Out of interest, compare it with The Ramones’ “We’re A Happy Family”, and note that Dave Parsons stretches out more. “Family Life” starts off with a typical tussle between mam and son: “Your dinner’s burnt and you’ll stay in till your father comes home.” The same feelings (a sustained, breeze-block onslaught is the key) carry over to the second studio side, where Sham indicate their willingness, albeit stumbling at times, to experiment. Naturally, the sound is raw it would be stupid to expect anything else. Like the portrait of the kid in “Ulster” who throws potties and ends up in hospital like the barking sensation in “George Davis Is Innocent” like the fury behind “They Don’t Understand”. Out of context, you may think the sentiments are pathetically innocent, but they are applicable as they are vulnerable. They are straightforward catchphrases from off the street: The lyrics are of paramount importance, and though Jimmy has tried to mix them up as far as possible, they are still annoyingly cloudy in too many instances. Once involvement is endured, then questioning can follow. The side ends with a football chant of “Knees Up Mother Brown”. The more an audience enjoys itself, the more it jostles for a part of the action, and as the dedication indicates (“special thanks to all our mates who appear on this side”), they virtually get equal billing. It comes through loud and clear on the live first side. The band’s enjoyment is the result of the audience’s enjoyment, though the process is fraught. All the frustration, disillusion, anger, fear, confusion and (don’t ever forget, as a lot of people seem to) the laughs. This isn’t supposed to be some dewy-eyed, patronising, working-class flag day appeal it’s simply what happened. That means looking directly at his home life in Hersham, where his dad was a plumber and his mam a cleaner, his long periods of truancy from school, Saturday afternoons at football and dead-end jobs. Above all, he wants to entertain but to achieve that end, he has to act directly from his own experience. Therein lies the contradictions of head person Jimmy Pursey. But it also sums up what the band are all about: fierce commitment and honesty. Maybe you think the image is simplistic and naive. The four Sham men stand pinioned in the corner of a kind of interrogation room / detention centre, fists clenched and snarling at an accusing finger that emerges from a pin-striped sleeve. And that would be a criminal shame.Įven the title and cover throw a battered brick through the window. They will make incensed jackals sound like puppies who do naughty things with toilet rolls. If all you want from a record is leisure listening which does little to reinforce a cosy rut, read no further. Really, it all depends on how much trust you’re willing to invest. I sincerely hope the words Sham 69 won’t be added to the ever increasing list of defunct ’77 misfits. The dilemma is – how can they follow that? ‘Tell Us The Truth’, or ‘Sham 69’s Greatest Hits’ could well be an epitaph of ’77. The rest is an expletives deleted some holds barred live show with all the faves – ‘Rip Off’, ‘Ulster’, George Davis is Innocent’ etc which gives the uninitiated some idea of what the band is all about, or, more exactly, what the band’s audience is all about. They’re a great live band and this album also confirms that they a decent studio band – though you only get one side of that on ‘Tell Us The Truth’. Sham are often accused of being a good live.
Pursey is a hero in the same way as Peter Storey was a hero or Ron Harris. He plays upon them in such a mundane, North Bank way that the crowd can’t fail to find it strangely heroic. Jimmy Pursey plays on people’s restricted emotions – and he’ll be the first to admit that. They simply appeal to the susceptible – and that could be you or me. Sham’s songs aren’t particularly deep, significant or dotted with politico palpitations. Extrovert Esso blues wiv boots and astronaut crops enjoying the hospitality of muvver Brown. No, they’re preoccupied with being performers themselves.
Not that kids take too much notice of what’s being said. They’re a good time band with a neat line in social sophistry. Sham 69 fulfills a 16-year-old’s notion of gutter grit instability (ie) a Saturday night knees-up, a Saturday night piss-up, a Saturday night punch-up. And I thought punk was kaput, finito, a bubble in the Alka Seltzer – but maybe that’s because I’m a Londoner. Sham 69 “Tell Us The Truth” – A giggle in the night. “Tell Us The Truth” SHAM 69 – “Tell Us The Truth” LP (Polydor 2383491) February 1978
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