THE DEEP POOL - MARCH 2005

i looked out of my window at The Royal Station Hotel in Newcastle, UK in the late afternoon, late February. Intense wet snow was falling on the rush hour, but there was a beautiful turquoise and salmon gash in the western sky, and when i went to get a taxi to take me to the Sage Theatre, Gateshead, the Iranian taxi driver with the perfect Geordie accent and myself talked warmly about the city, the people and the girls with no (nearly no) clothes on who would later be standing in line in the blizzard waiting for a taxi to take them back to Riding Mill, Blaydon, Gosforth, Byker or South Shields - South Shields.

'A' the lads and lasses there - a' with smiling faces - gannin' alang the Scotswood Road - to see the Blaydon Races'....

I refrained from mentioning that my dear departed mother (oh no - not again) was a Geordie, and that this visit to play a concert was having a grevious effect on me, and i allowed the cab to drop me off at a place far away from the Sage which meant clambering up endless icy steps, and me with my very sore knee from when i twisted it hauling a too heavy bag up one too many flights of stairs in the Paragon Hotel, Birmingham because their fucking lift was broken - the bastards - and did they say sorry? No, they said that will be a £50 deposit, returnable when you leave, in case you spend your entire stay phoning Sydney, Australia (but i digress).

As i approached the Sage, panting and cursing, i could see Sally, the singer from HEM, with whom i was touring (along with the marvellous The Earlies) and for some reason this had a most heartwarming and reassuring effect upon me. Sally was - as ever - agitated, and i was still a long way off from the entrance to the foyer, but i smiled as i could tell from what i had to come to understand from her body language (horrible expression - excuse me) that, happily SOMETHING WAS WRONG.

And so it proved to be - the public address system (that's PA to you and me) was almost completely fucked and soundchecks were horrendously late, so much so that the audience would be held back for an age - in the event this didn't matter because the audience were a laid-back bunch of North-Easterners who were determined to enjoy themselves come what may, and the Sage is such a brilliant space that they, like the rest of us, probably appreciated having more time to simply look at their surroundings and think 'bloody hell'.

ANYWAY, this gave Sally and me time to sit in the dressing room talking about our various pets and their proclivities. If you don't know the music of HEM, check em out - beautiful songs and harmonies which sound 100 years old in a striking American Civil War way, but with a sass and knowingness that makes you put your head to one side and go 'ahhh'....

I was going to walk back from the Sage to my hotel over the River Tyne, but when i got to the beginning of the bridge i was suddenly exhausted - 3 weeks recording in Beirut and North Wales, then going straight on this tour, of which this was the last date, and being in the spiritual home-city of my dear mum was suddenly all too much for me. I struggled over the Tyne and found a taxi in a rank of sneering shitbag taxi drivers (the Jack Daniels was kicking in) and jumped in the lead one - he was an okay guy and then i was back in my hotel room sitting alone, flicking, as ever, from tv channel to channel.

I decided to go back out into the city, and find a good cheap Chinese cafe and eat quietly alone. The city was cold and sleet-ridden and no fun at all. I got to Chinatown and couldn't find a good cheap place of the type i wanted. They all had signs on the door which said 'eat as much shit as you possibly can for a tenner you stupid wanker, while listening to George Michael'.

No i thought - i can't do this, but at the very last moment i found an Indian cafe where a kindly old gent gave me a big plate of spicy chick peas and fried rice and i sat watching videos of Indian music stars - they were all very upset to lose the love of their life because of aggressively unsympathetic members of each other's familes. It all looked horribly familiar and cheered me up tremendously. I paid the lovely man and stumbled back out into the sleet, close to where i used to live on Westgate Hill in the late 60's. I remembered when i lived there how once i was lying in a groundfloor room in midwinter, freezing to death in a sleeping bag, when a bunch of gas fitters piled into the room and started converting the room to North Sea Gas. I was too tired and desolate to get up and leave them to it, so simply turned over and lay there like a dying person whilst they brayed, farted and puzzled for about 3 hours. Then they were gone and the room had North Sea Gas. Oh great.

