On Sunset

I’ve been buying his records for a long time, from that first introduction in 1977 with In City, through to his latest release On Sunset.  There have been well-documented changes in Paul Weller’s musical style along the way.  But those have been superficial.   What has never been in doubt is the authenticity, quality and self-belief that has gone into making those albums.

The new release comes on the heels of the back-to-basic primarily acoustic album True Meanings, which contained some of Paul’s finest songs of recent years.  You had a feeling there that it was the start of another purple patch, that the change in style had unleashed something new.  So it has proved.

Swap Nick Drake for Marshall Jefferson, John Martyn for Marvin Gaye.  Throw in some horns and a little bit of electronica.  Sing from the heart, about what really matters.  Push it all a stage further.   Come up with one of the best, most soulful, albums of your career.

After living with On Sunset for a little over a week, one in which it has been playing on rotation, with the only gap being that needed for a few hours sleep, I can say without a doubt that it is up there with some of the finest albums he has produced.  There’s something about this record that gets deep into the soul and stays there, uplifting your very being.

It starts with Mirror Ball, a gloriously melodic tribute to the ecstacy of the dancefloor – “Mirror ball, when will you spin, light up the room and our lives begin”.  You can just picture a club filled with northern soul dancers in slow motion as the song weaves through its multi-textured delivery - “‘til everyone’s a shining star”.  Its followed by one of the highlights, those Booker T style Hammond organ refrains (of a Time Is Tight variety) that begin Baptiste, another paeon to soul, what it means, how it gets into the heart and makes life worth living – “when I hear that sound it goes through my heart, straight to my soul”.   Add in some horns and it grabs you completely.

It goes straight into early house piano on Old Father Tyme. Imagine another dancefloor, a Chicago house one, etched with the same euphoria.  Its one of the standouts on the album, another glorious soulful tune that gets inside.  As he does elsewhere on the album, he’s singing about ageing, about moving on, but with anticipation rather than foreboding, combining the virtue of experience with new things that are still there to be found. 

Its followed by the singles Village and More.  The former celebrates individuality, recognition of the important things in life, appreciation of what matters on a personal level - “here I am, ten stories high, not a single cloud in my eye” - and a rejection of commonly recognised measures of success – “I don't need all the things you got, I just wanna be who I want”.  More takes it further, celebrating constant searching, moving forward in a direction of your choosing, towards a goal that inspires and leads you onto more important things than society holds of value – “there's always something else in store that keeps me running down that road….to an unknown place I think is more”. 

The title track, On Sunset, is perhaps one of his best tunes ever.  Its pure optimism, combining echoes of the past with acknowledgement that there is something else out there, something better to move into. From its George Harrison-esque introduction it takes you on a soulful journey, through memory, from earlier times in life, where you would “take a drink in the Whiskey….move on to the Rainbow“ (substitute a watering hole or two of choice, from a past life,we’ve all got them) to a new time where “the world I knew, has all gone by....”belongs to someone else's life”, to a brand new, exotic place, where things can be just as good, where “palms trees sway, and a warm breeze blew, and the sun was high, high, higher than it ever been before”.  Luscious strings, horns, funky guitar, soulful vocals. This tune has it all.

There are a couple of Ogden’s era Small Faces/Kinks references in Equanimity and Walkin. But, if there’s one place you want to be while listening to this album, its Ibiza and nowhere more so than on Earth Beat, which just pulls you into its joyous vibe – “it’s a new day, a new morning” – and makes you want to get on your feet and dance.  The main album concludes with Rockets, widely interpreted as a tribute to David Bowie.  It’s another anthemic moment, a tune that you can imagine working well live.

There are bonus tracks, of course.  The glorious soulful 4th Dimension, along with alternative versions of Baptiste and On Sunset, among others.  But they’re the icing on the cake.  What you need from On Sunset is contained within the grooves of the main album.  One of the things I love about this album is the references.  Every time you put it on you hear a new one.  There’s a glam rock guitar chord halfway through Mirror Ball, Booker T organ on Baptiste, George Harrison on the title track. I even heard 10cc at one point, not to mention David Niven’s autobiography.

