All together now… one more time for our most improbable rock god

Jack White is a rich man, but he should be richer. For several months now, one of his compositions has been performed all over the country – and yet he hasn’t received a penny in return. That’s because he’s the musician who, in 2003, wrote Seven Nation Army – the melodic inspiration for the now near-ubiquitous chant in honour of Jeremy Corbyn.

In the unlikely event that you still haven’t heard it, don’t worry, it doesn’t take long to pick up. “Oh, Jeremy Corbyn,” read the lyrics. “Oh, Jeremy Corbyn. Oh, Jeremy Corbyn. Oh, Jeremy…” And so on, until either you lose your voice or the hated Tory junta is driven at last from Downing Street, whichever is the sooner.

Yesterday afternoon it was sung in Brighton, where the Labour leader had just given a speech at the Trades Union Congress. “Oh, Jeremy Corbyn,” chorused the delegates, inevitably. “Oh, Jeremy Corbyn. Oh, Jeremy Corbyn. Oh, Jeremy…”

The subject of this paean beamed and waved. He still seems genuinely to enjoy the chant, no matter how relentlessly he is subjected to it.

There may yet come a time when it makes him feel like Richard Wilson, the star of One Foot in the Grave, being confronted in the underwear department of M&S by yet another gleeful stranger hooting, “I DON’T BELIEEEEEEVE IT!” But for now, at

Jeremy Corbyn still seems genuinely to enjoy the chant, no matter how relentlessly he is subjected to it

any rate, Britain’s most improbable rock god – with his snaggletooth grin and Open University beard – is wallowing blissfully in the bubble bath of stardom.

Despite their desperation to appeal to younger voters, Tory strategists have yet to come up with an equivalent song in honour of the Prime Minister.

If they’re looking for suggestions, the stresses of the syllables in “Theresa May” would lend themselves quite well to the chorus of Ace of Spades by Motörhead (“Tuh-ree-za MAY! Tuh-ree-za MAY!”).

Then again, given what happened after Mrs May called the snap election, they might want to skip the line that goes, “You know I’m born to lose, gambling’s for fools.”

The audience at the Trades Union Congress would probably have chanted Mr Corbyn’s name no matter what he said, but he still did a comprehensive job of telling them what they wanted to hear. The Government’s offer of a pay rise to the police, he declared, was a shameless attempt at “divide and rule”; Labour would give all public sector employees “the pay rise they deserve”; and “the Right-wing press”, despite its “blizzard of propaganda”, was powerless to stop the march towards socialism.

He also proclaimed the advantages of trade union membership.

“If you want a job that pays a decent wage,” he instructed his audience, “join a trade union!”

Since his audience was composed exclusively of people who had already joined a trade union, the advice was perhaps superfluous, but they all cheered anyway.