what she might have done with it. Syrupy but with a coy wink, I get the feeling that Wiedlin could have offered up an interpretation that is kind and reassuring with a sly 'but don't you dare piss me off or I'm spilling the beans, buddy' air. (A demo of Hall and Wiedlin singing it together would be ideal but since they collaborated on it via correspondence I don't expect to ever come across such a thing) Still, The Go-Go's version is hard to dislike and does a nice job of flipping off nosy busyboddies.

Hall's vocals are superb but so, too, is the performance from the entire expanded edition of the Fun Boy Three, suddenly a misnomer for two reasons — and that's assuming that the 'Fun' in their name was meant to be ironic. Golding and Staple have less to do vocally than usual but their guitar and percussion parts are both excellent. The eight-or-nine-piece "Three" come together to play an understated groove that's not unlike the work of Talking Heads at around the same time. (I thought this was an incisive observation until I remembered that chief Head David Byrne produced it) As Steels says, this is absolutely divine and the best they'd ever do. (But then they were pretty much done by this point. Hall seemed to have a knack for dropping out of groups right at their peak. During the turbulent summer of 1981, he was riding high as lead vocalist of The Specials, who'd enjoyed a two year run of seven top ten singles on the bounce — and each one is still absolutely brilliant. "Ghost Town" was their second chart topper and immediately captured the zeitgeist of the miserable Thatcher years — and, yet, the definitive Specials line-up didn't survive to see out the single's chart run. Golding, Hall and Staple promptly banded together as Fun Boy Three, a more modestly successful combo but one that still had seven top twenty entries before winding things down later on in 1983. I'll have to see if Hall's third group, The Colourfield, managed a similar career trajectory)

In preparing to write this piece, I found myself listening to the Fun Boy Three and The Go-Go's back to back. (I also tried out the scarcely recognizable Urdu version that ver 3 ended up using as a B-side but the once was enough) The former's heavy, sorrowful treatment was nicely contrasted with the sunshine power pop of the latter. Hall's sorrow is replied with a terse 'quit moping, you silly sod!', while Carlisle's jubilant defiance is then met with a stern rebuke of 'don't you dare trivialize what we had' — and so on in an argument that no one quite comes out ahead in. While the likes of Fleetwood Mac and Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen and Richard and Linda Thompson cut whole albums of lost love anguish, Terry Hall and Jane Wiedlin managed to cram all sorts of therapy and dirty laundry into one smashing song.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

David Grant: "Stop and Go"

So, I just found out what a 'church plant' is. If, like me, you assumed it was either a ficus inside a place of worship or a spy who plants themselves among the religious for, er, reasons then you'd be as wrong as I was. No, a church plant is when someone establishes an independent (or semi-independent) church congregation in their homes with the intent to expand it in the future. David Grant is a church plant or has a church plant or runs a church plant. He also had hits with Lynx (already covered in this blog) and on his own. I'd opt for the material with his old band over songs like "Stop and Go"; Steels seems to like the fact that he was trying to replicate Michael Jackson's winning formula but to me it's just about the worst way an eighties' artist could choose to go. One MJ was more than enough. In fact, MJ's from the world of basketball and fronting The Rolling Stones is all I need. Anyway, best of luck with that church plant thing, Dave.

(Click here to see my original review)

The Jam: "Beat Surrender"

25 November 1982

"You made a lot of people very happy, ripped a few tunes off but chose to call it a day while you were still at the top."
— Deborah Steels

The local betting shop isn't just a place for taking a punt on Stoke City's chances in the First Division or on some Argentine horse or on catching a dodgy disease just from touching the counter. No, it's also where you can go to put a bob down on your favourite record as it vies for the "coveted" Christmas Number One spot.

