Rick Buckler RIP. Potent, poignant memories

Rick Buckler's pinpoint drumming drove The Jam's innovative meld of soul, punk and pop. I first saw him performing on TOTP on 21/7/1977. In the wake of his passing, revisiting their diverse, mesmerising back catalogue reminded me just how powerfully music can resonate.

The Jam, their drummer Rick Buckler centremost. Credit: BlazeTrends

​Rick Buckler, drummer with iconic English rock band The Jam, passed away on 17 February 2025, aged 69, following a brief illness, surrounded by family. He leaves behind his wife, Leslie, and their two children, Jason (born in 1986) and Holly (born in 1993). His former bandmates were quick to offer their condolences. Paul Weller said, "I'm shocked and saddened by Rick's passing. I'm thinking back to us all rehearsing in my bedroom in Stanley Road, Woking." Bruce Foxton wrote, "I was shocked and saddened to hear the very sad news today. Rick was a good guy and a great drummer whose innovative drum patterns helped shape our songs."

As seems to be happening more and more these days, the death of any venerated musician, particularly one whose music chimed with my own youth, invariably sends me down a nostalgic rabbit hole. For the past few days I've been revisiting albums and singles on my turntable, as well as taking a deep dive into YouTube, where the self-effacing drummer was the heartbeat of The Jam through countless gigs, videos accompanying their Top 40 singles, invariably promoted on TOTP, right up to their final live TV appearance on seminal Channel 4 music show, The Tube on 4th November 1982.

Playlist

I've also cobbled together a playlist from my streaming platform of choice, featuring some of my favourite songs by The Jam.

In The City (1977)

Like many mid-teens, my introduction to The Jam's full-throttle guitar pop came during the seismic musical and cultural shifts prompted by ‘punk rock.’ Despite (or more aptly, because) hysterical red top editors were equating this emerging music/fashion scene with the decline of Western civilization, a small, cultish underground movement was soon surfing the zeitgeist (although The Jam had first formed as far back as 1972 when three enthusiastic young Woking lads started composing songs in Paul Weller's bedroom.) 

Influenced by mod, soul, Northern Soul, and souped-up R&B, The Jam went on to stoke a firebrand reputation on the back of incendiary gigs before being snapped up by Polydor in February 1977. Continuing to build an avid fanbase courtesy of their electrifying teenage anthems, their first appearance on Top of the Pops (TOTP) occurred three months later on 19th May 1977, when they tore through their debut single, 'In the City.' I was immediately struck by their youthful attitude - Weller was 19, Buckler and Foxton 21 - and also their appearance. The three-piece wore matching sharp suits, collars and ties; behind his kit, Buckler oozed cool in shades. Their single effortlessly balanced Weller's strident Rickenbacker guitar lines with dynamic melodies and heartfelt lyrics. Although still fixated on heavy rather than punk rock at that point, I became a fan.

Dreams of Children (1980)

In a dazzling career which saw 18 consecutive singles hitting the top 40, 'Going Underground' became one of so many high tide marks for The Jam. Released as a double A, this rocketed straight to number one, the first of their four chart-toppers.

I turned 18 that summer, and shortly afterwards, the family headed down to St Abbs for our annual holiday with cousins and friends from Manchester, Middlesbrough and Haddington. After a long day of arsing about around Coldingham Bay, all the teenagers would adjourn to the local campsite bar to drink and dance until last orders.

Although 'Going Underground' was all over the airwaves that summer, the flipside, 'Dreams of Children,' a familiar Weller trope reflecting the naïve but perennial optimism of youth, was originally intended to be the sole A-side. A pressing plant mix-up created its double A-side status, with most DJs giving airplay to the more upbeat 'Going Underground.' But I preferred the swirling harmonies and wistful rumination of 'Dreams of Children,' so that was my automatic jukebox choice. After the bar closed, a gang of us - mates in parkas and Jam badges, myself in punk drainpipes and a Jam badge nestling amongst Killing Joke and Poison Girls - would purchase carryouts to swig around camp fires by the North Sea, below spectacular starscapes, devoid of light pollution. Staring into the limitless heavens, joking, laughing, sometimes pairing off; dreaming like children on the cusp of adulthood.

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Funeral Pyre (1981)

This single, a standalone unavailable on any album, was only the second song by The Jam to be co-written by all three members (the first being a track on fifth album Sound Affects, 'Music for the Last Couple.') Originating as a studio jam between Buckler and Foxton, Weller added his input later. That the rhythm section created the building block is apparent in Buckler's powerhouse performance, his mesmerising, swirling, crashing drums driving the emotive song. The accompanying video was filmed at Horsell Common, near The Jam's hometown of Woking; the sandpit used for the pyre in the video also featured in H.G. Wells' 'War of the Worlds.'
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As ever Weller’s lyrics from almost 45 years ago resonate.

