“Find Eldorado” (Warner/Parlophone Records)
By Eleni P. Austin
Nearly half a century ago, Punk Rock exploded in Great Britain. The inaugural class of 1977 included The Sex Pistols, The Clash, Elvis Costello, The Damned and The Jam. Initially dismissed by the music industry as unlistenable, Punk was torn and jagged, sometimes devoid of melody. It featured staccato guitars and bludgeoning beats. Vocalists didn’t so much sing as spit out lyrics that railed against authority, conformity and the status quo. Their look was as alienating as their music, Punks spiked and mohawked their hair, safety-pinned their faces and strategically ripped their clothes.
Jam front-man Paul Weller began making music in a semi-professional capacity when he was just 14 years old. Born in 1958, he grew up in Woking, a working-class town in Northwest Surry. His dad, John, drove a taxi, his mum, Ann, was a homemaker. Growing up in the ‘60s he became obsessed with music. His passion for British Invasion hitmakers like The Beatles, the Small Faces and The Who motivated him to dig a little deeper and explore the musical touchstones that inspired his heroes. He wound up becoming a true connoisseur of Motown, Curtis Mayfield, Stax-Volt and the Blues.
The earliest incarnation of The Jam formed in 1972. It included Paul’s best mates, Steve Brookes and Dave Waller. The line-up cemented with the addition of drummer Rick Butler. Paul’s dad began booking their gigs and the band made their bones playing local working-man clubs. Set-lists consisted of covers of Beatles and Who hits, and they put their own spin on Motown favorites and classic R&B songs.
When Steve and Dave left the band, Paul recruited Bruce Foxton. He had also begun writing his own songs and the three-piece quickly shifted from a covers band to performing mostly original music. As their protean talent emerged, their popularity began to grow.
The Clash invited The Jam to open for them on their White Riot tour. Rather quickly, the trio inked a deal with Polydor Records and released their debut, In The City, in the Spring of 1977. It was a stunning introduction, sharp and defiant lyrics articulated the restless angst that defined that era. But it was Paul’s melodies that really stood out, pushing past the spit-soaked primitivism of his peers, he embraced the crisp songwriting styles employed by The Who’s Pete Townshend and Ray Davies and The Kinks, as well as Motown’s resident bard, Smokey Robinson. Almost accidently, The Jam became the soundtrack to the Mod Revival of the late ‘70s.
Over the course of five years, The Jam released six magnificent studio albums, a clutch of EPs and a live album. They consistently topped the charts in the U.K. achieving massive commercial and critical success, a feat they never replicated in the U.S. By 1982, one of their final singles, the Motown-flavored, working-class anthem, “A Town Called Malice,” finally received some airplay on mainstream radio in America. But it was a pyrrhic victory, The Jam broke up that year. Paul was ready for a new challenge. Along with Mick Talbot, he formed The Style Council. Their sound reflected his deep affinity for ‘60s Soul and his newfound appreciation for Jazz. As lyrics mined the personal and political, the melodies offered up a potent combo-platter of Jazz, Soul and Funk, with just a soupcon of Hip Hop. They released six albums between 1984 and 1998, scoring a minor hit in America with the song “My Ever Changing Moods.”
Style Council quietly disbanded in 1989, Paul took a couple of years off, spending time with his family before he embarked on a solo career in 1992. He delivered his self-titled debut that same year and it felt like a revelation. Somehow, his Punk/Pop predilections dovetailed with his Soul/Jazz inclinations, creating a perfect synthesis of all that came before.
During the final decade of the 20th century, he was on fire. His next three albums, Wildwood, Stanley Road and Heavy Soul were equal parts expansive and concise. He integrated rustic, acoustic instrumentation, along with traces of Folk, Funk and Punk plus a heavy dose of Psychedelia.
Much as Pete Townshend served as a musical lodestar for Paul during The Jam era, Brit-Pop sensations like Oasis, Blur and Ocean Colour Scene pledged their undying loyalty to Paul Weller. This new generation of hit-makers affectionately christened him “The Modfather.” The last quarter century, he has been wildly prolific, all told, he has released 17 studio albums, five live efforts and myriad compilations. Both The Jam and The Style Council have been subjects of lovingly curated documentary films (About The Young Idea and Long Hot Summers: The Story Of The Style Council, respectively). Now he is back with a new one, Find Eldorado. It’s his second collection of cover songs, the first being 2004’s Studio 150. Paul’s encyclopedic musical knowledge is on full display here, as he cherry-picked 15 tracks that are more obscure and esoteric, rather than well-known.