A year ago The Human League took it in a walk but the competition looks a good deal tougher this time round. Some of pop's biggest acts are vying for this year's title. The Jam (who, let's not forget, are splitting), Culture Club, Wham!, Madness, The Human League who clearly didn't get enough the last time. Some old codgers are also present and correct. Let Bitz be your guide to the best bets as well as those with an outside shot. At least one has got to be worth a flutter!

The Jam: "Beat Surrender" (2-1)

Mods from Woking all the way to, er, at least the other side of Surrey are blubbing that their heroes The Jam are bowing out. Indeed, there may be members of The Jam who are similarly downing tears at moment. But instead of weeping, how about celebrating? The Jam of old with chorus to shout along with! A tune to spin round the Christmas tree! Words that are a mystery to all but Paul Welder (and even he may not have the foggiest what he's going on about here!). It is said that 'succumber' is when "one" succumbs to a cucumber which is something no one round the Smash Hits office has ever done, though Tom Hibbert did confess to once bowing down to a courgette. A sure fire winner!

David Bowie & Bing Crosby: "Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy" (5-2)

Not a double A-side but two songs sung at the same time. A swizz! Dame David and grizzled old Bing couldn't agree so they both croon on top of each other, the clots! Yet, there's a welcome round-the-fire mood and it's just the sort of thing that will appeal to both your uptight auntie and your hip older sister. A contender!

David Essex: "A Winter's Tale" (5-1)

Some Yule warmth from the Essex boy. While everyone else will be at home with their grannies who complain about mum's trifle, our David will be all by his lonesome for the big day. Nothing brings joy to faces of the young than the misery of others! A definite dark horse for the prize.

Culture Club: "Time (Clock of the Heart)" (6-1)

As your Granddad will no doubt say as Christmas evening draws to a close, "that's it for another year". What we need in this situation is Time and who better to be on the side of this precious commodity than the Boy himself. But it may take Time to get used to this one. Time is of the essence, Boy, get to it!

Madness: "Our House" (7-1)

A jolly knees up for the whole family! Just the sort of thing to have on while Mum and Dad are clearing up the wrapping paper on Christmas morning as your younger brothers and sisters are fighting over who gets to read the Beano annual first! A song for when Mum yells at you to get out of the kitchen while she's getting the yuletide goose prepared. But, sadly, one that might miss out on the top spot since ver kids won't be spending their precious record tokens until after Christmas. An early fave for the coveted New Years Number One Spot though!

The Human League: "Mirror Man" (10-1)

They took the prize a year ago with "Don't You Want Me" but lightning doesn't look to be striking Phil, Joanne, Sue and the other three this time round. A couple at odds over their future is one thing to get behind this time of year but a bloke who can't stop staring at himself in the mirror? He's probably the sort of chap who gives his "bird" oven mitts instead of a nice necklace for Christmas and he's the one miserable soul round the table who refuses to wear the tissue paper crown from his cracker. Pass!

Phil Collins: "You Can't Hurry Love" (12-1)

See below

Wham!: "Young Guns (Go for It!)" (12-1)

Those Wham! lads are so dreamy and they've finally become proper pop stars. It's hard to say if "Young Guns" has the "legs" to see them through to Christmas Day but stranger things have happened. A little more holiday cheer wouldn't be unwelcome. In any case, they're young and talented enough that they could well find themselves in contention for the crown before "long". Give 'em a year or two.

Shakin' Stevens: The Shakin Stevens E.P. (20-1)

"Blue Christmas" had been a hit for Shakey's hero Elvis and he's looking for something similar for himself. There's good value-for-money with four "cuts" but that may prove to be four too many for some. A seasonal hit of his own might do better. Try again, Shakes!

