'Sometimes the bear will eat you. Sometime you'll eat the bear. And I am eating the bear.'
Joan Armatrading
I wake up with a trapped nerve. At the base of my spine. It's uncomfortable and I'm in slight pain and considerable discomfort. I know I've got a gig tonight in the Ouseburn Valley and I'm wondering how I'll get there. Whether I'll need to take a taxi. I've been in economy drive for the past year and avoid uneccessary expense whenever I can. I'd prefer to walk.
I get up and attend to my blog posts. The central organising component of my day, weekdays and weekend. Good to have an organising principle to orient the ship now. I see It Starts as a seafaring exercise . A vessel on a vast, mysterious ocean. The one great territory still relatively unexplored and open to us all remains the human imagination. 'I wish that I'd sailed the darkened seas. On a great big clipper ship. Going from this land to that. In a sailor's suit and cap.'Thanks Lou. I catch your drift. You keep your heroin mind.
I finish the R.E.M piece which I'm proudest of today and post it, both on the blog and on social media, just after eight. Then I have my bath. I'm not completely happy emotionally either. This is just being alive I realise after almost sixty years, I don't really believe that anyone is ever wholly happy. I'd say as human beings we pretty much experience the whole gamut of emotions in pretty much an hour. Never mind a day. I adopt a positive mindset at all times if I can though.
The morning is ticking by. I breakfast and think about the pool. But I decide I'll try something different today. I fancy a massage. I live near Newcastle Station. In Pink Lane there are a number of places advertising Thai and Swedish massage. There are any number more in the Streets of Chinatown which lie at the back of the building.
When you think of and mention places like these you cannot but think of slightly more earthy and less salubrious pursuits and pleasures than assisted exercise and treatments for aches and pains. I've never been to one of these places previously. but I think it might be a good idea now. On the way to the pool.My whole back feels trapped frankly.
So I pack my treasured St Michael's open bag with carrots illustrations on it. Make my way down Pink Lane. Knock at the door of the Thai Massage establishent not exactly sure what to expect. I get a 30 minute massage with a very nice Thai woman called Joy, It is all entirely above board and we have a great chat. About all kinds of things,The massage itself is beyond description. Sometimes we forget that we have bodies and it might be an idea to keep better care of them. Joy gives me a gentle and occasuionally not so gentle reminder of this basic truth.
She is so strong that I get the impression that should she could snap my back at an instant should she choose. But Joy is clearly lovely and I'm sure wouldn't dream of it. As I head up the corridor to the stairs she puts her palms together in the traditional Thai gesture of farewell.. Next time I'll treat myself and go for the full Monty. I'm not talking about taking all my clothes off folks. I mean the full hour experience.
I wander down to The Royal Station Hotel and tell Dave and Adam, behind the desk at the Fitness Centre desk about it. There is some eyebrow raising but I bring the subject back to the experience and recommend it. I do my circuit hour. Jacuzzi, Pool, a brief visit to the sauna. A chat to the regulars and then I'm heading home.
I find a record that suits my mood. King Creosote's From Scotland With Love. The Highlands call. Rousing, I chop up some plump mushrooms, heat them up. Plop them on toast and eat them while the record spins. Then I have a nap on the sofa. Call mum and get the bonus of a quick chat with my nephew Michael who's off to LA shortly to see his beloved. It's coming up to six. The bleak sun is still in the sky. I shave. Put on a pullover and my coat and scarf and I'm out. Into the Newcastle evening.
I'll spare you of the gory details of my walk to The Cluny. The elements are against me. Let's put it that way. I'n walking into driving rain for 25 minutes. The contagious mood of Saturday night in the Toon rouses me. The determined drive of everybody to have a damned fantastic time whatever the odds is frankly like nowhere else I've ever been so I'm resolved to stay here if I can. I want more of it. Can you blame me?
But as I move away from the crowded Quayside and into The Ouseburn Hillside I feel momentarily like a Dickens character, abandoned and tipped into desolation, despairing of ever reaching my destination.Oliver Twist. Halfway to London. Of course I do get there, Our minds can play tricks on us. Suddenly I'm broaching and descending the slope. I'm reminded of the idea of getting back to hearth and home. 'My you're soaked. Let's get you out of those wet clothes and I'll fix you your tea in front of the fire.'
