Is Dubai The New Sun City?

December 28, 2008 at 9:41 am | Posted in music, writing | 12 Comments
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He thinks sipping black coffee and looking out over the skyline at the towering sail motel. He is alone in a way but he is aware that the male voice has a function especially when blended into a choir and he is confident he knows one thing that is true in every situation. The tattoo of the willow tree which covers his back disappears into the darkness of his suit and he turns into the room just as the phone rings.

Can we get, Is Dubai the New Sun City, printed somewhere on the programme, she wants to know. He says no without thinking. He has spent hours hiding the melody in the string section which alternated between a kind of Peter Onion and Peter Hare tone, somewhere not cello nor birdsong. It’s enough to plant the seed of the thought, a kind of mystic fundamentalism. And he has given away a thousand copies of the original track to local pirate radio stations and one-eyed wild rastas masquerading as tribesman with market stalls.

He looks down at the watch the old man had given him, all those years ago. You have had your fun doodling with that Jazz you’re always playing he had said and closed the lid of the piano. We have hired some more musicians and I have invested in a suit for you. It is a great responsibility to be a conductor.

He smiled, semi-conductor, and wonders if she has remembered to buy him a hat.

“It’s A Wilde Ride” had just been released and for some reason a kind of political masochism had swept through the middle classes at the same time.  All the Lady Windemeres were looking for their D. H. Lawrence. When the offer came to play the New Years Party in Dubai she had hinted that he should take the work more seriously but he couldn’t shake the image of her in pirate hat and red lingerie and had signed the contract without reading it.

Blushing nightclub belles hustle past him on their way to various assignations, Sir Ian would have said. He smiles with the confidence of a man who has been through far worse and paid more for it. Besides, he would have his back to them when the light burst over his shoulder onto the musicians’ faces, one hundred and twenty perfectly polished instruments. The lead saxophone is fidgeting and he hopes he got fixed an hour or so before. “Merciless” he had been described in one review he treasured.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the ex-paratrooper rhythm guitarist nervously trying to slick down his hair while shuffling uncomfortably in his too tight rented tuxedo and through the heavy curtains behind him he can hear the audience entering the ballroom, settling into their seats with a John Lennon jangle of jewellery and the rustle as they opened their programmes. He raises the baton.


“Fastest Left Hand In The West” Clint Eastwood.

October 18, 2008 at 8:37 pm | Posted in music, poetry, writing | 11 Comments
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popart popout, haha, in the meantime
naked hairy man returns grinning
Oh No not Caliban again she sighs,
doesn’t want her curv’d lines written for her
not in my tongue
no how, ho ho, no way,

art as mere artefact of spont
ayneeus combustion
Ladies and Gentleman in the left corner
Hemingway sweating and sunburnt
bruting up the hill home again
having found some release in dizziness

and the other an elegant creature
the bull survived by a certain skill
of headtbuttingsleeping learned in the taverns
of Marseille , F. said slapping my back
held the left hand together so as to make
the Chico tattoo plopping the green felt hat in his
pocket and sitting down at the piano,

(take five…

horror movie

October 2, 2008 at 6:11 pm | Posted in antihaiku, blogging, music, writing | 7 Comments
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right there on your TV, people don’t scare easy these days, they really only believe in the harsh reality of physical pain and have abandoned the old ideals of good and evil and their infestations by various creatures best expressed through naked imagination. Horror is the exercise of power over another human being without their consent. Unless of course they don’t realise it and they are happy.

Horror Movie, remix by Fornikator

Vale Graeme “Shirley” Strachan 1952-2001

but ya see

September 24, 2008 at 6:10 pm | Posted in music, writing | 16 Comments
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caught this terrible disease
haha preposterousesesnessnes said the old priest
hands clasped over his jiggling belly
of balancing one with the ‘twother
she said the chains now dangling
round her wrists
and sparkling with emeralds and leading
the eye into the land of the lotus eaters

mamu sat in the limo in the rain
wait she’ld said, he’ld shifted

the guilt was a burden to bear
no hunny
at home in the lair
all you had to do said F.
was keep her here in the room
he clipped the pianoplayer round the back of his head
but i saw it coming this time and held the right hand together
i looked down at the piano and saw i was already playing,

“That’s Entertainment” by The Jam. (rewrite)

September 23, 2008 at 6:13 pm | Posted in music, writing | 8 Comments
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by the right honourable Lord Jim of Conradland, haha, he said raising the dragon tankard. Two boymen creatures from the expensive Private School, stripey ties undone lounging across seats until Fuck Off emits from his mind and they retreat into corners staring out of windows. He sits behind them and watches the wet street. They slowly return to their conversation about who fingered where of whom and so forth and his mind returned to guitar chords and those two Fairholme girls he’ld met in the park one night, thankfully not wearing school uniform that would have been unbearable despite its legality. He was drunk and stoned, it was 7.30. He was playing that night at eleven and they sat down for some reason and started drinking with him and he told them about the gig and they followed the band and attracted some boys who fought with others who had sweet young things of their own to protect. The bus stopped and he remembered he had forgotten to lockdown the computers before he left work again. Oh well,

On Drums.

August 6, 2008 at 7:20 pm | Posted in blogging, links, music | 12 Comments
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There is a singularity, a fundamental truth beyond which even physicists may not pass, rhythm. Everything is a wave, hello, bye bye,
And a musician and a drummer. And this piece of writing features one of all my favourite characters, Caliban. It is the language itself that must be transcended, said somebody in a hat, a yellow beanie actually, scratching his stubble and mumbling, Cocoyea is a great drummer.

It is all seems so strange,

June 21, 2008 at 7:53 pm | Posted in blogging, links, music, poetry, writing | 9 Comments
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Here is a truely beautiful and mystically effective poem by Tina Trivett which has stayed in my mind like a haunting all week,
June Evening

and here is a related song which could be the other side,

Have a wonderful daynight thingy,

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