Renee & Renato: "Save Your Love" (25-1)

Like Wham! this pair have been slowly climbing the charts. The only trouble is, they aren't nearly as dishy as George and Andrew (not to mention Dee and Shirley). And their record isn't as catchy. In fact, it's downright awful. Buy it only if you're intent on giving it to your cousin as revenge for him giving you "There's No One Quite Like Grandma" two years ago.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Phil Collins: "You Can't Hurry Love"

Not pinched from The Jam's "Town Called Malice" but a cover of an ancient hit by a group called The Supremes, who Paul Welder, in turn, ripped off. Your mum who is convinced she is still "up" on pop's trends will no doubt be up for some Phil but there isn't enough holiday fun for the rest of us. Just as Culture Club needs more Time, the bloke out of Genesis had better get a move on pronto!

(Click here to see my original review)

Kim Wilde: "Love Blonde"

21 July 1983

"So, it's great to hear Kim roaring back with a bit of finger-popping jazz, a great femme fatale lyric and a punchy chorus. Go to it, gal!"

— Deborah Steels

"She's got that sen-su-a-li-DEE..."

When I was in my late twenties I went through a period of underemployment followed by not having a job at all. When not preoccupied with fretting over my bleak future, I was busy having stimulating conversations with friends, listening to lots of jazz and reading some superb books. (Appropriately, it was during this period that I discovered the works of Geoff Dyer who describes the transition from studying at Oxford to life on the dole in South London: "The difference was the quality of study — which, of course, was far higher in Brixton") Quickly ditching the heavy semiotics, I took to the more creative writings of French philosopher Roland Barthes: Roland Barthes by Roland Barthes, A Lover's Discourse (which we'll likely get to in two or three years from now) and Camera Lucida, his study of photography.

In Camera Lucida, Barthes puts forth the notion of the punctum, a detail in a picture, which may or may not be relevant to the image, that touches a nerve in the viewer, typically the very first thing they happen to notice. I flipped out. I scanned every photo available to me in search of a punctum and then, once that source had become tapped, I started trying to spot them in song. (I once wrote a not-at-all-pretentious piece about the "punctures" of Bill Evans' Sunday at the Village Vanguard in which far too much of my attention was on the cover photo, a sign that the 'audible punctum' was beyond me) Of course, music operates differently from pictures. We look at a photograph and take it all in at once; a record we have to experience as it progresses from beginning to end. Still, I became fascinated by trying to listen for moments would grab me, throw me off, hit a nerve.

Kim Wilde's pronunciation is this song's punctum. To anyone thinking that "Love Blonde" is a straightforward jazz-pop ditty about a gorgeous woman who has men wrapped around her little finger, listen to how she makes the word 'sensuality' sound so lacking in, well, sensuality. (I first misheard this number as being the story of a young, working class girl who aspires to sophistication and cocktail bars but only ends up tripping up and exposing her real self, which, as I type, kind of still feels like a legitimate take) The femme fatale in the lyric is only seen to be that way. She's off limits to young men gawking at her and only comes alive when she's out of the public eye ("Situation: no-go zone / But she'll cut loose when she's alone") The attention is empowering and she gives no quarter. While the song was conceived as a joke, it needn't necessarily be taken lightly. Wilde winks audibly at the listener here and there but refuses to ham it up. And if you think she was singing about herself then the mangling of the last syllable of 'sensuality' should remove all doubt: she's just there to observe admiringly from a distance.

Considering the weightiness of her previous batch of singles, it's strange to think that people had Wilde down in the dumb blonde bimbo category. Prejudice towards her hair and image obviously played a part but so too was the implication that her dad and brother were doing much of the heavy lifting. Just reading back at the glowing reviews her two previous records received, it's easy to spot that Marty and Ricki Wilde being praised just as much. That may be right or wrong but at this point it appears to be a situation unique to her; other solo artists weren't having to share the acclaim among critics with their songwriters and/or producers. (This isn't to downplay the crucial role the two played, just to give Kim her due as one of her generation's premier vocalists, one who made those outstanding tunes and pristine productions into such fantastic singles)