The record opens on a deceptively tranquil note with a fairly faithful take of Richie Havens’ “Handouts In The Rain.” Shimmering guitars partner with lush piano notes, their effervescence is supplanted by Paul’s soulful croon as he trades verses with Irish singer-songwriter, Declan O’ Roarke. Although the song first appeared on Richie’s 2002 album, “Wishing Well,” lyrics like “You can bomb your foreign brother, you can hurt him until he dies, you can kill him until he never ask you why, you’re on his land…you’re on his land/But we all know that’s all over, and that can only lead to blame, where we might end up for our country, taking handouts in the rain,” could just as easily be addressing the megalomania that has 2025 in it’s grip. Paul and Declan’s voices alchemize on the title and ecclesiastic guitars gambol on the break. It’s the most beautiful, heartbreaking racket.
Paul has always been a bit of a contrarian, so it’s no surprise that most of the songs that make up this collection won’t be very familiar to the listener. Several tracks here were recorded in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, the era he came of age. Take “One Last Cold Kiss,” originally found on the third album from New York Rock band, Mountain. But Paul takes his cues from the version Irish Folksinger Christy Moore recorded in the mid ‘70s. Cittern, Harmonium and mandolin coalesce around sawing violin, plangent piano and strumming acoustic guitars. Paul’s vocals are rough but tender as lyrics unspool a true story of Swans who had mated for life. Sadly, the female is targeted by a hunter and cut down in her prime. Acclaimed Folk songwriter Amelia Coburn adds some distaff energy to this woebegone tale.
Then there’s the relatively obscure “Nobody’s Fool.” Written by Ray Davies and performed by Cold Turkey (which some contend was a pseudonym for The Kinks), it was the theme song for the British TV series, Budgie. He strips away the snarl of the original as solemn piano and angular bass are swathed in an orchestral string arrangement. The bespoke instrumentation is juxtaposed by Paul’s soul-crushing vocals and lyrics like “I can go out for a walk on a crowded street and see millions of faces staring at me, some of them smiling, some of them glare, but most of them don’t even know that I’m there,” that depict disillusion and disaffection with a few deftly-turned phrases.
Co-written by Cajun singer-songwriter Bobby Charles and Rick Danko from The Band, “Small Town Talk,” is a back porch ramble powered by fluttery piano, celestial Hammond organ, thrumming bass and a sturdy horn section. Paul’s vocal delivery is all honey and woodsmoke as lyrics offer a tart rejoinder to the naysayers: “It’s all small town talk, you know how people are, they can’t stand to see someone else doing what they like to do, it’s all small town talk, you mustn’t pay no mind, don’t believe a word, they try and do it every time.” Punchy horns at a bit of Stax/Volt heft on the break.
A roundelay in ¾ time, “When You Are A King” by the British band White Plains reached the Top 10 in the U.K., but never matched the worldwide success of the exuberant “My Baby Loves Lovin,” (apparently, because she had what it took, and she knew how to use it). Burnished strings and stately horns are augmented by ringing acoustic guitar and twinkly glockenspiel. Paul wraps his sardonic tone around lyrics that pivot between laissez-faire and noblesse oblige: “Parting in your hair, it’s hardly ever there, wash your face, shabby in your dress, always look a mess, don’t you care, Mummy’s there to see you look your very best, change your dirty vest…When you are a king, everywhere you go, people bowing low, carriages to take you anywhere, feet won’t ever touch a thing, when you are a king.”
Probably the best-known tracks here are “I Started A Joke” and “White Line Fever. The former was an early hit by The Bee Gees long before they were crowned the Kings of Disco. Paul’s rendition of this 1968 hit recalibrates the moody melancholia of the original. Descending piano notes are matched by plucky strings and shang-a-lang guitars and sanctified organ. The airy arrangement, coupled with his full-throated voice, offer a distraction from maudlin lyrics like “I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing, oh, if I’d only seen that the joke was on me.” It’s a majestic take.
The latter was a hit for Merle Haggard, but Paul’s acquaintanceship began with a Flying Burrito Brothers ’45 he purchased in 1994. Jangly guitar, keening pedal steel (courtesy ex-Byrd/Burrito Brother Chris Hillman) and flinty bass are tethered to a clip-clop gait. While Merle was singing about life on the road, the Burritos may have had more hedonistic intent. Paul splits the difference. imbuing the lyrics with an urge for going.
