Here's Paul Weller, and where have I been?

by Paul Burmeister

I'm not a young man anymore, in fact, only a couple of years younger than Mr. Weller. So why was I not aware of his talent and body of work until about a year ago? There's no legitimate excuse. The Jam and Style Council—nope, because merely recognizing a band's name doesn't count.
An article in Uncut magazine introduced me to his solo work, and I have since picked up about five discs. All of them are good, and a couple are really good. Weller seems to be able to shake good tunes out of his sleeve, and his production is remarkably interesting—a variety of styles and instrumentations. And I get a lot of pleasure out of his singing.

So what? I can feel really good about new discoveries; I can flatter myself by genuinely liking music of such artistry. But my appreciation is also a kind of dying. I am on the downward slope of a trajectory, and Paul Weller's music won't save me. Instead, it is among the great music that accompanies me along a wandering hike to wherever the path ends. If you agree with me about my choices, fine. I'm not alone while it lasts?