Since he started releasing records, Paul has written about a certain mindset, the things that are crucial to those of a modernist viewpoint, whether that was ever changing moods, high street connections or moving into tomorrow.  So it is here.   There’s the love of the dancefloor, the devotion to music and how it gets into the soul, the importance of individuality and appreciation of what matters to you and the constant pushing things forward, to new discoveries and new inspiration.

I’ve seen it described as mellow.  It doesn’t strike me that way.  At its deepest, most soulful, it takes you somewhere special.  Its about something deeper than the norm.  The uplifting moment when a mirror ball spins its magic across a dancefloor, when luscious strings get into the soul, when those horns blast out and take you off to wonderland. Put this record on and prepare to be blown away. 

Eden

So it’s 1992 and you’re a hip young gunslinger and a native of Paris. There’s a wave of beautiful house and garage sweeping the underground club scene. What do you do?   Embrace it, of course. Put your own stamp on it. Form a duo and put on your own club nights, with your unique identity, forged from those heavenly grooves. Collaborate with other like-minded purveyors of night time wonderland, such as Daft Punk. Push it as far as you can.

Mia Hansen-Love’s 2014 film Eden has appeared recently on Mubi and serves as a source of inspiration.  It is in part a love letter to the clubland of the nineties and beyond, and also a universal tale of youthful hopes, dreams and loves, combined with the folly of youth and its aftermath. The early scenes see Paul (Félix de Givry) and Cyril (Roman Kolinka) and the rest of a group of burgeoning musicians, artists, writers and dreamers as they navigate underground Paris and all it has to offer. In so doing, they offer a kaleidoscope of nightlife, moving from club to club and rave to rave, exuding optimism and enthusiasm, oblivious to tomorrow or anything else outside their garage house orbit.

No film I’ve seen has managed to capture club culture so effectively as this film.  Think of the moment when Daft Punk appear, to spin their seminal Da Funk for the first time to a small dancefloor of like-minded connoisseurs.  Or a crowd singing the lyrics to Joe Smooth’s Promised Land.  Devour the soundtrack of Frankie Knuckles, Terry Hunter, Kings Of Tomorrow and the rest.  Add to that the beautiful scenes of Paris in all its glory, daytime and night time, parks and streets and apartment interiors, including the canal path that looks very much like one in Godard’s Bande A Part, updated perfectly for another generation and another time.

The main protagonist, Paul has it all. From his music and his inspiration to girlfriends Louise (Pauline Etienne), Julia (Greta Gerwig) and others who he meets throughout the film. Then, later, much later, life and its realities kick in. The film effectively portrays the life cycle of a scene, any scene for that matter, from its first, idealistic incarnation of a few like-minded cognoscente,  to its final death throws, when every leach on the planet seems to have descended on its rotting corpse, when even the creators - Daft Punk themselves - are turned away from the period’s most happening club. As a rule of thumb, the appearance of large men with “security” on their t-shirts, along with dancefloor violence, signals the beginning of the end of any scene.  So it transpires with this one.

There’s love here, along with its cousins, loss and tragedy.  There are some heartbreaking moments, as well as uplifting ones.  But belief and hope and creativity are there right through, and will continue long after the credits have rolled.  In the end, the music is replaced by a creative writing group and by poetry, that of Robert Creeley.  As Paul lies on his bed, alone for the first time, he reads the words of a poem and you know that inspiration will continue, it will just take another form.

What really matters is the joyous journey to the stars that this film celebrates.  It all comes across as an outpouring of love for a scene that may have passed, but will stay with those who were there forever.

Sometimes you see a film that blows you away, that takes you on a magic carpet ride to the land of hopes and dreams and ecstasy, in its many splendoured, glitterball flecked forms, where the protagonists are ravers and the currency beats, melodies and vibes that touch the soul. That takes you to Eden.