The best songs here uncoil on the second half of the record. “Pinball,” by actor/musician Brian Protheroe hit the Top 40 in the U.K. back in 1974, but never made a dent in the U.S. The angular melody is anchored by spiky guitars, sinuous Hammond organ, tattered piano, tensile bass and a chunky back-beat. Paul’s defiant vocals align with lyrics that offer a seedy Soho snapshot of a rejected swain post break-up: “And I’ve run out of pale ale, and I feel like I’m in jail and my music bores me once again, and I’ve been on the pinball, and I no longer know it all, and they say that you never know when you’re insane.” A sly saxophone solo cuts across a conga-fied beat on the break, punctuating the lyrical ennui.
If The Small Faces ever collaborated with ‘80s era Paul Simon, it might sound like Paul’s take of “Journey,” written by Folkie cult-favorite, Duncan Browne. The buoyant melody matches spiraling acoustic licks, elastic bass, honeyed Mellotron notes and finger-picked Kora fills from Senegalese master Sekou Keita. His mien is seductive and playful as lyrics encourage a lover to run away and make a fresh start: “Pack up your sorrow, put away your evening star, don’t change your clothes, I like you just the way you are, I know you’ve been sleeping under a big, black cloud, and you’ve never been allowed to be honest, well, I’m no saint, but I’ll carry you home, there’s a place of your own if you want it.”
Meanwhile, Willie Griffin’s low-key “Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire” is recast a Funktastic groover. Low-slung electric guitar, acoustic rhythm riffs, rubbery bass lines, pliant piano and hiccoughing percussion are wed to a percolating beat. Paul’s gruff sensuality amplifies combustible lyrics that limn the limits of desire: “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, where there’s smoke, baby, there’s fire, burning for you, I need your love, we fit together like a hand in a glove, the smoke is rising high, I know who is your loss, take the water of your love to keep me calm.” Rippling piano chords collide with Gypsy-Jazz inflected guitar on the break.
Finally, there’s the album’s first single, the rollicking “Lawdy Rolla.” The French band Guerillas drafted off an old Alan Lomax field recording, “Early In The Morning,” giving it a Jazz/Folk spin in 1969. Opening with staccato handclaps, swooping acoustic guitar and Paul’s commanding vocals, it quickly kicks into gear. He salts the mix with Chicken Shack Hammond organ, strutting guitars, pounding piano, moody Mellotron, spidery bass and a trap kit beat. Lyrics offer occupational woes and marital aspirations: “Buildin’ rocks and gravel to make a solid road, Lawdy Mama, take the rocks and the gravel to make a solid road, oh well, I take the rocks and the gravel to make a solid road, oh well, Lawdy Mama, take a good-lookin’ woman well out, to make a good-lookin’ home.” A snake-charmer alto sax solo slithers through the break and ushers the song to a close.
Other interesting tracks include the pastoral grace of “Never The Same,” then there’s sweet “Daltry Street,” the only 21st century song to make the cut here. Courtly and unabashedly Celtic, the title track, written by musician/musicologist Eammon Friel features Oasis architect Noel Gallagher on acoustic guitar along with wistful whistle and sylvan strings. Paul is at his most tender when he suggests “Let’s dance, let’s romance, find El Dorado, beyond the mountains of the moon, no fears, no, no tears, you pay the piper, you call the tune.”
The record ends with “Clive’s Song,” originally written for Incredible String Band founder, Clive Palmer by Scottish Folksinger Hamish Imlach. This version hews more closely with Country-Blues as shards of slide acoustic guitar, smoky harmonica and ticklish rhythm acoustic guitar are bookended by a stompy beat. Trading verses with Paul, and supplying the wily harmonica runs is the Golden God Of Rock himself, Robert Plant. Downcast verses like “You see me now, you think I’m happy, you sure don’t know my mind, you see me laugh, you see me cry, I’m laughing just to keep from crying,” is belied by the sing-song chorus. Both voices intertwine on “I feel so fine, feel so fine, I’m right out of my mind, I feel so fine, I feel so fine.” Harmonica and slide acoustic guitar up the ante on the break, closing with a final harmonica flourish. It’s a potent finish to a great record.
Covers albums are tricky, they can be viewed as a cynical cash-grab or a sign of writer’s block. But this is definitely not the case for Find Eldorado. Not only is it Paul’s first covers project in 21 years, since then he has released 10 solo records of new material. As he said in a recent interview, “These songs, I’ve carried with me for years. They’ve taken on new shapes over the years and now felt like the moment to share them.” There’s always been a thrilling authenticity and integrity to Paul’s music that has allowed him to chart his own course in this mercurial business. The Modfather never disappoints.
