The Jam Is Packed Off To America

THEY STARTED talking about clothes even before I left. They were discussing shirt makers. "Jermyn Street," was the consensus. "They will make silk up for you there." Paul Weller was already wearing blood-red shoes with winkle-picker toes. His feet looked enormous, and he and Rick Buckler had short Mod haircuts, which made their ears look big, their faces knobbly. One thing none of the Jam was looking forward to in America was the dreadful absence of teenage visual flair.