Revisiting my youth

Long ago and far away, there was a young girl from the suburbs of Sydney who just wanted to get away. Away from the suffocating sameness of suburban life, away from rev-head Westies, away from perpetual summer, away from Paul Hogan-esque Aussieness.

Late 1979 - first punk haircut, experimenting (badly) with colour

She dreamed of life in a cold climate, life in a place that wasn't so far away from everywhere else that it took 24 hours in a plane and a small fortune to reach Europe.


In about 1978 punk grabbed hold of me, and shook out the shy, conservative Catholic schoolgirl from Panania. Back then it took time for things to filter through to Australia, certainly to the south-western suburbs of Sydney. Thank god for Radio 2JJ ('Double J') and Countdown, both of which gave me a tiny, tantalising taste of What Was Out There, and what I was missing. 

For some time I kept this exciting, thrilling passion to myself. Teenagers really just want to fit it in, don't they? But this was too big to contain for long, so gradually I let my closest friends know of this new interest. They didn't really understand it, but I'd always been into music so I suppose it wasn't too big a stretch. They indulged me and in 1980 even went so far as to part with their hard-earned pocket money to attend a Boomtown Rats concert with me.

In bondage pants & Union Jack t-shirt, 1981

The music press was not cheap in those days, but somehow every week I managed to scrounge together enough moolah to purchase the NME (New Musical Express), already about two months old, having travelled by sea mail from London to reach our distant shores.

I'd read that paper from cover to cover, even the tiny, cheap classified ads from people talking a language I barely understood, so mired was it in localised slang and parochial cultural references. I marvelled at the hundreds of bands I'd never heard, and never heard of, wishing I was (a) older, and (b) living somewhere that offered more to a teenage girl who didn't quite fit her environment - I was never into the Sydney sun-and-beaches lifestyle.

Hurrah for my slightly older cousins too, in particular Kristina, who is a naturally gifted artist and seemed to have a more cosmopolitan circle in Cabramatta. With her I could discuss music without feeling like an alien from another planet. She and elder sister Marina took me to my first adult gig in 1980 (I was still under age, only 16) - and WHAT a first adult gig - The Ramones at The Sundowner Hotel in Punchbowl. Talk about giving me rock chick credibility for the rest of my life...

I was totally obsessed with getting to the UK, and spent long hours dreaming about the people I'd meet and the places I'd see. Most importantly, I pictured all the bands I'd see playing live. We did get a constant stream of British bands to Sydney and I saw as many of them as time and funds would allow. However England was the place to be. Even their bad stuff (eg Thatcher) was more interesting.

Yep.

One of my favourite bands was The Jam, who never made it to Australia before disbanding in 1982. They walked the line between punk and mod, and I adored them. Their songs captured all the youth angst of that period. Class war, Thatcherism, unemployment, skinheads. Paul Weller was angry, and so was I. It was only natural I'd embrace The Jam.

In Australia they were only moderately successful in commercial terms, and mainly towards the end of their career with songs like That's Entertainment (1981), Town Called Malice, and Beat Surrender (both 1982). However their brief five-year history gave the music world some of the best punk/new wave musical commentaries of the time - Down In the Tube Station at Midnight (1978), The Eton Rifles (1979) and Going Underground (1980).

The Jam split up in 1982, right at the peak of their success, a decision famously taken by lead singer and main songwriter Paul Weller with no real consultation with his band mates. In a tight little unit of three, that's some surprise. A lot of people were angry and confused by this, but in hindsight it really was the right decision. Leave 'em wanting more, that's what I say.

And so I was very excited when an exhibition of The Jam memorabilia was announced a couple of months ago, The Jam - About the Young Idea. Very conveniently, this exhibition is being held literally across the street from where I work in central London, in the gorgeous Somerset House.

The main courtyard, Somerset House 
- cocktail hour on a Friday, late summer

The closest I will ever get to a gig by The Jam:
stage set-up with original instruments and sound equipment, and a video of one of their last concerts being screened behind

It was really a lot of fun to wander around the exhibition, remembering things I didn't even realise I'd forgotten, and knowing everybody there - all about my age - had lived through that same exciting period. 

Is it nostalgia? To me, the political landscape was more interesting (Reagan, Thatcher, the Cold War), the clothes were dramatic and inventive, hairstyles edgy, and the music incredibly varied.

I remember buying this edition of the NME and reading with glee that The Jam had scooped the pool 
- see the next image:

Ah, badges. I owned dozens of these things.
No outfit was complete without at least three or four.

The thankless life of a Jam promoter in the USA

I did get to the UK several times for holidays (the first in 1986), but the universe conspired to keep me resident in Australia until 2008.

From those first thrilling stirrings as a teenager it only took me another 30 years to make the move, but here I am, living in England - and in fact only a short drive from Woking, from whence The Jam hail. Perhaps it's not quite as exciting for me as it would have been in the late 1970s but then again, the food is better now :-)

And don't worry - there's still a bit of that young punk inside.

In one of my many Jam t-shirts, with Mum and Dad at a family picnic (late 1980).
Note the Sony Walkman which was permanently affixed to my person for years.

Until next time,
- Maree  xo