I'm writing this entry as I bleach my roots in preparation for <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/dickon_edwards/39214.html">tomorrow's concert</a>. In case you're wondering, I currently use the Jerome Russell kit, the one for men. This isn't at all important chemically, as the kit's contents are identical to the distaff version. And I'm hardly one of those men put off by the thought of being caught using women's hair products. In fact, I'm more embarrassed by the thought of being caught with men's grooming products. Lynx, Gillette, Old Spice, that's your lot. What a choice. The least a man can get.
No, the reason I deliberately plump for the men's bleaching kit is purely because of the larger plastic gloves included. Contrary to the boasts of many a smug drag queen spotter, not all male hands are bigger than females – I've encountered males with palms as slender as rain. Admittedly, such epicene creatures of the night would hardly win any Mr Universe competitions, but you get my point. My own hands, however, <i>are</i> too large for the standard gloves in the women's bleaching kits, and so I must resort to the Y chromosome version for this purely practical reason.
<img align=left src="http://www.wholepoint.co.uk/tschits85.jpg"></img>
While waiting for the chemicals to do their sacred work, I listen to a recent Radio 2 documentary on The Style Council. What a wonderful and strange 80s pop group they were. Paul Weller as far removed from his rockist personae in The Jam and in his solo career as one could possibly imagine. Blissful, timeless pop classics like "Speak Like A Child", "You're The Best Thing", "Long Hot Summer", "My Ever Changing Moods" and "Shout To The Top". Achingly beautiful lesser-known songs like "Changing Of The Guard", "It's A Very Deep Sea" and "Spring Summer Autumn." The only band that played Live Aid AND benefits for the miners' strike. Chart pop record sleeves with incredibly arch sleeve notes (from "The Capuccino Kid") alternating with <i>reading lists</i> and addresses for contacting CND, anti-vivisection and hunt sabs groups, and so on. It's very easy to get cynical now about their brazen "SOUL-cialist" agenda – not least a lot of the lyrics, but their attendant sly, self-mocking sense of humour, noticeably absent in The Jam, always endeared themselves to me. From Michael Moore to Morrissey to Ken Livingstone, seriousness is more sincere when spiked with a smirk.
"We had a choice between doing a soundcheck and meeting Charles and Diana. We did the soundcheck". – on Live Aid.
I'd also forgotten how much more <i>uranist</i> Mr Weller was back then. The sleeve of their biggest selling album, "Our Favourite Shop" featured Joe Orton, Kenneth Williams, and a poster of Rupert Everett in "Another Country". Half-naked men and much EM Forster-like riverside earlobe-stroking in the video to "Long Hot Summer". Titles like ""I Was A Dole Dad's Toy Boy". And, in the sleeve notes to the recent compilation, "The Sound Of The Style Council", Mr Weller has this to say about rare Style Council gem "The Piccadilly Trail":
"I imagined a middle-aged teacher who has got a love affair going on with a Soho rent boy, but the tables get turned. The teacher is always being used by this boy… It's a great London song."
Returning to the subject of bleached boys, Mr Weller also attempted the peroxide look for the "Cost Of Loving" album era, with somewhat unflattering results. I think the look he had on this Smash Hits cover, the boyish – well, let's face it, girlish – dark floppy side-parting, was far more fetching.
Mind you, standing next to Mick Talbot was always going to pay dividends.
