Looking for the glad times
At a warmly received show in Chicago, Paul Weller played the past and into his future
DOWN AT THE ROCK AND ROLL CLUB—After the third song in Sunday night’s show at a packed Vic Theater, Paul Weller addressed the crowd, half-apologizing for the lengthy set that was coming. “We’re going to play a lot of songs tonight,” he said. “So please be patient. But you’ll enjoy it!” A bit later, sitting at a piano stage right, he again guiltily referred to the long evening, acknowledging that since the last time he and his band played in Chicago (in 2015, also at The Vic) he’s released “eight or something” albums (five, actually) and so he wants to give those songs their due. He looked down at the setlist at his feet and muttered, “I have 30 songs written here, that can’t be right.”
All told, Weller and his band—longtime mate Steve Cradock on guitar, along with Jake Fletcher on bass, Steve Pilgrim on drums, Ben Gordelier on percussion and drums, Tom Van Heel on keyboards, and Jacko Peake on saxophones, flute, recorder, and melodica—played twenty-eight songs spanning Weller’s career. In addition to four Style Council and two Jam songs, Weller played handfuls from his self-titled debut (1992), Wild Wood (1993), Stanley Road (1995), On Sunset (2020), Fat Pop, Volume 1 (2021), and his latest, this year’s 66. “I’d sooner die with my boots on than between two cold sheets in a hospital bed,” Weller remarked recently to Jeff Skate at Rock Cellar. “So I will carry on doing this for as long as I possibly can, or physically can. And, more importantly, that I want to. But the end will come when the end comes.” There was no end in sight on Sunday evening, only the lived-in feel of satisfaction and contentment, of men playing music together in a relaxed and clearly enjoyable way, and of celebration, also. At one point Weller marveled on mic that he and Craddock have been playing together for more than thirty years. “And here we are,” he said. “Fuckin’ amazing.”
Apologies aside, Sunday night’s set was perhaps over long. Weller has in the last couple of decades settled comfortably into crafting songs that stress groove and feel, that move unhurriedly among a few chords, with emphases on rhythm and syncopation. On the albums, these sorts of songs often work because of their studio enhanced arrangements, where effects and production quirks add texture to the sound. Weller’s willing to experiment, to move toward dissonance and avant noise in the studio. Last night he selected tunes that shared similar pacing and vibes, and things felt same-y at times; I lost a bit of focus as the band jammed, even on the songs I knew very well. I would’ve preferred a little more friction, I guess, a disruption or two in the sequence of songs, or some dirtying up of the smooth surfaces. That said, the band’s a pleasure to watch: they give the air of a really healthy ecosystem or organism. Pilgrim at times strummed an acoustic as Gordelier took over on drums (each was behind his own kit); I spotted Van Heel behind his keys playing guitar at one point. Peake moved effortlessly among his various wind instruments, as did Weller between his electric and acoustic guitars and the piano. The band fluidly, often smilingly, grooves in ideal service to Weller’s recent material.
A clutch of songs stood out. “Headstart for Happiness,” “My Ever Changing Moods,” and “Shout to the Top” were each subtly rearranged from their familiar versions, but no amount of tweaking seemed to bother the crowd, who skewed older, and who beamed at Weller and sang along as he played those beloved songs and others—“Broken Stones,” “The Changingman,” “Hung Up,” “Above the Clouds”—that have clearly soundtracked meaningful passages in their collective life. Pilgrim introduced “Wild Wood” as “an old Irish folk song,” and the joke felt only half playful: the song does sounds fairly eternal now in the vast scope of Weller’s three decades-plus solo career. If the Jam’s classic “Start!” felt a bit sluggish to me in its recently tamed arrangement, that too only underscored the freshness of the song, that it can withstand a pulling back of the reins by its now white-haired songwriter and still impart its urgent arguments.
Before the first encore, Weller and his band ripped into the strutting “Peacock Suit,” from 1997’s Heavy Soul, and as it grooved I wished that Weller had picked up his Gibson at The Vic more often than his acoustic. I love when he plugs in and rocks out—I need my eighth notes—but I also respect the more laid back terrain he’s been exploring of late. (Though “Jumble Queen” from the new album kicks pretty hard, and sounded really great.) The Beatles’ “Tomorrow Never Knows” blasted over the PA moments before Weller and his band took the stage, a nod to one of his favorite albums and to the title of his latest record (and to his current age). It was a bold and, I thought, not entirely wise move: “Tomorrow Never Knows” sounded enormous and thrilling playing at that high volume—as it was roaring from the massive speakers it occurred to me that this will likely the loudest that I’ll ever hear the song—that I wondered how Weller could possibly fight his way out of the righteous mood Lennon’s trippy song cast. In response, Weller opened with two hard-charging psychedelic jams, “Nova” from 2017’s A Kind Revolution and “Cosmic Fringes” from Fat Pop. Both barreled forward with nervy, driving energy, but the evening’s mood shifted into more soulful, less abrasive territory soon after.