"Love Blonde" is Kim Wilde's third Single of the Fortnight — and on the bounce to boot — making her the first act to hit for a trifecta. Having seen her chart fortunes dwindle with her remarkable trilogy of devastatingly bleak singles ("Cambodia" followed by previous SOTF'ers "View from a Bridge" and "Child Come Away"), it provided a welcome relief to fans and got her back into the Top 30. Not a big hit, no, and it would be a while before she began to really storm the charts again, but it's a single that adds luster to her already admirable discography. Having a record based in early rock 'n' roll and jazz (which I suspect may even be in on the joke: the likes of Weekend and Rip, Rig + Panic were then being heaped with acclaim, in no small part because of their use of jazz, a music that is to be taken seriously not like that synthy new wave rubbish) is a wonderful one-off for Wilde and a testament her underrated vocal range. She may not have had "sen-su-a-li-DEE" but she was way ahead of her peers in the game of crafting dazzling pop.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Altered Images: "Love to Stay"

Having never come across the Alts prior to starting this blog, I had been looking forward to exploring the work of a very fondly remembered early eighties act. Then I put on "I Could Be Happy", which I reviewed last summer. I wasn't impressed. People told recommended other songs but they left me similarly unenthusiastic. Are we supposed to be charmed by this stuff? Do people think it's cute? I'd pretty much given up until I reluctantly put "Love to Stay" on last week and was pleasantly surprised to discover that it sparkles where prior singles are dull and flat. It's the sort of thing not unlike what Saint Etienne would be doing a decade later. Indeed, Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs would've happily traded in their vast collections of French Yé-yé and Belgian popcorn records to have composed something as elegant as "Love to Stay". Nevertheless, it somehow missed the Top 40 and Altered Images were pretty much done. And just as they were hitting their stride too.

Fun Boy Three: "Our Lips Are Sealed"

28 April 1983

"This, however, is the definitive version — slower and more atmospheric, lending that simply breathtaking tune an air of brooding passion. And when Terry sings 'hush my darling, don't you cry', you want to rush up and give him a big hug."

— Deborah Steels

It's the middle of 1981 and a single has been released by an LA all-female quintet. It's immensely catchy with a chorus you find yourself singing along with almost from the off. The sunshine power pop helps propel a defiant song about not giving a crap what other people think and the singer's cheeriness makes it easy to buy what they're selling. It's a bit slow to take off but it eventually becomes an enormous hit in several countries — except for in England where the public are far too cynical for such stuff.

Jump ahead nearly two years and a single has been released by an all-male vocal trio with backing from mostly female musicians. It's catchy in an ominous way that sticks to the listener long after it's been played. The rumbling low key funk mixed with deep-voiced backing vocalists and a stark cello helps propel an uneasy song about wanting not to give a crap what other people think and the singer's brittle monotone makes it easy to buy what they're selling. It's a big hit in England but it doesn't do much elsewhere — it's presumably way too depressing for those bloody foreigners.

A co-write by Fun Boy Terry Hall and Jane Wiedlin of The Go-Go's, "Our Lips Are Sealed" is reputedly an account of their hook-up while on tour together in 1980 (when Hall and bandmates Lyndval Golding and Neville Staple were still members of The Specials). Since they both had a hand in it, it seems wrong to suggest that the FB3 version is a cover of the original. Rather, it acts as a response to it.

While both have their merits, I can't see how anyone would possibly opt for the Go-Go's version. Where Hall's vocal offers up heartbreak, Belinda Carlisle's reading is so blandly cheerful that it lends little to the song. It's a shame that Wiedlin didn't have the opportunity to take the lead as her brief solo in the bridge (the 'hush my darling' part that won Deborah Steels' heart) is arguably the best part of their recording. It also suggests what she might have done with it. Syrupy but with a coy wink, I get the feeling that Wiedlin could have offered up an interpretation that is kind and reassuring with a sly 'but don't you dare piss me off or I'm spilling the beans, buddy' air. (A demo of Hall and Wiedlin singing it together would be ideal but since they collaborated on it via correspondence I don't expect to ever come across such a thing) Still, The Go-Go's version is hard to dislike and does a nice job of flipping off nosy busyboddies.

