by Iris O’Connor
“From the archives of 2006:” a playlist I made one late, desolate night in February of 2021. I was scrounging around my house for any artifacts certifying my existence. My parents’ lack of a proper filing system has left me feeling like I’m missing something, like I know I lived through my youth, but I don’t have much recollection of it. Amidst the digging, I found a priceless ancient artifact, my dad’s Apple iBook G4. After charging it, I opened its bulky screen, revealing that its last interaction with the world had been sometime in 2009–at least 11 years prior. My parents weren’t the type to videotape every birthday wish or record my height on the door frame every few months. One could say their parenting style was slightly rebellious for the times, but it could also just be attributed to a lack of organizational skills. Those few times throughout my life, when I’ve come across an old journal full to the brim with my own stick figure drawings and misspelled words – those are the times where I converse with my younger self.
I think my lack of material things that give proof to my youth, in some ways, forces me to look back at my childhood and see everything besides my own image – the things that influenced me the most. I think of what my parents looked like, the sound of the CD player spinning, and the paint chips on the staircase of our home. When I come into contact with those journals, paintings or lost photo books, the feeling is priceless – like when you see a friend for the first time in a while. That first time you reunite, there’s nothing else in the world that is more important than the attention you give and receive from them.
When I opened the screen, I was greeted with the Apple Music interface. On it read, “Most Played Songs of 2009:”
“Heartache” by A Girl Called Eddy
“Let’s Go Out Tonight” by The Blue Nile
“Northern Sky” by Nick Drake
“Beast of Burden by The Rolling Stones
“Stay” by Meshell Ndegeocello
“Going Underground” by The Jam
“Fascination” by Everything But The Girl
“Black Is The Color Of My True Love’s Hair” by Nina Simone
“The Paris Match” by The Style Council
“Every Word” by Sade
“Delicate” by Damien Rice &
“Wild Wood” by Paul Weller.
Each of these names and bands are people I’ve known throughout my life. I would listen to their voices melodically speak to me on misty Monday mornings, metal lunchbox in hand. When feeling lonely, I would study their album covers, feeling the smooth textures as my finger outlined their faces, or scanning the vinyl for any scratches on their magical crevices. These artists spoke to me, raising me with their poetry. Their lyrics linger in my brain like the smell of my old house – I don’t consciously try to remember, but it’ll just naturally appear at any moment.
It seems as though the artist who visited most frequently in 2006 was the English duo, Everything But The girl. Formed in Britain in the early 80’s , EBTG is a masterful combination of Tracey Thorn’s somber but melodic vocals, and Ben Watt’s emotionally captivating songwriting. But if you take a deeper look, you’d find that artist Paul Weller is seen the most often, but his presence is disguised to the plain eye. It was Weller who would visit me most often– through the speakers that is. Starting off on the TV as my dad queued his early music videos, to a spinning CD in the car, and once more through the vinyl stereo speakers. Weller was the one I listened to most often, his music becoming a backdrop to my childhood.
I grew up with a keen awareness of rebellion, of speaking out against your dissatisfaction, of behaving badly. It’s part of my DNA. This rebelliousness, however, wasn’t introduced to me through Weller. It was my dad whose rebellion would tear through basketball games, supermarkets, and movie theaters. I attribute my skill in J-walking to him.
Growing up, he always seemed to find a way to break a rule. There was always a line to cut, attitude to be given back *to, a rule to break. He didn’t care who you were, how much power you had, if he felt disrespected or anyone adjacent to him had been mistreated, he would say something about it.
Funny enough, I know for a fact that while Weller’s music might not be the sole origin of my dad’s rebelliousness, his music was the soundtrack that played in my dad’s headset at 18/19 years old – the same age as Weller when he started out in the industry, and the same age I am right now. Weller was a motivator for the youth, primarily youth from Britain, but for the small sum of minds here in America, like my dad, who were searching for a sense of transcendent optimism with shouts of rebellion and dissatisfaction.
Besides my father, Weller was the first rebel who I knew from a young age. I am reminded of the rebellious hero Nietzche so passionately speaks of in The Will to Power: “A rebel can be a miserable and contemptible man; but there is nothing contemptible in a revolt as such--and to be a rebel in view of contemporary society does not in itself lower the value of a man. There are even cases in which one might have to honor a rebel, because he finds something in our society against which war ought to be waged--he awakens us from our slumber” (pg 391). Nietzsche wishes for individuals to achieve self-awareness, in that individuals would act upon themselves for what they truly want, instead of following the social construct. In my understanding, he believes rebels can force society to confront truths through challenging the status quo.
