The Bitterest Pill

A-Side: The Bitterest Pill (I ever had to swallow)
B-Side: Pity Poor Alfie | Fever

Polydor POSP 505
Producer: Peter Wilson

Released: 10/09/82 (according to 45cat)
Purchased: 08/09/82

I watched the final episode of ’This Is England 86’ last night and this Jam tune played out as the end credits rolled. A nostalgic burst of memories came flooding back as soon as I heard the opening guitar riff and I dug out the 45 for the first time in decades.

Back in ’82 I never cared much for the song because it sounded way too souly for me. But I bought it anyway as it was the new Jam single and I’d bought every new record on the day of release since ’Going Underground’ – wow, those were the days.

Listening to the song today now that I’m older and wiser, I can appreciate the ’sound’ Weller was after. His vocals sound excellent and that guitar riff is maybe short but it sounds rather good don’t you think. It’s more or less the first Style Council single in truth.

Around this time, bass player Bruce Foxton complained that The Jam had become The Paul Weller Show. ’The Bitterest Pill’ was recorded at Maison Rouge Studios in Fulham, London during the early part of 1982 and released several months later, in September. It’s notable for the ornate string accompaniment arranged by Paul Weller and producer Peter Wilson.

Vaughn Toulouse from Department S posed on the single’s front cover. He was standing in what looks like a medieval prison cell possibly awaiting execution.

Has somebody died? The cover to this brand spanking new Jam record reeks with doom. A death cell black and white photo surrounded by black broken only by bereavement italics.

“The Bitterest Pill” is a song weighted by sadness. As a duet – with Jenny Bellestar – it strikes me as a functional flat relative of Elton & Kiki’s ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’. I guess it’s inspired more by Marvin and Tammi . . . well she’s dead anyway.

Even the sprightly string arrangement which lifts the song at times is fighting the losing battle. There’s also evidence – on both sides – that Paul Weller may have had a Dylan-esque motorbike crash, his voice – I think it’s his voice – reedy and reaching.

The B-side here is altogether more inspired but that’s only because the sound is more familiar albeit over a rendition of Davenport & Cooley’s “Fever”. But, even as a fan, I don’t care for this despondent over0thoughtful 45, although Paul Weller won’t worry too much. I think he’s already decided on a course into introspection and the black, black, black. I’m staying right here. (NME, 04/09/82)