Hall's vocals are superb but so, too, is the performance from the entire expanded edition of the Fun Boy Three, suddenly a misnomer for two reasons — and that's assuming that the 'Fun' in their name was meant to be ironic. Golding and Staple have less to do vocally than usual but their guitar and percussion parts are both excellent. The eight-or-nine-piece "Three" come together to play an understated groove that's not unlike the work of Talking Heads at around the same time. (I thought this was an incisive observation until I remembered that chief Head David Byrne produced it) As Steels says, this is absolutely divine and the best they'd ever do. (But then they were pretty much done by this point. Hall seemed to have a knack for dropping out of groups right at their peak. During the turbulent summer of 1981, he was riding high as lead vocalist of The Specials, who'd enjoyed a two year run of seven top ten singles on the bounce — and each one is still absolutely brilliant. "Ghost Town" was their second chart topper and immediately captured the zeitgeist of the miserable Thatcher years — and, yet, the definitive Specials line-up didn't survive to see out the single's chart run. Golding, Hall and Staple promptly banded together as Fun Boy Three, a more modestly successful combo but one that still had seven top twenty entries before winding things down later on in 1983. I'll have to see if Hall's third group, The Colourfield, managed a similar career trajectory)

In preparing to write this piece, I found myself listening to the Fun Boy Three and The Go-Go's back to back. (I also tried out the scarcely recognizable Urdu version that ver 3 ended up using as a B-side but the once was enough) The former's heavy, sorrowful treatment was nicely contrasted with the sunshine power pop of the latter. Hall's sorrow is replied with a terse 'quit moping, you silly sod!', while Carlisle's jubilant defiance is then met with a stern rebuke of 'don't you dare trivialize what we had' — and so on in an argument that no one quite comes out ahead in. While the likes of Fleetwood Mac and Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen and Richard and Linda Thompson cut whole albums of lost love anguish, Terry Hall and Jane Wiedlin managed to cram all sorts of therapy and dirty laundry into one smashing song.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Alarm: "The Stand"

Shirley Bassey and Tom Jones weren't what they used to be and we're still at least a decade out from the rise of Manic Street Preachers and Super Furry Animals and Catatonia and (uh, excuse me while I throw up in my mouth) Stereophonics and so Welsh pop music pride centred around The Alarm. Looking and sounding like a provincial Canadian bar band hoping to get their big break through an appearance on cheap local TV (if you follow me), their playing is spirited and, as Steels says, the harmonica intro is the best part. Not bad, not bad but more the result of this issue's singles being not unlike the Welsh music scene of the time: The Alarm stand out because there's not much else to choose from.

The Jam: "Beat Surrender"

25 November 1982

"So, au revoir, confiture..."
— Deborah Steels

A remarkably prescient — not to mention amusing — farewell to The Jam from Deborah Steels there. Deliberately confusing their name with preserves may be a bit too obvious (did others do so at the time? I wonder if the Melody Maker considered using the headline The Jam Are Toast at this point...probably didn't) but to do so in French looks ahead to Paul Weller's future organization The Style Council. An E.P. called The Style Council à Paris, debut album called Café Bleu (featuring "The Paris Match"), a song called "Down in the Seine" on their follow-up Our Favourite Shop — and all from a band that drank cappuccinos and wore espadrilles, which I believe are some sort of European footwear. 

Even at a time when bands would still break up with some regularity (nowadays they go on "hiatus", a term I probably ought to loathe but for its sheer honesty: why bother with the farce of bringing a group to an end if they're only going to get back together again at some point?), Weller's decision to close up The Jam shop was stunning. The group was still in its imperial period, if only in the UK, and there didn't seem to be any indication that things were about to slow down either. But Weller had had enough and felt there nothing else they needed to accomplish. They were going out on top.