As I form my basis for my argument, I realize how important it is to pick and choose from other’s ideas – to understand that your opinion on something might be a small collection of junk from yard sales and thrift stores; I agree with some of this but not all of it. Through this understanding, I’ve realized that Rebellion comes in many forms.
As I entered a deep void of philosophical discourse on the platform, Reddit, and was made aware of philosopher Albert Camus. Camus was a French-Algerian philosopher, author, and journalist, best known for his contributions to the philosophy of existentialism in the mid 1900’s. According to Camus, rebellion was not simply driven by challenging authority or breaking rules, it was a fundamental human response to the absurdity and injustice of the world. In his essay “The Rebel,” Camus writes, “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” I had landed on a comment made by an anonymous user on a subreddit page, which mentioned Camus’ thoughts on rebellion. Given the fact that I have no previous knowledge of Camus, I can’t say I fully understood where he was going here. My first take on this was that in order to have ultimate freedom in how you live your life, you would need to have the capacity to choose not to follow the expected rules which govern society. That's not to say you will totally reject those expectations, but rebellion comes in having the power to do so. But does that mean silent idleness is the key to freedom?
As I scroll down the discourse chat, I see Camus’ argument receiving criticisms for “seeming too existential to the point of complete obedience”; like sitting and smiling at the oppressor while trapped in a prison cell. User, “erkelep,” responded to another user quoting Camus; “But isn’t fighting something you can’t win by itself absurd? How can you fight absurdity by performing absurdity?” But to my understanding, Camus argues that to become a force which submits to the parameters of existence, with a vision in mind, is what true rebellion entails. In my eyes, Camus claims that rather than completely shutting oneself off, quitting, or revolting as an act of rebellion, if you have the ability to thrive and adapt to any circumstance, whether it’s life in general, or surviving punishment and oppression, there isn't anything that other people could do to stop you from being free. Your very existence is an act of rebellion against the absurd. So, it seems that in order to be rebellious and to enact change, you still must learn the rules of the game.
This is not an essay built on nihilism or existentialism or philosophy for that matter. I did, however, want to set a basis for my argument which concerns the A) driving force and B) the trends and inevitable results of rebellion. The explanation of rebellion through the lens of Camus and Nietsche and other writers and philosophers are all pieces which contribute to our understanding of rebellion, in their own ways. This anarchist essay I found on a deep subreddit page titled, “No Hope, No Future: Let the Adventure’s Begin!” written by an anonymous group, “Flower Bomb,” expresses how people who believe they are doomed, still choose to fight back. After a nihilistic assessment of the world and the writer’s own doomed future, they rebound, “But this reality, however dismal, motivates my desire to make my life, through fierce revolt, as joyful and fulfilling as possible!” They continue, “I arm my desires with the urgency to live... to sleep beneath the stars, to feel sunshine and a breeze with every hair on my body, to listen to the late night conversations of the insects, to become wild..." I am now tempted to search for another subreddit on discourse of Noam Chompsy and his opinions on rebellion, but alas, I’ll refrain. That’s for another essay.
To my observations and slight muddling around in this talk of nihilistic philosophy (quite strange for me as I don’t frequently visit philosophical conversation) I stir around thoughts concerning freedom and the act of persuading others to engage in rebellion. What else is rebellion than wanting to be free and inspiring others to want the same? Through a philosophical lens, there is a broad spectrum when looking at rebellion. From Camus, who believes that contemplative resistance is the key, to Nietzsche who believes rebels can force society to confront truths through challenging the status quo. And so on, I pick and choose.
Rebellion is like a shape-shifting iguana. It changes colors, it does somersaults, it comes in waves and frequencies. The inevitable purpose of it is to change and evolve. I’ve come to recognize this ability to shift in all capacities. From moving houses a lot as a kid, to changing schools, I’m no stranger to change.
A constant throughout this all has been music. It follows me from point A to point B, and I now recognize how my music taste has shifted as I’ve gotten older. Despite these shifts, Weller has been there through it all. My dad would frequently make statements about Weller’s changing musical artistry throughout his career – his way of sharing something that matters to him, his love language.
