Musical Chairs

#25 Setting Sons keeps on rising

Setting Sons by The Jam is an aggressive midfielder of a record - it comes at you hard, sticks the boot in and leaves you feeling battered, bruised and breathless. And what it lacks in finesse, it more than makes up for in power, ferocity and grit. To quote a couple of the band's lyrics, this was the sound of The Jam giving 1979 a kick in the balls and moving on up into a new decade.

Setting Sons is not without its flaws - it's effectively an unfinished concept album and really could have done without the Martha Reeves & the Vandellas cover version tagged on the end. But who cares when imperfection sounds this good?

As the 70s came to a close, The Jam were in a hurry. Nine singles in little over two years had quickly established them as one of the UK's leading bands and the imminent arrival of the 80s represented just another door to be booted down.

This sense of urgency permeates every groove of their thrilling fourth album, right from the first telephone ring of opening track Girl on the Phone through to the final note of the aforementioned cover of Heatwave. Is there a sense of frustration in there too? Maybe. What we do know is that Setting Sons was originally intended as a concept album detailing the lives of three friends who'd gone to war and then gone very different ways. For one reason or another, it didn't fully materialise, but four of the songs on the record explored this theme in pugnacious fashion.

Of the four, Thick as Thieves is arguably the most celebrated. It's a measure of the band's 24 carat production line that it wasn't  a single. Almost any other band of that period would have had it in a seven inch sleeve faster than you could say Crackerjack or Grange Hill. Little Boy Soldiers probably tells us more about where the concept was heading - divided into three sections, it closes with a poignant reflection on the futility of war: "They send you home in a pine overcoat, with a letter to your mum saying find enclosed one son, one medal and a note to say he won". Part Three Wasteland is a resplendent oddity with its melancholic recorder refrain and Burning Sky completes the concept quartet with a temporary dip in intensity.

But there's much more to be enjoyed here - an orchestral take on blistering B-side Smithers-Jones is a genuine surprise, Saturday's Kids is a vintage Paul Weller slice of working class life and Private Hell packs a punch bigger than then boxing world champ Larry Holmes.

And, of course, there's the not insignificant matter of (trigger warning) former prime minister D**id C**eron's beloved The Eton Rifles, one of the great singles of not just the post-punk era, but any era.

Every great gift deserves great packaging and so it is here with a bold, iconic cover that serves notice of what lies within - 32 minutes of brutal, bloody and brilliant pop music that simply refuses to grow old. For me, it's the highlight of Weller's long and storied career.