Weller looked in great shape and was in a fine mood all night. His voice sounded strong and sure—though he’s shy of the higher notes that he sang in his twenties and thirties, the drop in his register adds a leathery dimension to the songs. Though never chatty, he addressed the crowd on several occasions, marveling at his long professional history, that he’s still here, that we’re still here eager to hear him play his songs. He sang of gratitude and wonder in numbers like “Village,” “Glad Times,” and “More.” Only once did his tone shift: after “That Pleasure,” a funky tune from Fat Pop, in which he sang “In a world so torn, where is inspiration?”, Weller stepped to the mic and stated simply that genocide is an indefensible moral wrong, despite anyone trying to explain it away or to justify it with politics. “That’s what I want to say,” he said. The small Palestinian flag affixed to the drum riser behind did the rest of the talking.
“I was talking to [Madness singer] Suggs about this the other night. We were both saying that neither of us really made it in the States, because you’ve got to work for months and months on end, traveling in America, to make it there. I take my hat off to people in the UK who make it over there, but I don’t want to be on the road for six or eight months. However, I do love playing America. It’s brilliant.” That’s Weller, speaking with Chris Ingalls at PopMatters a few months back. Though he’s been an infrequent visitor to the States, Weller is beloved here, nearly worshipped, by the apostolic crowds that trail him. I noticed a trio of smart scooters parked a block away from The Vic on Sheffield (they’re common at nearly every show on the tour, and Weller’s been known to sit behind the handlebars for the requisite fan photos), and every other person in attendance seemed to be sporting a Weller, Jam, or Style Council shirt. Weller has spoken profoundly about the spiritual rewards of playing live music, for both himself and the crowd, and wrote a sublime song about the experience, “Mirror Ball.” Last year I felt moved to write a bit about that song and Weller’s “From the Floorboard Up,” another hymn to the transcendence of shows:
Weller ended the first of two encores with “Rockets,” a wonderful song about interconnectedness and our essential puniness as humans, an epic, expansive ballad drenched with interstellar reverb. Among the terrific quasi-psychedelic songs that Weller’s written in the last decade or so, “Rockets,” with its contemplative pace and sighing recognition of the vastness of the universe, would’ve been a killer ending to the night. But Weller had more work to do.
For the final encore, Weller and his band played the obligatory “You Do Something To Me” and “Town Called Malice.” At the piano, moments before “You Do Something To Me,” Weller counseled the crowd to spread and share as much love and joy as we are capable of, in our current climate especially. “It’s that simple, really,” he said. Before “Town Called Malice,” Weller stepped to the mic and told what is for him a lengthy anecdote. It seems that after Queen Elizabeth died in 2022, Weller was approached by representatives of the royal family and asked if he would consider composing a new anthem for the United Kingdom. He admitted that he was keen on the idea, but skeptical of what he could rhyme with “King.” Then he remembered something. “‘Yeah,’ I told ‘em, ‘I fuckin’ can.’ So here’s the new national anthem.” And the band launched into “Town Called Malice.” A master of deadpan, Weller assured the crowd that this is a true story. I doubt it, of course.
As I regard the show now, it seems to me that it was defined in large part by its closing two songs. Love and pride. Weller’s legacy would be well served in the space between.
Would I have guessed as a twenty year-old Paul Weller disciple, piously trying to convince myself that I loved the Style Council’s jazzy contribution to the Absolute Beginners soundtrack “Have You Ever Had It Blue?”, that I’d see Weller perform the song nearly four decades later? Could I have pictured Weller in his sixties? Could I have even conceived of 2024 in 1986?
To quote the Modfather himself, fuckin’ amazing.
All photos ©Joe Bonomo
I saw Weller on his Wild Wood & Stanley Road tours (both in London—the former at the Royal Albert Hall, the latter at the Brixton Academy). I haven't kept up with his output for quite a while now, but as the modfather of the Britpop years, he was always a highly respected gent in the UK during the 90s.
Wild Wood and Stanley Road both still get regular spins on my turntable.
Unfortunately, he is skipping Portland on this tour and only doing SF, Seattle, and Vancouver.
That will do nicely after omitting "Here Comes The Weekend" last time around. I enjoyed reading the above. What a songbook he has to pull from. Respect for the ceaseless endeavours to keep his art fresh and relevant.