Before I begin on Paul Weller’s large musical catalog, I want to mention his consistent attention to detail. As I look back at his collection of art, I see how style was such a big part of Weller’s self expression. Weller is known to his fans as the “Modfather,” because of his influence on youth culture during the Mod revival in the 70’s and 80’s. You might be wondering, what is “mod” culture? The term Modernist derives from Modern Jazz, what early mods would typically listen to. Mod culture was a wave amongst youth in late 70’s Britain that rebelled against the floral shirts, peace signs, and paper clips for earrings which had been so common during those years prior. Clothing brand, John Smedley, has a great article explaining the style and influence of mod culture on their website. They state, “[Mods] wanted to distance themselves from the way that their parents lived, this was symbolized by the way they chose to dress…a mod’s clothing is often a uniform for their societal beliefs. By becoming a mod that’s exactly what you are, regardless of race or social class.” Weller became a mod icon throughout his career through not only the way he dressed, but the values he held true to.
Paul Weller was born in 1958 in Woking, Surrey, England, a suburb of London, to John, a taxi driver, and Ann, a part-time cleaner. In England, this kind of opening sentence gives you all the markers of the working class–but what it doesn’t give you is how quickly Weller became class conscious and class furious: at the age of 14, in 1972, he saw the band “Status Quo” perform for the first time, whose lyrics include lines like “Pictures of matchstick men and you/Images of matchstick men and you/All I ever see is them and you,” from the song, “Pictures of Matchstick Men. “ This track is a psychedelic rock song from the late 1960s, inspired by the paintings of LS Lowry, a British artist known for his scenes of industrial life in northern England. At first, Weller was simply stunned by the loudness emitting from the stage, and I see an attraction towards their social and political commentary. In an interview more than forty years later, Weller, gray-haired and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, said of that concert that it “was the little light in the sky saying ‘ya, you’re on the right track.’”
That same year, Weller formed the first variation of his first band – a band that would be a little light for a lot of other people, from teenage outcasts to working-class punkers, to musicians of all genres. His music inspired rightful insubordination, with lines like, “Stop apologizing for the things you've never done / 'Cos time is short and life is cruel,” (Town Called Malice, 1982), “My hard earned dough goes in bills and the larder / And that Prince Philip tells us we gotta work harder!” (Just Who is the 5 O’Clock Hero? 1982), and “They smelt of pubs and Wormwood Scrubs and too many right wing meetings” (Down in the Tube Station at Midnight, 1978).
“The Jam,” was born at Sheerwater Secondary School in Woking, Surrey, England, in 1972. It was a combination of Weller on vocals and guitar, Steve Brookes on guitar and vocals, and Rick Buckler on drums. The top song and single from their first album, both named “In the City,” starts off with a grungy guitar riff, fast paced like it’s got something to say to you. A beating percussion enters the scene, revving up the engine that is Paul Weller’s voice, then the drums go crazy. He shouts, “In the city there’s a thousand things I want to say to you.” It’s the voice of an angry young man with his eyebrows tilted down, and his jaw clenched hard. The “you” is directed at patriarchal society – he’s done with the bullshit of being told what to do by the older generations.
He continues, “But whenever I approach you you make me look like a fool.” Weller shouts up at the older ones, the ones who dismiss us youth and push us out until there’s nowhere left to go but against. “I wanna say I wanna tell you about the young ideas, but you turn them into fears.” They use their power and their so-called “wisdom,” to push whatever it is us younger generations have to say into the dirty rubble. “In the city there’s a thousand faces all shining bright and those golden faces are under 25.” This is a declaration; Weller shouts that we (youth) have what they need, but they won’t turn their heads to see it. Later in the song he sings, “And I know what you’re thinking; you’re sick of that kind of crap, but you’d better listen man, because the kids know where it’s at.” This is the pivotal feeling of going unseen and unheard because of factors like your age or what you dress like or how you act. It’s when Paul shouts at the older generations – the ones with power and regrets, and tells them to shut the fuck up and listen, because maybe one day they’ll learn from the youth.
As I browse through interviews of Weller made within the last 10 or so years – still rocking a mod-style haircut but in these scenes it’s gray, I think about the juxtaposition between him in his older age and him as a rebellious youth. Now, he’s at the age (and the wealth class) of the men he used to criticize – does this invalidate his ability to truly speak of rebellion? Is it possible for rebellion to follow you into old age throughout changing environments, or does it fold over onto itself and look you in the eyes?
