Going underground

In 1980 I was living with my family on an RAF base in North Wales, in my final year of primary school and doing the usual things eleven year old kids do, playing football, watching cartoons on a Saturday morning and spending my pocket money on Blackjacks and Fruit Salads with the occaisional Sherbert Fountain thrown in.

One Saturday evening my parents were heading out, and had asked our next door neighbour's sixteen year old son to babysit for me and my younger brother.

His name was Julian, and I thought he was the coolest person I'd ever seen. (It was later, having seen Top of The Pops, that I realised he styled himself on the lead singer of the band I was about to hear for the very first time, and the resemblance was uncanny).

When Julian arrived he was carrying a small, red box of records. Later in the evening, after my little brother had gone to bed, he popped the small silver clasp on the case, opened the lid and pulled out a pile of seven-inch singles.

We spent the evening listening to the most exciting music I'd ever heard, Blondie, The Vapours, Elvis Costello and many more. But there was one single, one band, that jumped out at me.

'Going Underground' by The Jam blew my eleven-year-old mind. The speed of the guitar, the anger of the lyrics and the aggressive, rough voice of Paul Weller was intoxicating. From that point on I was a Jam fan, and I listened to everything Paul, Bruce Foxton and the late Rick Buckler released from that day on.

The Jam were, for me, the greatest band of the twentieth century with The Stone Roses a close second.

Over time I've forgiven Paul for The Style Council, and can even appreciate some of their songs now. And I came back to Paul with his solo career and think he has been one of the most influential artists in my lifetime.

If you don't know The Jam and want to hear them at their best, I'd recommend their second and third albums, 'All Mod Cons' and 'Setting Sons'.