TO WHERE I AM NOW

I was in the front few rows of Universal Amphitheater in LA in the nineties watching Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers and every time a song came to its conclusion, the guy behind me went nuts. He was clapping and hooting and whooping and cheering and was absolutely loving the show. Stealing a glance at him whilst the band were playing, he was absolutely transfixed, tapping his feet, tapping his hands on his jeans, a true fan. It was then that I realized it was Bob Seger.

I got a free ticket to go and see Fleetwood Mac in San Diego. It was an indoor stadium type show, Greatest Hits with terrible merch (light blue and brown T-shirts). The seat was way way way up in the nosebleeds. There was a girl behind me who whooped every 20 seconds throughout the whole concert. Eventually people were looking around trying to figure out why? Why was she doing this so constantly? Every time anybody turned around she would say “I don’t care, I love them”. She wasn’t listening, she was whooping and vaguely looking around and on her feet the whole time. In front of me there was another girl who was on her phone the whole concert. She was calling friends, “Guess, where I am?”. After they’d guessed she would talk to them for a time and then hang up and call somebody else and do the same thing. Eventually somebody said something and she of course responded aggressively.

When Olivia and I went to see Paul McCartney in Liverpool, after paying way too much (don’t ask) for two rip off tickets from a proxy seller, we had two drunk blokes in front of us dancing and screaming and shouting the whole time. The seating was rows of connected chairs so that when they did eventually fall over they knocked over half the row of chairs in a domino sequence.

When Olivia and I went to see Robert Plant and Lucinda Williams in Dallas, there was a guy and his wife behind us that talked through the slower songs and even through The Rain Song. When I turned around to look at him to say something, he looked at me as if to say “Would you like me to kill you”.

It makes me realize that for some people a concert is a drinking session, a socializing session and a hit hearing session. It’s not a listening experience, a learning experience, a moving experience and is certainly not an awareness experience. Perhaps it depends on the kind of music, some people just wanna dance, but also some people just wanna talk. No one wants their audience to be mute, but an intense conversation about that damn bill you got from the garage for the car servicing might not be appropriate. It’s a free world, yes it is, and sadly a lot of people are free to be total jerks.

Sessions all day today, starting in Istanbul with Ahad, Montreal with Noelle, New Jersey with Brian 3 and Orlando, Florida with Brian 2. These trips out of the studio into the minds of sessioneers in other countries is an invigorating journey, I have been invited into other people’s imaginations for a wander around. Working on multiple projects, including Jed and Space Summit here with Dare and all the others nudging and softly pushing in the queue. I do hope to get to Jerome and my project next (two vocals to sing, some extra guitars). Then Olivia and I want to record songs from our live set with violin, 12 string and voice, perhaps some additional instrumentation as appropriate. Then there’s sessioneer Tony in Sydney and Ahad is also getting closer to studio time. Noctorum V is started, MOAT is finished, Atlantaeum Flood II postponed probably till next year and Nightjar vinyl coming on Record Store Day Drops as it is now called in the autumn. Anekdoten on the horizon. It’s a full agenda, I can’t imagine what it would be like to be bored. Sleep is a real problem, a wonderful luxury in one way and gorgeous falling into a soft dreamland, perhaps it’s the humans’ greatest indulgence. A necessary relief and recuperation, a way to escape your conscious self, a chance to calm down, rethink. ‘Sleep on it’ always seemed like good advice.

Music today was a trip into the poetic world of Gil Scott-Heron, original rapper, Blues and Jazz singer, the man who wrote The Revolution Will Not Be Televised. His debut album, Small Talk At 25th And Lenox. On this album, backed mainly by just percussion until the Vulture (track 10), Who’ll Pay Reparation On My Soul (track 13) and the last track Everyday (track 14), he introduces his politically charged poems to a small audience at the album title’s location (there’s a small audience who don’t really seem to realize what they are experiencing). It’s the state of America and the plight of the black people at the time. If you haven’t heard Whitey On The Moon from this album, then…well, no life should miss it. But although there’s an un-PC poem mocking a Gay Ball, it’s mainly an accurate appraisal of the disgrace of racism and black and white relations in America.

After his debut he made the rest of the decade’s albums with flautist and keyboard player Brian Jackson. Although he appeared on the next two albums, Pieces Of Me (1971) and Free Will (1972), by the next album Winter In America (1974) he was given equal billing. So with Jackson, Heron spread his intellectual visceral street poetry across the Soul, Jazz and Bluesy backdrop he was known for.

Around the time that Heron and Jackson ceased a regular working relationship, Grandmaster Flash arrived. Without Gil Scott-Heron, Rap and Hip Hop would not be what it is today. These pieces as with most of his works are poetry first, that’s what all rappers would tell you, but in his case it’s unquestionable. I saw Gil Scott-Heron live at the Jazz Cafe in Camden, London, in the nineties. I met his cool and friendly band and my mate Yeb played sax with him that night. He was hours late and was something else. He made his final album, I’m New Here, in 2010, his first in 16 years. In and out of prison, a massive drug problem, he died in may 2011 aged 62 (that’s a month and a number that sound familiar).

Song Of The Day is not a rap, it’s a dialogue, Ask Again is a story with rhythm, perhaps a little like Velvet Underground’s The Gift, told by John Cale. It appears on the eclectic Noctorum debut album Sparks Lane (2003).

 

Ask Again

Turn left at the traffic lights
Opposite the swimming baths
Drive about 200 yards
You’ll see a garage on your right
When you get there ask again
Glad to be of use to you

Right out of the courtyard
To the second zebra crossing
You’ll see an Indian restaurant
“The ‘Something’ Of Bengali”
When you get there ask again
Glad to be of use to you

I’m sorry I’m not local
I’m here to see some family
But ask inside the police station
It’s only ’round the corner
You’re going to have to ask again
But glad to be of use to you

Sorry sir the Sergeant’s sick
I’m up from London, training
Try the chemist down the road
Being here is draining
You’re going to have to ask again
But glad to be of use to you

Just beyond the alleyway
You’ll see another cobbled lane
Turn down there you should fit through
But then you’ll have to ask again
Then you’ll have to ask again
Glad to be of use to you
Glad to be of use to you

Reverse your car back down the hill
But watch out for the roadworks there
Someone died under a truck
A nasty little accident
When you get there ask again
But glad to be of use to you

Excuse me sir you can’t park here
It’s dangerous for strangers
Somebody will drag you out
Violence is everywhere
Whatever happens don’t ask again

Don’t ask again
Glad to be of use to you
Don’t ask again

(Willson-Piper / Mason)
Noctorum – Sparks Lane (2003)