From a young age, Weller seemed to have had an awareness of the natural evolution of rebellion. Tom Snyder, American television personality appearing in popular talk shows from the 1970s to the 1990’s, held a show where he interviewed special guests, Joan Jett and Paul Weller. Snyder, sounding a bit bleak and haughty, asks Weller a similar question to my own: “Once you blow up and start getting money in your pocket, won't you then become apart of the establishment, what we now term conventional rock groups, and then won’t there be young people coming up and criticizing you?” Weller replies, “Yeah, there’s gotta be someone to take your place or else things get stale, which is what has happened in the last 7 years (1970-77).” He’s referring to the emergence of hard rock in the 70’s, as one of the most prominent subgenres of rock music, and thus the emergence of punk as a symbol against traditional rock music and the ideologies that came with it.
Snyder continues, “You, the oppressed now, will someday be the oppressor.” Weller responds in agreement, “that is the evolution of music and life”
So, Weller admits the very nature of rebellion, even at the demise of his own legacy. Camus once said, “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” No good art was made by following the rules, but therefore good art must always be questioned, evolved, rebelled against. This is not to say that one ought to rebel simply for rebellion's sake; rather, rebellion ought to be productive. In the 2019 article, “The Importance of Rebellion,” written by Vince Orozco, he uses the analogy; “One should not decide, for instance, to eschew bathing simply for the sake of rebellion against the established order of hygiene. One should, instead, seek to rebel in order to create something new. Life has no inherent meaning. There is no ultimate plan or goal to our existence. This is because our existence precedes our essence.” As we look at Paul Weller’s career, I want to highlight his evident awareness of rebellion, even at an age before his career had really taken off. Thus, rebellion cannot exist without intentional change. We’ll see how Weller’s intentional shifts throughout his career further prove his essence of being a true rebel, a rebellious hero who “awakens us from our slumber.”
But am I a hypocrite to speak of this rebellion so highly, yet I don’t rebel for my own sake? As I write this essay now, I’m at a point in my life where I’m so close to my own freedom– my own autonomy. I live in New York City, the land of endless possibilities. I have the ability to do anything I want with my life as a freshman in college with housing and meals that are paid for. It feels like this freedom is so close to me, yet not close enough to hold in the palm of my hand. And now, being at an art school in the middle of New York City, I’m reminded of another hit track off “In The City” by The Jam.
All of the themes mentioned in In The City are evident in just the first few lines in the first song off the album, “Art School.” The guitar riffs vary throughout the song, taking pauses and having different paces, taking us on a rollercoaster, bringing anger and revolution out of us that we didn’t know we had. Weller shouts out at us, “Anything that you wanna do and any place that you wanna go, don’t need permission for everything that you want/Wear any clothes just as long as they’re bright, say what you want ‘cause this is a new art school.” Weller, the oldest, coolest kid in school, tells us behind the bleachers what is right – our own autonomy. We can do what we want, dress how we want, say what we want, because one shouldn’t seek permission or validation from others for what they believe in. There’s shifting tempos in the riffs and Weller is shouting from the soul; what he’s saying is real, and he’s calling us to use our power with urgency. Later in the song, he adds commentary about the influence that the media has on us. “The media as watchdog is absolute shit, the TV telling you what to think,” He says we don’t have to succumb to the idiotic visions and guidelines the older generations have laid out for us, and that those who make the rules also control the people’s thoughts and opinions. Weller wants us to follow our individuality before society takes hold of our aspirations and dissipates them in his fist. His metaphor of an “Art School” honors a place where youth can freely express themselves without fear of judgment or altercation by those who have gone before and followed the guidelines, and continue to expect that we do the same.
As I attend classes in my own “art school,” I see a little similarity in Weller’s metaphor. This is an unconventional place where students express themselves through art, yet at the same time I see a paradox where the guidelines still follow that of established educational institutions. I do fear judgment from teachers and classmates, and am again reminded of Camus’ argument. In order to find true freedom in this environment, I must discover the filtering parameters between this confinement of education, while still seeking rebellion against those institutions.
