An infinite number of tracks can each be THE greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns. Today, this is THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE!
THE JAM: In The City
Written by Paul Weller
Produced by Vic Smith and Chris Parry
Single, Polydor, 1977
There is something to be said for pastoral life. There is even something to be said for suburban life. But we all know where the real action is. The action is in the city.
Single, Polydor, 1977
There is something to be said for pastoral life. There is even something to be said for suburban life. But we all know where the real action is. The action is in the city.
For me, the city was Syracuse, where I saw bands play and action commence. And the city was also New York, so far away from me, but the capital of the world, the center of the universe. If the space ship that brought me to this planet had crashed elsewhere, my city could have been Boston, Philadelphia, DC, Toronto, Detroit, Chicago, Cleveland, St. Louis, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle. With a wider drop zone, it could have been Tokyo, Tel Aviv, Rome, Madrid, Brussels.
And London. For kids growing up in, say, Woking, the city was London.
I don't know much at all about the British town of Woking. I can tell you it's in Surrey, because Wikipedia just told me that Woking is in Surrey. I've never been to Woking, but I did see its sign from a window--life through a window--when I was in England, riding a train to London. And I can tell you what I said to myself when I saw that sign for Woking:
"Woking. That's where the Jam came from!"
It was a moment of reverence, a ride-by that probably should have made time for a pilgrimage. But the moment persists in memory. Woking. The Jam. And as the train kept a-rollin’, soon I would be in the city where it really happened. The Jam formed in Woking. They became stars in London.
Punk could be pop. In America, the Ramones already knew that, even if the charts didn't reflect the verity of that aesthetic. Across the pond, a British youth explosion was looking for new. An embrace of direction, reaction, and creation brought punk to the UK pop charts. The Jam--guitarist Paul Weller, bassist Bruce Foxton, and drummer Rick Buckler--were an energetic, Mod-influenced power pop trio, with the energy of the Sex Pistols and an avowed appreciation of the popcraft of the ‘60s, particularly the hooks and urgency of the Kinks and—especially!—the early Who.
Some dismissed it as mere revival, nostalgia-mongering. OLD wave, if you will. But these kids were indeed all right. The Jam’s singles were vital, irresistible. Their albums progressed from very good to flat-out amazing, shedding both imitation and punk’s perceived limitations with Woking class pride.
The Jam’s first single was “In The City,” a combusting powder keg of Who-Pistols aggro pounded and shouted and declared like a scar-spangled banner. They waived the Union Jack, and played like a British Invasion retaking the isle of its genesis. In the city, there were a thousand things they wanted to say to you.
The Jam’s clarion call rang across the modern world, all over the world. They never made it big in America, and that was America’s loss. But the clarion call reached my ears. And I stood at attention, ready to march.
In the city. There’s a thousand things I wanna do, a thousand songs I wanna hear, a thousand lights I wanna see, a thousand sensations I wanna feel. A thousand treats I want to taste. A thousand chances I want to take to fall in love with a thousand faces all shining bright.
A thousand things I wanna say to you. Some kids from Woking already said it best. Here’s to the city. And here’s to the Jam.
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