Then i got up and went and bought a shirt that didn't fit because i was too embarrassed to try it on in the changing room. Then i bought a girlie mag (this was 1969 - they still were wearing their underwear and smiling at the sun) and went to the public toilet at the Bigg Market, opposite the bus station, to have a wank. However, the magazine was not inspiring, so i sat there in my shit cubicle sighing forlornly. As i did so, there was a smudgy noise on the floor. I looked down to see a little handwritten note coming into my cubicle. I picked up the note, careful not to brush my hand in the long day's piss, and it said 'let me wank you off'. Those were the days...

Next morning - that's NOW not then, i missed breakfast at the hotel and went to a coffee/deli place on the station concourse. It was really good - i bought sushi, expresso and a ham and cheese toastie while waiting for the 10 40 am to Bournemouth. When the train left the station it glided through snowy sunlit fields to the city of Durham - horses stood alone in modest paddocks, eating recently provided hay, and i saw the Angel of the North statue as the train faded from Gateshead. I love that statue: with snow blowing over his brown metal eyes, his arms challenging as well as welcoming and defending - surely all the things we would all want to imply in our every shy gesture.

And now? I just received my first copies of JACKIE LEVEN SAID - the double album of me and the Scottish writer Ian Rankin. ( press release here ) It looks and sounds great - just like i knew it would. It's released in May and we have 3 shows - Queen Elizabeth Hall, London on May 15 Perth Festival, Perth, Scotland on May 23, and Adam Smith Centre, Kirkcaldy, Fife, Scotland on May 24. This last is a kind of spiritual homecoming show for Ian and I, and will be filmed for a documentary, made by the same people who made the documentary about me for Scottish TV a few years back. Me and Ian talked about this in an Edinburgh cafe a couple of weeks ago - i think we like the idea of talking to camera with the Firth of Forth howling in the background and seagulls wheeling round our shouted words - words about how it felt to be 'young' in this hard but beautiful part of the known and unknown world.

Ian's story - JACKIE LEVEN SAID is set in Kirkcaldy and this part of the world retains its grip on my soul. The other day i was on a train bound for Leeds, leaving Edinburgh, and i caught myself straining to the very last moments to see the buildings of Kirkcaldy across the firth, grey and white in the winter sun, as the train skirmished along beside Portobello - then i was keening to see the Lomond hills for the last time as the train slewed south toward Dunbar, and the woman in the buffet announced that sadly 'there are no hot drinks owing to an equipment failure, but we have lots of lovely sandwiches, lemonade, beers, and wine'.

I'm playing a show at the RMA Tavern, Southsea, Portsmouth, Hampshire on March 12. Don't know box office details, but i believe anyway it's a free show - call John on 07970 959 793. I'll play some new songs - one called Book Of Hobos, another called The Boy In The Golden Dirt.

In May i'm also appearing in Oporto, Portugal on Friday 13th (Ayyeee!) with David Thomas et al in 'Mirrorman' - a festival in Drammen, near Oslo, Norway called Working Class Hero Festival on May 1st (of course), then at the Bergen Festival with Sir Vincent Lone and Ubudoll on May 6th.

Today i was remembering listening many years ago to the the greatest record ever made - 'Judee Sill' by Judee Sill, originally on Asylum Records, and having to kneel quietly on my living room floor in order to deal with the sweeping majesty of the sound. That was a long time ago ago, but still i hear her singing - 'one star remains in the false darkness - have you met my man on love? - one truth survives death's final starkness - have you met my man on love?' Or - 'he comes from under the cryptosphere, where the great sadness begins - he's courageous enough to be scared - but he's much too humble to win - bless the ridge rider - the ridge he's riding is mighty thin - i guess the ridge rider - fergits he's travelling with a friend'. 'AHOOOOOwoo-woo' (that's the best bit, but don't take my word for it...).

'I guess the ridge rider - fergits he's travellin with a friend'

'AHOOOOOOOOwoo-woo'...........................................and god bless Hunter Thompson.

jl