On their debut album, The Jam energized the youth by using a balance between forward-looking aggression of punk mixed with a devotion to soul and '60s beat music. This wasn’t necessarily the destroy ethic used by bands of the inner city punk scene of Britain, instead it was a sound rooted in the suburbs, powerful, energetic, excited, and built around real lyrics and played with a passion for the future. For them, it was attitude over musicianship, but the musicianship was nothing less than excellent. “In The City,” is a landmark punk album that expresses the true inner tensions felt by youth, surrounded by outside opinion and capitalistic ordeals, proposed and seen by generations past, then forced upon the youth. It’s a look into the young mind of a young Weller, along with guitarist Steve Brookes and drummer Rick Buckler during mid-1970’s England. This was in the midst of the punk movement, a moment lead by bands such as the Sex Pistols and The Clash, where young people, disillusioned with mainstream culture and politics, embraced rebellion as an outlet for frustration and in search for a sense of belonging.
So we have the punk scene–which has greatly influenced so many genres of music today, but what was it that made the youth so damn angry? During late 1970’s London, the government was going to shit. Unemployment rates were through the roof. If you caught a job, you had no confidence it would last you more than a few months. This economic crisis in England came as a result of the oil embargo imposed by Arab oil producers against the US for its support of Israel during the 1973 Yom Kippur War. According to The Guardian, “Unemployment and inflation rose and the annual increase in the cost of living hit a postwar peak of 26% by the summer of 1975.” This stagflation (the combination of high inflation and a slowing economy) caused feelings of disillusionment and alienation, especially in young people searching for how to secure their livelihood.
Despite The Jam being birthed amidst the London punk scene in the mid-1970’s, Weller grew keen to distinguish their sound from their punk rock peers. This is that so-called rebellion versus rebellion I’m talking about. During the same interview mentioned before with Tom Snyder in October 1978, Weller described punk rock as a “big flashy neon sign which sells commodities,” whereas the emerging genre–New wave–had an “attitude of the youth, [of] suppression, of years and years of going unrecognized.” What was it about punk that turned it into a flashy neon sign? Did its nature of rebellion become so polarized that it turned itself into a facade of fake-angst? New Wave and Weller’s emergence into the genre was a form of rebellion against punk and the emerging polarization of it.
Right now, I spend most of my waking life conceding to other people’s authority over me. There’s an entire catalog of who to listen to; teachers, my parents, advisors, bosses, even the little man on the traffic post who tells you when to cross the street. I work around 25 hours a week at a four-star “New American” restaurant located in downtown Manhattan. Every night I work, I have to bite my lip at least 30 times a shift. People come in with no awareness of our existence. I feel that same feeling of going unrecognized due to my youth – my innate punk rock mentality as a result of my father’s rebelliousness. Customers come up to the host stand with no concern for much of anything going on around them. If we don’t have a table for them, we get brushed with looks of dissatisfaction, of looks that say, you could do better. I’m fortunate to have a steady income and to be on a path that will allow me to be successful in the future, but at the same time, I can’t help but feel this small flame inside me. It wants to burst out of me. Ironically, the soundtrack to this internal frustration I’m feeling is Paul Weller. My boss curates playlists for the work day and who does he love most? Weller.
It’s this paradox of rebellion where I want to stick it to the man — my boss – while being motivated by an artist whose entire thing is to encourage the youth to rebel, but the man who I have the innate feeling to rebel against plays the songs that encourage me most. Maybe I’m weak. Maybe I don’t have it in me, the same way Weller does, or maybe I just need to find it – the rebellion, the decision to enact a change.
The Jam were a band driving on their own self-expression without taking the bullshit that the outside world gives you as an artist. They don’t give two fucks about your review, why should an artist care about what the public has to judge about their art? Sure, the act of creating art is for the purpose of other people to see it, but there comes a thin line between art being used as a form of self-expression, and as a product made for the public eye. This metaphorical line is something The Jam wanted to stay on one side of; they weren’t trying to sell commodities, they were trying to say what they want and what other people their age wanted – declaring their own autonomy and speaking the truth, even if it made them seem young and naive.
The awareness of noticing repetition, of noticing that change is not present and dormancy prevails, is what set Weller apart – but how do I get there? During what seemed to be the peak of their career, Weller made an unpredictable decision.
On October 30, 1982, The Jam confirmed that they were going to split, to the dread of fans everywhere. That day, following weeks of rumors, Paul Weller, at 24, announced that after five years of unbroken success, he was splitting up the band to explore new musical possibilities. A hand-written press statement was filtered through media outlets: “Personal address to our fans,” wrote Weller. “At the end of this year, The Jam will be officially splitting up, as I feel we have achieved all we can together as a group. I mean this both musically and commercially. I want all we have achieved to count for something and most of all I’d hate us to end up old and embarrassing like so many other groups do.” This was rebellion in itself. Rebellion against his fans, his band, the industry, and his own commercial success.
