There’s a great exhibition of memorabilia, photos and music about The Jam at Somerset House, on the Strand in central London, at the moment. I went there on Sunday. It was full of geezers in polo shirts, Fred Perrys to the fore, of a certain age. Women too, and a few youngsters, of the punky kind. So I felt at home, in my polo shirt, though not a Fred Perry on this day.
The Jam were one of the great 70s and early 80s punk bands. But not really punk. They dressed more sharply, looking back to The 60s Mods; and their music was heavily influenced by the 60s sounds of The Who, The Kinks and The Beatles. But for me, as a teenager, they were one of the big four of the punk era, with the Sex Pistols, The Clash, Buzzcocks.
This was a lovely exercise in nostalgia for me and most of the people there. There were smiles everywhere. Tapping feet as people watched the videos. Great memories, and music that still sounds fresh and urgent.
Here are a few photos.
This first one brings a sense of regret, because since the NME ceased paid-for publication last month, none of these newspapers exist anymore. The world has moved on. NME is reviving as a free paper and will retain its web presence, but it is still truly the end of an era.
Advert for one of the great singles.
One of Paul Weller’s Rickenbackers.
And some of the sharp clothes they used to wear.
In the city, there’s a thousand things I want to say to you!