I’m working on a long essay / short book about the psychology of hero worship in males and as such I’ve been writing about the Jam and as further such – and in the way I have – I had to go checking the spelling of Bruce Foxton (I knew the second vowel was an o really, but once I’d typed it as an e I’d sewn the seed of doubt). One of the images that google threw up on the front page of the search was as below. Aesthetic considerations aside for one moment, they just look too bloody prissy to wear, don’t they? However, I have to confess that I did own a pair of Jam bowling shoes and I believe that they, too, started out au blanc though after they had conveyed me on a lengthy hitch hike round Europe including sleeping in the gutters of Bari they brushed up somewhat less Persil Washes Whiter.
Bruce Foxton has follow ex-Jam member Paul Weller into the world of fashion, working with Original Ikon to produce the Bruce Foxton shoe.
Original Ikon will be selling the special edition Bruce Foxton styled shoe this spring to coincide with the partial Jam reformation (with Rick Buckler as From The Jam). The shoe is a four eyelet Gibson with light punch detail across the vamp and toe. The upper is pure white, full grain leather, with black and white checkerboard calf linings, finished off with contrast black stitch detail.
Bruce’s signature is laser etched onto the white sole and each pair will be limited and numbered, sold in a cloth shoe bag and in a ‘luxury shoebox’. You’ll also get a photo of Bruce on the current tour thrown in. Price? No details as yet.
I was watching Auto Trader on channel 523 last night and who should be on looking for a people carrier, for his band ‘The Gift’, none other than Rick Butler! (It must have been an old programme but my viewing habits haven’t quite caught up yet. I’m in about 2007!
)
Doing a bit of googling, having seen this post, I see Rick and Bruce Foxton are currently on a tour with a group ‘From the Jam’ but unfortunately it doesn’t involve Mr Weller.
They’re in Aldershot, the nearest to you, on 3 Dec! Book early! You also get The Labrettas, thrown in for free! Get your Parka out!
http://www.ents24.com/web/artist/94174/From_The_Jam.html
Thanks burger, they sound like a tribute band of their own selves. *shudders*
On the other hand it will give me a chance to give the new shoes a whirl.
>I’m working on a long essay / short book about the psychology of hero worship in males…
Get the prayer mat out and think about it. First hand experience?
FFS (Angry smiley)
http://oatcakefanzine.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=Miscellaneous&action=display&thread=141751
Spooky.
Many examples to cross,
but I can’t seem to find
the one spelt TFP…
Or did u mean ur ferkin self?
Here’s the song for your piece. I know it’s not a male hero worship but just to quote a bit of it would LOL!
Girl on the phone keeps a-ringing back
Her voice is smooth but the tone is flat
She’s telling me this and she’s telling me that
She talks about me and I must agree
With what she says about me
About how nice I can be
But it makes no difference to my mind
Girl on the phone keeps a-ringing back
She knows all my details – she’s got my facts
She tells me my height and she knows my weight
She knows my age and says she’s knows fate
And I must say – it’s logical
What foresight she must have
I’ve got to meet her whenever I get time
Says she knows everything about me
Every word I’ve ever said
Every book I’ve ever read
She told me that we met along time ago
I can’t think when but she should know
Girl on the phone keeps a-ringing back
Knows where I get my shirts and where I get my pants
Where I get my trousers where I get socks
My leg measurements and the size of my cock
And I must say it’s un-nerving
To think that she knows me
Knows me so well – better than anyone
Better than myself
Says she knows everything about me
Every record I’ve listened to
Every window that I’ve looked through
She told me that we met along time ago
I can’t think when but she should know
Girl on the phone keeps a-ringing back
She’s telling me this and she’s telling me that
I had shoes like that at age seven. Those shoes (warning: mixed metaphor approaching) were the cross I had to bear.
I am seeing a massive, massive bestselling work of poetic misery-fiction here, George. What you’re telling me is that you fled the ’56 invasion, and arrived in Blighty where someone decided you were to be a seven yr-old Hungarian Mod-kid. That’s a dynamite synopsis.
It will be called The Boy with the White Shoes, and it will be the misery memoir to end all misery memoirs. Scenes of whimpering, terror, humiliation and utter degradation. Iconic moment when boy in white shoes kicks first football on playground. Close up on muddy splotch and dent in toe. Soaring music. Dissolve to man in paint-splashed corduroy suit clutching fistful of cash, slow motion dancing in the street.
Write it George, a huge mansion with a helicopter pad and velvet curtains surely looms to compensate for the years of trauma…