Reviewed by Francesca Baker

For me this is pure scribal porn. Writing about my two favourite things in the same review – London and music. Only if I was sat at a desk with a ink well, glass of the finer stuff, windswept hills in front of me and my muse awaiting behind me could my writing fantasies be fulfilled any further. Before the writing is that crucial bit, the bit that is even better. The listening. I already know that despite themed compilations being usually a bit, well, sucky, London: Songs To Define The City is going to rate pretty highly, due to the fact Pulp’s Bar Italia features. A song makes me smile, and can lift a mood better than Calpol can.
As an album of songs that reference, pay homage to, are inspired by or criticise the capital city, this is a collection that aims to mirrorsthe thousands of Londons that there are. A question I often ask myself is what is the real London?
Is it the view from Embankment Bridge, the spires of St Paul’s and the London Stock Exchange stretched out ahead after a stroll with Roxy Music’s Do The Strand or watching a Waterloo Sunset serenaded by The Kinks. The myriad shops selling foods unidentifiable to my born and bred British eyes, down in Brixton’s Electric Avenue (Eddy Grant) and the hubbub of languages I don’t understand, not too far from where you might find one of Simple Minds’ Chelsea Girl. The place of hopes and destinies fulfilled, streets paved with gold where anything can happen, so long as you’re with The London Boys (David Bowie). Or dreams shattered, realisation dawning as you come to in the late night lighting of Bar Italia. A place to live or just exist, rolling along purposeless, as in the Streets of London Ralph McTell informs us of.
It’s all these, and London: Songs To Define The City does a good job of being its soundtrack.

A gig can only be as good as the sum of its parts. Like any party, a successful night relies on the host giving the crowd a good time, as well as guests ready to let loose a little, excited about the forthcoming shindig. You get what you give in these situations. Unless you’re Paul Weller, in which case you play with passion and glorious execution, riding on a wave of talent that has not dwindled one bit in the 33 years since The Jam first graced our record players, and get in return muted response from an unenthused crowd filling the floor at Wembley Arena, perhaps tired from mile walk from the tube station, lacking liquid energy at four pound a pint.
Although Wembley Arena’s vapid aura is capable of zapping the soul of many a band, Weller’s charmingly matey persona meant that even amongst 12,500 people, there was a sense of intimacy. This friendly feel was cemented by the Weller family joining in, eldest son Natt, joining in on guest guitar during ‘Echoes Round The Sun’ and five year old Mac playing tambourine on Up The Dosage., but  a call for cheers for grime rapper Devlin’s appearance on ‘Trees’ fell flat.
For an old guy, he’s certainly got energy, playing a two and half hour set, including two encores. As well as show casing new album ‘Wake Up The Nation’, the set was heavy on material from 2008’s acclaimed ’22 Dreams’, but judging from the cries of the crowd all anyone wanted was for Weller to ‘play some old stuff mate’, and indeed it was ‘Eton Rifles’ and ‘You Do Something To Me’ that got the biggest roar of the evening.
The hallucinogenic lighting and engaging delivery continued to impress throughout, and the creative diversity of Weller’s catalogue was showcased with verve.  It’s just a shame that the crowd forgot they were here to see Paul Weller in 2010, and not The Jam three decades ago.