The Style Council: Brixton Academy, London
Paul Mathur, Melody Maker, 15 June 1985
A PRETTY triumphant affair, if not for the actual quality of goods on show, for the pointers towards The Style Council's first truly great phase.
Encounters with Weller's manifestations in the past have left me distrustful and dismayed, the romantic anti-establishment crusade often too trite to be able to take it seriously. But, at last, both he and his music have grown up. At the core of the new Favourite Shop LP and the unspoken subtitle for this concert is 'Internationalists', certain to become a Style Council anthem. It finally blows away the memory of those ridiculously misguided Young Patriot speeches that cast the grizzly bulldog shadow over The Jam.
So, parading this new-found assurance, The Style Council prepared to entertain the masses. In the sticky, crowded furnace of The Academy, however, any notions of pure enjoyment rapidly evaporated. The venue is capable of turning even the cosiest of soirees into something resembling the last band on at Glastonbury and this was no exception. Rather than a demonstration of strength it became more of a test of endurance, and only D.C. Lee, increasingly an indispensable Councillor, provided a voice of any chilling beauty.
The live show necessitated a much tougher approach than that of the LP, and while 'The Lodger's Daughter' and the new single, 'Come To Milton Keynes', retained their brittle fire, the recorded versions have a far more convincingly restrained desperation.
Where the live performance did work well was in the sparser moments such as Weller's solo, 'A Stone's Throw'. It's the sort of gritty twang that Bragg must dream of getting even close to and, unsurprisingly, got the biggest cheer of the evening.
Another explicitly political moment was The Film Show. Over a minimalist beat the words and pictures of Our Hallowed Leaders (Thatcher, Reagan, Heseltine) brought a healthy amount of boos but, despite brave intentions, put over far too imprecise a message to be truly effective. Perhaps more successful were the CND/Youth Trade Union stalls which, if they converted even a tenth of the sell-out audience, will have done their duty.
I have my doubts about the capacity for change from the Style Council audience. As they grooved to the languorously ambivalent instrumentals, I sensed that they're quite happy with things just the way they are. After all, in a truly socialist society Nikes, medallions and dragging your tart three steps behind you ARE DEFINITELY NOT ON.
So, as a concert, a rather fitful mess, but as an event a suggestion of immense ability. I'd like to see a little less pussyfooting, a little more pose, and even a little more glamour if such a thing is possible. On the whole though, perhaps Weller's right. It's all very well for cynical young hacks such as I to preach subversion through absurdity but perhaps there comes a time (like now) when the only recourse is to unbridled anger.
I'm not converted yet but I'll certainly be looking to The Style Council to make this summer unforgettable.
© Paul Mathur, 1985