By 1982, Weller became eager to shed the musical trappings of The Jam and shed the expired expectations of their fan base. Despite standing at the peak of their career, Weller had felt those expectations were not congruent with the growing influences in his own life: soul music, high-brow literature, socialist politics, and European fashion. In the second half of 1982, The Style Council was formed. The combination of Paul Weller and Mick Talbot, an English keyboardist who had been a member of bands: Dexys Midnight Runners, the Merton Parkas, and the Bureau. They created this new British pop band, passionately in love with soul music and socialist politics, which had risen from the ashes of Weller’s ex-band, The Jam. In a 2008 interview with Spin Magazine, when asked about Weller’s stylistic choices concerning the emergence of The Style Council, Paul replied, “We wanted to shock, if only because everyone had such a strict image of what I was about. I wanted to smash that down.” This is a fortification – a declaration of Weller’s own autonomy. Utterly punk in its truest form.
In a 2020 Medium media article, we learn how the two musicians first met – this interaction acting as a foreshadow to the formation of the band. In “The Whole Point of No Return: The First Year of the Style Council,” John Harris writes, “The pair had met up and had an hours-long conversation in a West End café. Talbot recalls talking about their shared suburban roots,” along with novels, the mods-vs-rockers debate, Jean Luc Godard, Jean-Paul Belmondo, TV shows, classic and contemporary soul, and “R'n'B-laden jazz.” Looking back, we can see how their shared interests and topics of conversation would influence the artistry of The Style Council. It was a culmination of two men with taste, a band passionately in love with soul music and socialist politics, with a no-fucks-given attitude as a cherry on top. This range of topics of conversation give insight into their ability to jump from one genre to the next without a thought. The Style council would prove to experiment, collaborate, and avidly venture outside of comfort zones.
Their first song, “Speak Like a Child,” was released in March 1983 as a standalone single in the U.K. In the US, it was one of the tracks on their first mini-LP, Introducing the Style Council. We see young Paul Weller, about 25 at the time, rocking back and forth on a rocking chair atop a mountain. He looks from left to right in contemplation, as a gray misty sun sets in the far-off distance. A large trumpet section welcomes our ears with joyful tones. The music video cuts to three women as they dance with the blowing wind, trumpets in hand. Stylistically, this was a fuck-you to Jam fans who couldn’t deal with Weller’s newfound journey. His long, tan trench coat, the girls’ colorful 60’s-inspired mod looks – things so simple as clothing articles that made the leather jacket punkers kick and scream. The rest of the video encapsulates the essence of youth – of long hot summers, dancing in barren fields, the unpredictability of it all, like pianos in the middle of nowhere and dancing atop a moving vehicle.
Weller’s lyrics in the song show adoration towards a person who holds onto their youth despite the world telling them to grow up. It's upbeat and poppy with a ton of horns and harmonies. It doesn't quite sound like early motown, but something adjacent to it. The track reminds me of songs like "A Love Like Yours", Aretha Franklin's upbeat song, "Since You've Been Gone" by Ike and Ina Turner and maybe some influence of the 5th Dimension’s stuff. He begins, “Your hair hangs in golden steps, you're bonafide in every respect.” He hits the nail on the head; “I really like it when you speak like a child/ The crazy sayings like I'm so free and so wild/ You have to make a bargain with me now/ A promise that you won't change somehow/ No way, no how.” The song appreciates the beauty of one bathing in the sunlight of their own youth, of their innocent freedom. The lyrics describe the person's appearance, highlighting their clean clothes and productive mindset. They seem confident and unapologetic for their unconventional attitude. Weller, infatuated with this person, appreciates their carefree and unrestrained nature.
I feel that this song was a way for Weller to express what his intentions were with this new stage in his musical career. The phrase "speak like a child" signifies this person's unique way of expressing themselves with a certain naivety and simplicity, followed by a sense of liberation and excitement. It’s like Weller is exhibiting his own desire- at 25- to keep up with his youthful attitude as he grows into adulthood through his lyrics and musical expression. The lyrics also express fear of the person changing or conforming to societal norms. While musically this song is much less cynical, I am reminded of the rebellious nature of The Jam, specifically the lyrics from The Modern World, “Say what you like ‘cause I don’t care… I don’t give two fucks about your review.” Despite Weller’s mutation of genres and subcultures, we see a growing theme of disregard for outside opinion – a theme of rebellion for the purpose of true and honest self expression. And, in a similar hue, we see him navigate these various settings with a personal obligation to stay true to his values, even if that makes change necessary.
