The Book Tower

This one’s only for the fans. That’s not to say that Paulo Hewitt’s biography of Paul Weller is worthless. It isn’t. However, Hewitt is much enamoured with the singer-songwriter. A close friend for over quarter of a century (a friendship that ironically ended with the publication of this book), his depth of knowledge is unquestionable – as is his appreciation of the music. But the writing is spoilt by the presence of the author in the timeline. There’s too much of the sycophantic “me and Paul” stance in this biography, which made me understand just a little why Weller perhaps ditched this supposedly close friend.

No matter. He’s a strange man, and his odd character is one of the reasons why I warm to him so much. Growing ever-grumpy with age, now to almost Van Morrison proportions, Weller has always been weirdly inarticulate. He’s never come across too well in interviews, especially in the Style Council days where he attempted to experiment with humour. Hewitt attempts to drill into us the fact that he was having a great laugh, although my memories of the 80s Weller are uncomfortable. As are the interviews with his Council cohort Mick Talbot at the time, a bit part player strangely almost completely absent from this book. But Hewitt also exposes his mood swings, erratic choices in life and cruelty of character, which somehow works in his favour. An archetypal artistic temperament perhaps, but Paul Weller is certainly a great artist.

It all began for me in 1979/1980 where as an English schoolboy amongst millions of English schoolboys I discovered The Jam. Looking back, the popularity, artistic brilliance and sheer excitement of this band is possibly second to only The Beatles. Sure, other bands such as The Smiths were subsequently bigger in my life, but The Jam hit me at the right time. It also helped that there was a huge Mod contingent at my school in south London, helped also by the fact that Mick Talbot and his band The Merton Parkas were ex-pupils (some of our Mod contingent later starred in a Style Council video for heaven’s sake). Weller became a huge talking point, and although I wasn’t as big a fan as my friends in the Mod contingent (a friendship that sat uncomfortably with my closeness to the New Romantic contingent) I was kept awake at night by Weller’s creative cleverness, and the brilliant run of singles that included Eton Rifles, Going Underground, Start!, Absolute Beginners and the rest.

Paulo Hewitt dwells, as you might expect any Weller biographer to do, on the fact that Paul split The Jam in 1982. They were at the height of their success at this time and he was only 24 years old. He could have kept it going for another five years at least (this is probably a mean prediction; the ex-members of The Jam are now touring 26 years later with From the Jam and with some success). Crazy perhaps at the time, although it all makes a kind of perfect sense now. Through experimentation with different musical styles throughout the 80s to his mature solo career from the 90s onward he has, as Hewitt rightly points out, outlived all of his contemporaries. The elitist punk bands such as The Sex Pistols and The Clash, who looked down on him as he came from Woking and not within the square mile radius of The Kings Road, through to Elvis Costello, who he has rightly usurped as the long lived elder man of music.

Most telling in this portrait is who Weller’s fans are and who Weller, a difficult man on a good day, himself likes. Alongside his obvious influences such as The Beatles and The Kinks, he’s also a big Syd Barrett fan, and has recently expanded his horizons to include Nick Drake. He’s also embraced Acid House music, although Polydor records refused to release the final and very experimental Style Council album in the late 80s. But, at least within the music business, Weller’s admirers are select. Of his contribution to Band Aid in 1984 Hewitt reports that nobody chose to speak to him on the day of recording. And thinking of the self-congratulatory images of Bono, George Michael, Simon Le Bon and the rest I love him more for it. He’s had run-ins with the likes of Pete Townsend, and mysteriously refused to meet his idol Steve Marriott. The journalist Paul Morley, who can only enthuse about that square mile radius of The Kings Road and its enduring effect on Manchester, is not a fan.

But I am. Read this for interesting anecdotes and facts, but otherwise listen to the music. Start with Wild Wood, then flip back to The Jam stuff. His latest, 22 Dreams, is fantastic too. And if you’ve read this far it isn’t just boy’s music. Driving back from a conference today with a work colleague we listened to a few Weller songs and quietly enthused about the greatness of man. And this with a girl. From an all-boy, semi-Mod school this meant a lot to me.