SO I was listening to Tony Snell on BBC Radio Merseyside this morning (Thu April 6) and heard his illuminating interview with Rick Buckler, the drummer with The Jam.
Buckler said it was unlikely that there would ever be a Jam reunion because Paul Weller, charismatic lead singer of the cult band, no longer even talked to the other two. Shame ...
Well, I guess, the Modfather was always a victim to his own ever-changing moods, which these days never seem kindly inclined towards his old muckers.

Buckler and Bruce Foxton (The Jam’s bassist) are still mates and doubtless would be up for a reunion gig or tour, but Weller, the man who split the band, clearly ain’t interested.
Bit of a pity that, because It would be one reunion I’d pay to see and would have heaps more musical and cultural credibility than, for instance, the reappearance of Take That.
It would certainly be better than seeing Limahl from Kajagoogoo pop up in a sweaty Hull nightclub (a most nasty shock I had some four years ago).
The Jam were absolute dynamite in their day, and while Buckler and Foxton contributed significantly to the power of the overall sound, it was the attitude and the voice of Paul Weller that really gripped the nation.
I was a huge Weller fan, positively obsessed with The Jam, and I continued to be a Weller fan during his years with The Style Council through the 80s.
You should see me dance to “Shout To The Top”. I was a sensation in the nightclubs of Norwich with those routines.
No post-Beatles British pop artist, apart from maybe Morrissey, has managed to become more than a singer, to become, in effect, a national poet.
I sense that behind Buckler’s unruffled philosophical acceptance of Weller’s permanent snub of him, as delivered on Snelly’s wireless programme, lies an abiding hurt.
When a true star consigns former collaborators and friends into the icy tundra, it hurts.
Unfortunately, stars often do that sort of thing. It is part of their nature.
(Now I am not a star, but I did once announced grandly to pals in London who had upset me: “You are all banished to the lonely wilderness known as Steve’s ex-friends.”)
What an idiot I can be. Though I should add, in mitigation, much drink had been taken that day.
Back to the subject … One incandescently good recent thing to grow out of the love that people still feel for The Jam, is a startling homage to the band’s blistering anthem “Going Underground”.
Many people will have heard this “new” song, called “London Underground”, on bluetooth on their mobiles. An anger and a passionate hatred of London Underground comes across so strongly in this song, which I should warn, has a lot of naughty language in it.
As someone who survived living in London for 14 years, I totally share the intense dislike that the reworked song (not to be confused with The Jam’s equally loved “Down In The Tube Station At Midnight”) suggests of the Tube.
Mind you, I feel much the same dislike for Merseytravel trains, which are slow, infrequent and full of insulting posters which assume that every passenger is a scally, a fare-dodger or a psychopath bent on bludgeoning train staff to death.
And don’t even get me started on the injustice of tunnel tolls, which are simply a tax on those who choose to live in Wirral.

P.S. I was in Hell’s Waiting Room in New Brighton last night, moved to tears by a fiddler playing “The Mountains of Mourne”. That tune, along with “Danny Boy” and “Abide With Me”, always makes me lachrymose.
"The Fields of Athenry" can sometimes have the same effect, particularly when the line “Nothing matters, Mary, when you're free” is sung.
I got talking to Stella Feathercut in the pub, who said she’d been shocked by the violent and pornographic images doing the rounds via bluetooth. I quite agree with her.
Having said that, I am grateful to another Waiting Room regular, Mandy Mobiles, for introducing me to that fantastic London Underground footstomper via her phone.
My own mobile, apparently, is too cheap and crap take the tune into its feeble memory.
* Tomorrow (April 7) is my birthday, and a rather special celebration has been organised ...
Hey, I’m just happy to be still alive, having progressed so far mainly unscathed through this vale of tears we call life.
For still being here, I thank God, Our Lady, all the saints in heaven, and my very efficient and long-suffering personal guardian angel, Constantine.
I’ll be back soon with a blog about my birthday bash. Pip pip!

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