The Style Council’s first full-length album, Café Bleu, was released on March 16th, 1984 (40 years ago). It captures the essence of a swinging pendulum, with musical shifts in style from slow jazz love-torch songs like “The Paris Match,” (vocals by Tracy Thorn from Everything But the Girl) to a swinging West Coast instrumental, titled “Droppin Bombs on the White House.” Another track, “Here’s One That Got Away,” celebrates the archetype of the perpetual outsider with a masterful horn section. With Café Blue, out went the agitprop and polemical whining, and in came summertime jazz and soul – with accents of mod taste. The album was successful in alienating as many Jam fans as it won Weller new ones.
While in the researching stage for this essay, I came across a youtube documentary channel, “Best Friends Gang,” who’s biography states them as, “content scrapers making video essays about music, art, culture, etc. Sorry.” Just three years ago, they put out a video essay doc titled, “Probably The Best Band In The World - The Style Council.” When discussing Café Bleu, specifically the song, “My Ever Changing Moods,” the narrator (who to my surprise was american – didn’t think there were that many of us Weller heads) has this great comment on the album’s response to whining fans of The Jam, “you can almost see Mick and Paul flipping off the leather clad crowd outside The Roxy as they ride by on vintage vespa scooters.” There Paul goes, riding away with rebellion strapped to the back of his tan colored trench coat.
After a strong six year run, Weller pulled the plug again. Post-Style Council, Weller ventured off into his solo career in 1992, releasing a self-titled album, combating his previous projects strength to strength, rebel to rebel. From ballads to mod-rockers to gut-punch punk. Throughout it all remains a backdrop of love for African American soul and R&B. Weller’s solo work continues the evolution of his ever changing moods, fusing the rebellion of The Jam and the melodic knowhow of The Style Council.
Throughout his career, we see that Weller’s wheels never stopped turning, and still haven’t. In the same 2008 Spin article as previously mentioned, music journalist Nick Duerden asks 50 year-old Weller, “Is [coolness] something you’re born with, or something one works hard to develop and maintain?” He replies, “I can’t sit here and say to you that I was born cool, because that just sounds fucking wanky…but I guess it’s just the way I am. I’ve always stood my ground. I’ve always done my own thing, refusing to be swayed by anyone. Anyone. That’s quite a difficult thing to do, but it’s something I’ve always strived for.” He had this quest for creativity, of seeking unfulfilled dreams yet never actually reaching the staticness seen after those dreams are achieved. In his career, it’s almost as if that presence of an inevitable doomed reality is what drove him to keep going.
Like I mentioned before, this was not an essay on nihilism or existentialism or philosophy. It is, however, an appreciation for Weller’s rebellion, coolness, attitude towards making art with a desire of honest self expression, and on top of that, a fuck-you to anyone with an unjust altercation. Weller is a masterful curator with a collection of beliefs from yard sales and thrift stores; he agrees with some, but maybe not all; he picks and chooses as he likes. The fact that peak commercial success came and he said ‘kindly, no thanks, that’s bullshit,’ shows his innate rebellion to what is deemed “the dream” of the average artist. This is what makes him the ‘Modfather,’ the rebellious hero who “awakens us from our slumber.”
As I write this essay, the raindrops roll down the window, a race to the bottom. I take a slow sip from my steaming cup of coffee. All this talk of Weller’s rebellion and his fighting survival for his bona fide self has left me contemplating my own will to stand my ground, to refuse to be swayed by anyone, following in the footsteps of both my dad and Weller. The soft piano melody of “My Ever Changing Moods,” plays in the background. The title of the track sums up the entirety of Weller’s career, and my own emotions at this point in time; always shifting. I aspire to change lanes and reinvent myself, to maintain a constant creativity, inspired by so many other artists such as Matisse, Joni Mitchell, Georgia O’Keefe, David Bowie, and of course, Paul Weller. What I’ve come to realize is that oftentimes this shifting is necessary. Change, whether intentional or not, is a prelude to growth.
Works Cited
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