"And as I was standing by the edge
I could see the faces of those who led
Pissing theirselves laughing (and the flames grew)
Their mad eyes bulged, their flushed faces said
The weak get crushed as the strong grow stronger..."

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That's Entertainment (1980)

In London, 'after having had a few,' Weller strapped a capo to the third fret of an acoustic guitar, and began strumming a plaintive G to E minor riff while jotting down a random list of the mundane scenes outside. 10-minutes later, he had crafted the final track of side one of Sound Affects, and although this was never released as a single in the UK, its imported version remains the biggest-selling import single ever.

Weller explained in an Absolut Radio interview: "Some songs just write themselves. It was easy to write, I drew on everything around me."

These slice of life observations juxtapose perfectly with wistful melodies to propel the song's sublime irony.

"A police car and a screaming siren
Pneumatic drill and ripped-up concrete
A baby wailing, stray dog howling
The screech of brakes and lamp light blinking ... That's entertainment."

In the final recording, the only time the lugubrious refrain alters is during one verse, when Weller switches to his trademark Rickenbacker, the guitar line playing in reverse, creating a psychedelic vibe.

'That's Entertainment' takes me back to 'empties' in the early 80s. You would discover somebody's parents were out that night. Long before mobile phones, word nevertheless spread like wildfire through the teenage grapevine: in the school playgrounds of Tynecastle and St Augeys, around Harrison Park greenkeeper's shed, or the bench next to the police box on Shandon Crescent overlooking the railway, that someone's parents were away for that weekend. Cheap cider and blow would be purchased. Gangs would congregate, including gatecrashing friends of friends, and neighbours would be noised up into the small hours to a soundtrack of The Jam, The Clash, The Specials, Madness, Dexy's Midnight Runners, Northen Soul, occasional disco, especially Michael Jackson or Donna Summer's 'Love to Love You Baby,' whoever was in charge of spinning the 45's involuntarily sending teenage hormones into a equally insistent whirl.

'That's Entertainment' always reminds me of later. Bottles and cans would be strewn everywhere, the air reeked like an AC v Inter derby's pyrotechnics replaced by Red Lebanese fumes, and couples would be sprawled over every available couch, floorspace, or bed, while Weller sang soulfully, Foxton harmonized, and Buckler kept the pot boiling with a laid-back but insistently shuffling rhythm.

"Days of speed and slow time Mondays
Pissing down with rain on a boring Wednesday
Watching the news and not eating your tea
A freezing cold flat and damp on the walls ... I say that's entertainment​."

Once again, in his '10-minute to create' masterpiece, Weller bottled teenage angst, anxiety, and passion.

Beat Surrender (1982)

The Jam's final single (and fourth number one) was previewed during their last live TV appearance, on the first episode of The Tube on 5th November 1982 and released just over a fortnight later. While Weller had already made his decision to fold The Jam (with rumours leaking to the press), intending this swansong to plant a defiant flag stating 'this is it, no turning back, the future begins today,' bandmates Foxton and Buckler were understandably less enthusiastic about the demise of their massively popular band. Interviewed in MusicRadar magazine in 2023, Foxton commented about the rug being tugged from beneath his trademark two-tone shoes, but with a wry chuckle, "We were Number One in the single and album chart at the time. I've only just got over it!"

​Adamant the band should go out on a high, Weller was keen to avoid them plodding on like some latter-day Rolling Stones, the youthful vibrancy which had galvanised their incredible success giving way to jaded predictability. Eventually teaming up with Merton Parkas' keyboardist, Mick Talbot, he already had his sights set on a much looser combo, using a conveyor belt of talented backing musicians, saying of Talbot, "he shares my hatred of the rock myth and the rock culture." Thus, The Style Council was initiated.

'Beat Surrender,' with backing vocals provided by Weller's 17-year-old protégé, Tracie Young, takes me back to a similar pivotal moment in my own life. Having turned 20 that July, no longer a teenager, I'd packed in my monotonous insurance clerk job after being accepted on a Diploma in Publishing course at what was then Napier College. A two-year teenage romance had hit the rails when we mutually agreed we were far too young to be discussing marriage. As an uncertain emotional vacuum opened before me, I (too) enthusiastically embraced the laddish binge drinking culture that would eventually contribute to triggering violent bipolar swings in my later 20s. Again, The Jam were signposting my life, providing me with snapshots covering every teenage emotion.

Until Buckler's passing, I hadn't listened to The Jam for an age, preferring to embrace the statement of intent Weller posted in the sleeve notes to his 1998 compilation album, Modern Classics, "Don't be scared of the new, don't get bogged down in the cliches of, 'Oh, it's not as good as ... ' or you'll miss out on what is NOW."

But with the glorious subjectivity of musical taste, NOW and THEN can resonate with equal poignancy. And Weller himself was the first to acknowledge the extent to which Rick Buckler's supreme percussive skills contributed to the legacy of The Jam, one of Britain's most successful rock bands of all time, and by extension, his own glittering and continuing career.

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