Forget about punk. Forget about the new Mods marching to the beat of "My Generation," an anthem almost as old as they are. In the England of 1980, ska is the word.

A heady Jamaican brew of riffs and rhythms that arrived in Britain in the early Sixties via West Indian immigrants, ska is currently enjoying a big commercial renaissance as the dance music for young working-class whites bludgeoned by the frenetic thump of punk or numbed by the anesthetic syncopation of Gary Numan-oid electro-pop. Not overburdened by the political connotations attached to the reggae music that succeeded it, ska is a highly danceable mixture of R&B basics, some strident shuffle beats that mutated from calypso, and the orgiastic spirit of New Orleans juke-joint jive. It also comes complete with its own subculture, that of streetwise rude boys in porkpie hats and natty two-tone-suit-and-tie combinations.

As leaders of the British ska revival elected by virtue of their chart successes, the Specials and Madness feed this nostalgia fix by providing image as well as rhythm. The multiracial Specials run their own record label (2-Tone) with a rude boy as its identifying trademark, while the all-white Madness features a full-time dancer (the porkpied Chas Smash) onstage. Yet for all their savory sound and fashionable fury, both bands wisely cock an ear to the future. On their debut albums, they cross-reference ska with reggae, the arrogant attack of punk and even a touch of English music-hall tradition.

In the case of the seven-man Specials, a comparison can be made with the Rolling Stones, who began their career by adapting R&B standards before Mick Jagger and Keith Richards developed as songwriters. On the fifteen-tune The Specials (well produced by Elvis Costello), the group pays proper respects to ska with faithful renditions of Robert "Dandy" Thompson's 1967 rude-boy anthem, "A Message to You Rudy," and the early Maytals raver, "Monkey Man." But the Specials' finest performances are invariably sparked by their own material (mostly written by organist Jerry Dammers), in which the band unflaggingly maintains the beat while careening off on subtle stylistic tangents.

"Concrete Jungle" and "Little Bitch," taken at a double-time pace closer to straight rock & roll than ska and spotlighting some hot Stones-style guitar by Roddy Byers, practically set fire to the vinyl. In the three short minutes of "Nite Klub," bass guitarist Horace Punter deftly negotiates the shifts from dead-on ska through a dub-reggae bridge to Sly and the Family Stone-type funk, undoubtedly one reason why Costello places him so prominently in the mix throughout the LP. In fact, Elvis Costello does his best to capture the manic intensity of the Specials' stage show on record (complete with crowd noises and Neville Staples' call-to-dance intros), a strategy that unfortunately leaves such slower reggae numbers as "Doesn't Make It Alright" comparatively naked. Yet when the group pulls out all the stops in the self-produced "Gangsters" – pumping ska rhythms, gripping guitar hooks, effective echo and Staples' Tarzan-like cry, "Don't call me Scarface!" – the result is exhilarating and astonishing rock & roll with exactly the right ethnic twist.

Where the Specials are gritty (and, in many of their lyrics, bitter and flagrantly sexist), Madness is just plain nutty, as Chas Smash states in his grandstanding intro to One Step Beyond.... An almost cartoonish gang of popsters, Madness makes no claims to authenticity. The band takes its name from a song by Sixties ska star Prince Buster, and returns the favor here with a spirited cover version of "Madness" plus a tribute called "The Prince." But more often than not, this six-man unit adapts the insistent ska beat to its own beery dance tunes, running the gamut from outright novelties ("Tarzan's Nuts" and a mischievous treatment of "Swan Lake") to barroom sing-alongs ("Mummy's Boy") to astutely commercial pop productions ("My Girl," "Rockin' in A^b").

It's all good clean fun, and Madness might have hit singles because of it, though the group's rhythm section often lacks the furious drive that powers the Specials. Madness' Suggs, however, is an expressive (albeit hammy) singer cut from the Ian Dury mold, and he provides a refreshing alternative to the ever-threatening sneer of the Specials' Terry Hall.

Yet for all their chauvinistic jabs at women ("Too Much Too Young," "Stupid Marriage") and their audience-baiting in "It's Up to You" ("Take it or leave it/We'll carry on regardless"), the Specials throw down the gauntlet on the dance floor, where ska wars are really won or lost. England responded to the challenge. Now it's our turn. (RS 313)

DAVID FRICKE