In the main Cluny building a Smiths tribute band are playing and the dining and drinking areas are packed. They're sold out. But I don't want to see second hand Smiths. Tribute bands have never appealed much to me. I want to see something current and vital. So I turn on my heels and make my way back to Cluny 2. Where down the years I've see Courtney Barnett, Bill Ryder Jones, Aldous Harding, Dream Syndicate and now I'm looking forward to catching Welsh Indie Mavericks Melin Melyn
Walter of Wandering Oak of course is manning the ticket desk as he generally is for every second gig I get to in Newcastle these days. He's fast approaching local legend status. And with him is Chris of Prancy Dog, that other stalwart of the Newcastle Indie circuit.
Chris comes across as I enter the venue and we have a great chat. About gigs past. Lives past. Parents. Childhoods. Jobs. Retirement in his case. Essentially early retirement in mine in that I've broken free from stultifying office space and will teach online from now on from my flat or as a digital nomad.
We discuss attractive destinations. Chris is off to Chile and Argentina, I'm more focused on what Europe has to offer, He tells me about his life. Growing up in Aylesbury. Moving to Newcastle. We exchange so much in fifteen minutes. The Indie crcuit in Newcastle is so fundamental for this. Chris puts records out Nev Clay is the latest. And gigs. House Of All is today. I'm taking today off. The Loft coming to Cluny 2 on Friday. He says he'll see me then and rushes off to the front of the stage to see the support. We've exchanged the story of our lives and a friendship is cemented.
The least said about the support band the better . I can't find their name to warm you off them but frankly you'll see and hear them coming. Indie Funk Dance. A ghasty category which should have been smothered at birth in the interests of all concerned 'Alright Newcastle ' comes up the cry. 'Are you having a great time!' 'Well actually seeing as you ask I'm not actually. I seem to have lost my Internet connection. Is it your fault. You remind me of Shakatak. Please vacate the stage and my life.' Eventually they do. Thankfully.
There's a long wait for Melin Melyn. Half an hour I'd estimate. Melin Melyn are a six piece and Cluny 2 stage is a small space. They have a windmill god at the head if the stage who is referred to in their set. I know I'm one to moan about labels buy I'm equally prone to them myself. I'm anticipating Super Furry Animals for those who missed them first time round. I won't be unhappy with that, I'm in for a delightful surprise. My expectations are confirmed and wonderfully surpassed.
When Melin Melyn gather and kick off I get up from my seat in darkness and try to find a place in the dense Indie scrum to watch their set. I have some issues. The crowd is too thick for me to get a good view or take the obligatory photos to prove I was there. A modern disease. Eventually I find the happy solution. There's room at the side of the stage at Cluny 2 which is delightfully people free where I'll get a great view of the band and their set. Immediately I realise they're quietly sensational.
Six men in matching overalls..Caps. A front line of guitars, bass, and a hanging sax for the leadman to honk occasionally. A two man seated midfield of steel pedal and keyboards. A drummer in shades. A concept. They are millers at the mill. Fighting corporate greed. Fantastic Mr Fox. It's definitely Wes Anderson. Devo meets Teletubbies.C&W. Merthir Tydfil and Memphis. Childhood television. Camberwick Green and Trumpton.
Impeccable stage banter from the front guy. He chatters between songs. Gives the band's narrative. 'Is Alan Shearer here. This is our first time in Newcastle. This is the band. This song is from our first EP.' Consumate charm. A narrative to buy into. I see an elfin sprite in the crowd. Pretending to be a tree. Twisting her branches. The crowd are slain. .
I spot Chris at the other side of the stage at the front of the scrum. He's beaming ear to ear. This is why we still come to gigs at our age. Because it's worth it When I was young I used to have a silent inner dread of Saturday nights in. Val Doonican. Val, Vickty and Lavinia. I'm still not ready for Saturday Night in front of my TV with Michael McIntyre. Even if I'm still suffering some back pain. This is still worth the effort.
I make my way home before the end. My bus deposits me in the city centre. It's still spitting. Newcastle is in happy dissaray..I look forawrd to The Loft on Friday.
No comments:
Post a Comment