THE DEEP POOL - JANUARY 2004 The Winter Solstice has come and gone, now the nights are getting shorter and the future's so bright i've got to wear shades - a one-hit wonder guy of lovable nature once said to me 'i had my day in the sun - unfortunately it was rather cloudy'. 'Rather Cloudy', for those of you who are non UK people, is a typical phrase beloved of weatherpersons on UK radio and TV. I can remember walking down the street with an American singer called Jesse Ballard in London near Picadilly, and an immense neon billboard gave the weather forecast as 'rather cloudy'. Jesse burst into tears of laughter - i asked him what was so funny and he said 'rather cloudy! - that's just SO British! - in California we would say 'a 70% chance of precipitation, or somesuch'. Last time i played California was during a heatwave, and we were on stage after Lyle Lovett at 9pm. Suddenly the evening clouded over, and the day went from sweltering to so cold that people dressed for the intensity of heat had no choice but to abandon us as an audience and seek shelter in the many wine tents of the event, but not before one drunk woman got really vicious with me when she discovered that i wasn't prepared to play Proud Mary. She stood below me seething and baring her perfect teeth until led away stumbling by her daughter who said 'c'mon Mom, it's too cold to worry about Proud Mary'. Her daughter had worked out that as an act we were probably 'art', and as she vanished into the Napa Valley evening haze, she shot me a complex look that said 'sorry about that, but couldn't you, just on this occasion, have played Proud Mary?' I decided that what the disappearing folk needed was a hefty rendition of Extremely Violent Man, and the night drew to a wondrous close. Well, as i write it's New Year's Eve, and when i finish writing this, i'm going to Newbury for dinner and a yahoo with friends - people are often surprised that i don't spend Hogmanay in Scotland - i don't miss it at all - too many young memories of falling into hedges and staring at the cruel frosted stars, unable to get back up, or remember my life up till that moment. I enjoy hopeless English renditions of Auld Lang Syne, perpetrated by 28 wobbly folk drooling in a pub car park - one of them always falls over and nobody can work out if it's a cause for alarm or not. One interesting New Year's Eve in the 70's i spent in the district of Altona in Hamburg, Germany. We were in a great bar and it was all very enjoyable and foreign. My friend Chrystal told me that on the stroke of midnight, all the bells and ships' sirens would sound as one - in Hamburg, on the Elbe, that's a lot of ships. I decided to stand outside to listen to this. There was only me and a blonde girl i did not know, but who was carrying a gun of some sort. The cacophony of sound was tremendously moving - so loud, grinding out forbidden descants and rending metallic clashes like a sexual crisis that might engulf a pagan god. I felt a push in my back and turned round. The girl with the gun was grinning wildly and pointing the gun at my face and motioning me to walk backwards and down the street. I could tell the gun was real in some way, and so the threat was real. It looked like a flare gun. but a big bastard that would still rip your head half off if you got it between the eyes. I stayed calm (well, i was smashed out of my head and stoned), but tried to convey through eye contact that i was taking it very very seriously, being resigned in the face of a death i did not fancy. She was nodding and grinning so hard i could see her back teeth, whilst insane crescendos of bell and horn sheared through the frozen black sky. We'd moved twenty yards from the bar, close to a small forlorn deserted park when she indicated to me to stop. I nodded and just stood there, with a little picture of my mum and dad's council house in my mind, and them inside, drinking Newcastle Brown Ale with neighbours. Suddenly the girl turned to her right with real venom and fired the gun into a big metal city refuse bin. The shot hit the bin with a shuddering klang and burst into a fireball of searing red and white light. i jumped to the ground instinctively, covering my face and lying in a foetal position. As the fireworks spluttered to a halt, i looked up, and the girl was moving up the street, past the bar and out of sight. I knew it was all over, so i got up and brushed myself down, and crumbled back to the bar. Inside, everone was laughing hugging and kissing and fucking up Auld Lang Syne. I could tell nobody had really even noticed that i'd been missing, and anyway, they'd told me about the bells and horns outside. There was no way i could make anyone interested in my experience and i didn't even try: i sat quietly at the bar drinking schnapps and replaying the moment when the bitch shot the bin. I told everyone at breakfast, but they just nodded wearily and stared at their coffee so i shut up after a while. Today i was thinking about those strange times in life when there's a sign that it's time to move on. When i lived in Little Venice in London, towards the end of my time there i really grew to dislike it, but i had no organised thoughts about moving on. One day i went to my local bar, the Warwick Castle where i had been drinking for years. It was that time of morning when six or seven oldies were the only people in - a time i particularily like. We all knew each other well and had a good basic friendship, like you get in bars.
I couldn't figure it out. They knew perfectly well i was Jackie, but i couldn't sense any practical joke or wind-up going on - it just wasn't their style - they wouldn't have the energy for a start. Also at this time, i was a dangerously unstable person, and they wouldn't have risked pissing me off in such a way... 'Jackie, actually' i said, smiling at everyone, being good-natured and sitting on a stool at the bar. I gave them a long look, shook my head and clearly thought - 'i've got to get the hell out of this place and not come back for a long time' which is what i did. Even now when i sometimes go back , those that are still alive look up and say 'hello Jeff, haven't seen you for a while'. I only wrote half a song-line today, but i was thinking of us all as the bells and horns turned their great metallic faces towards each other, ready to sing together in the common mind. |