Except they were going out with something that is just sort of all right. While the call-to-arms choruses of "The Eton Rifles" and "Going Underground" still resonate, the attempt to emulate them on "Beat Surrender" falls flat. Weller's suggestion that we "succumb unto the beat surrender" (or "succumber to the beat surrender", it's impossible to tell) reads like he was struggling over quite what he had to say. (While I used to puzzle over 'succumber' being a possible portmanteau of succumb and cucumber, I'm now dismayed by the unnecessary redundancy — see what I did there? — of succumbing to a surrender) Of course it doesn't help that this is Paul Weller whose enunciation has never been muddier.

"Beat Surrender" is one of the hundred and forty-three songs that Andrew Collins has selected for his Circles of Life blog. Acknowledging that latter period Jam led into Paul Weller's next project the following year, he is emphatic that it's not a "Style Council number-in-waiting, a dry run, a handover of power" even if it's inevitable that we hear it that way now. Quite how well do the Greatest Hits of The Jam and Style Council segue into one another? Not as seamlessly as you might think. "Beat Surrender" closes out the first chapter still half-clinging a rebel-rousing spirit; "Speak Like a Child" kicks off the second with a looser, more joyous feel, that old curmudgeon Weller with a spring in his step. While ver Council would deliver far better piano-pounding pop works ("Shout to the Top", "Walls Come Tumbling Down") they had soul, jazz, hip-hop and folk to get out of their system first. (And even if "Beat Surrender" is a TSC song in waiting then why stop there? Shouldn't their entire output from "Absolute Beginners" on be one great, big Council-esque tease?)

Steels admits that she'd been expecting a "wrist-slashing epitaph" of a finale and is pleasantly surprised by how bouncy this is. This being Weller, however, you'd think she would know he wasn't going to touch the sentimentalist route. "And as it was in the beginning, so shall it be in the end / That bullshit is bullshit, it just goes by different names": yes, I'm sure he had in mind Jim Callaghan in '77, Mrs Thatcher in '82 and punk being the big thing then, new pop the big thing now: bullshit indeed. Still, I suspect he's taking a blowtorch to his own legacy here as well. You're favourite band just broke up? Big deal. Other groups will come along and it doesn't matter in the end. Feeling like all he's been all talk, no action ("All the things that I shout about (but never act upon) / All the courage and the dreams that I have (but seem to wait so long)"), Weller seems to be setting himself up for his headlong dive into the Red Wedge movement which dominated the next half-decade of his career.

There's a lot here to be said but the song itself is just okay. Weller has written far better songs throughout his lengthy career but this is the only one that could close out The Jam — and for that it probably deserves its SOTF. (Who says it has to go to the best tune?) Some singles are events and "Beat Surrender" works best as an event. "A Solid Bond in Your Heart" could have brought things to an end with a stronger song but one lacking a statement. Steels even brings up the value-for-money second disc featuring "passable covers of "Movin' on Up", "Stoned Out of My Mind" and "War"" (the latter of which, far from being passable, is plodding failure) as if to reaffirm its significance ("Not only a number one but a fab way of bowing out" she closes). Playing up to their last waltz, it entered the charts at number one, it was played live on The Tube and Top of the Pops and the band embarked on a farewell tour. La confiure est fini.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Trevor Herion: "Kiss of No Return"

There's no way this should work. The accordion is so quintessentially European that it could easily be mistaken for a parody, there's little beyond a bass and a trim synth in the way of backing and then there's the lothario baritone on top. Scott Walker managed to pull it off and so too does Trevor Herion. A doomed hero turns idealistic notions of love and the lush life into anti-romantic wistfulness which is magnificent. Steels is smitten and who can blame her? As an added bonus, this beautiful pop song is set in Paris, a city that would soon be familiar to a member of la confiture. A sure-fire SOTF at any other time when the biggest band in Britain wasn't blowing itself up.