Published in Sounds, 10th November 1979

The Jam | Gig Review | Marquee, London 1979 | ‘TWAS DILEMMASVILLE Arizona in the Sounds office last week for me and McCullough. The two groups we’d currently rate as Britain’s most rich and rewarding rock bands, the Skids and the Jam, were both playing London the same night for one night, causing much gnashing of teeth, tugging of locks and duelling at dawn till fate sent him Skidding at the Rainbow and me Marqueeing it about for the Jam’s secret gig.

Which, natch, turned out to be as secret as the outbreak of World War Two. The ‘House Full’ sign was up by six, leaving hundreds of punters morosely moping around outside, while the crush inside made the average sardine tin seem blissfully roomy.

The Nips played a pretty fine set I’m told — missed half of it meself, but what I saw seemed to suggest a snappy brand of toe-tapping high energy pop/R&B and catching them again soon seemed to be a good idea. (There y’are, didn’t compare Shane’s lugholes to the FA Cup once).

Before the Jam set a troop of Old Bill put in an unwelcome appearance due to an early contretemps between bouncers and punters which later approached near riot proportions outside (see Jaws).

The Jam | Gig Review | Marquee, London 1979

But when John Weller’s stocky figure appeared onstage all thoughts of drug-busts and Sweeney backlash bitterness evaporated and eyes were placed in auto-lock stage front.

If I was Paul Weller I’d be praying that someone somewhere was gonna start making constructive criticisms and I was straining my brain to find faults, but I kept coming up against a brick wall which read no hint of weakness or dishonesty or musical laxity.

No, this review reads WOW. And that ain’t idle sycophancy, sonny, that’s a calm considered critical conclusion, an acknowledgement that the band in front of me mean business, and are the business.

The Jam are perhaps the only original New Wave band to have emerged from the furore of the last three years with their credibility intact and their music still maturing.

The singles this year — the free-flowing ‘Strange Town‘, the spit and irony of ‘When You’re Young‘, the pessimistic power of ‘Eton Rifles‘ — testify to Weller’s steadily flowering creativity.

The new numbers played tonight, especially ‘Private Hell‘ and ‘Saturday Kids‘, combined a rock hard freshness with typical Jam strength and suppleness.

The Jam | Gig Review | Marquee, London 1979

No surprises sure, but no let downs either, and no more clues from me kids, wait till next week for the proper reviews.

The set was a brave, adventurous mix of the old and the new which left me reeling from the squeeze and the stench of sweat and spilt lager and the wham bam succession of killer music, everything from the driving menace of ‘Tube – Station‘ to the rolling class awareness of ‘Mr Clean‘ with almost the entire crowd mouthing and punching bitterly along with the heartfelt ‘/ hate you and your wife/And if I get a chance I’ll FUCK UP YOUR LIFE’ lines.

Then there was the subtler commuter consciousness of Foxton’s finest composing moment ‘Smithers-Jones‘ and the slow, meaningful accusation of ‘Butterfly Collector‘, offset by the fire power of ‘Eton Rifles‘ and ‘David Watts‘.

Gig of the year? No contest. It’s just a shame that the rip roaring encore of ‘A Bomb In Wardour Street‘ so neatly predicted the brick and bottle uproar outside afterwards. (Garry Bushell)