Play me some two hand Thunder and Lightning......again...
Here's a word that you wouldn't expect to crop up in this column. The Hat is Irked. This
doesn't happen very often as he has spent a good few years cultivating his well-known
'laid-back, everything is cool' veneer that works so well in dodgy
music basements and on blood pressure monitors. His cat Cozy is also an aficionado of this approach to life. To irk The Hat is not easy. The reason is pretty straight-forward and I am expecting sympathy, fawning agreement and tea.
The Hat was just reading one of those silly and often acrimonious exchanges that riddle the columns of some music magazines and bring out the worst in their subscribers and readers. Yes, yes, of course, I should know better. Often the discussion is started by The Editor himself in the hope that it will make his publication more 'edgy' and interesting....and fill the correspondence columns in the process. The expression 'starting a fight in an empty room' comes to mind. The pointlessness of these irksome debates is often only matched by the irrationality of the contributors. This is not to say that many of the views expressed are not clearly honestly held - albeit sometimes ineptly communicated - and can be very entertaining. Indeed, if you have ever watched that entertaining series 'Outnumbered' you will be well aware that a small person can ask a ridiculous question that will trigger a major domestic conflict. However, do I really need to be shouting at an inanimate object, lose sleep and upset my ventricles over who are the world's top ten blues harp players; did Robert Johnson really start it all; is Clapton still God and are Death Metal frontmen proper guitarists? I guess you all know the answer to that – and you all have an opinion and, and – and no no no, thank you, you can not start up any correspondence here...
The Hat was just reading one of those silly and often acrimonious exchanges that riddle the columns of some music magazines and bring out the worst in their subscribers and readers. Yes, yes, of course, I should know better. Often the discussion is started by The Editor himself in the hope that it will make his publication more 'edgy' and interesting....and fill the correspondence columns in the process. The expression 'starting a fight in an empty room' comes to mind. The pointlessness of these irksome debates is often only matched by the irrationality of the contributors. This is not to say that many of the views expressed are not clearly honestly held - albeit sometimes ineptly communicated - and can be very entertaining. Indeed, if you have ever watched that entertaining series 'Outnumbered' you will be well aware that a small person can ask a ridiculous question that will trigger a major domestic conflict. However, do I really need to be shouting at an inanimate object, lose sleep and upset my ventricles over who are the world's top ten blues harp players; did Robert Johnson really start it all; is Clapton still God and are Death Metal frontmen proper guitarists? I guess you all know the answer to that – and you all have an opinion and, and – and no no no, thank you, you can not start up any correspondence here...
Actually, the subject up for grabs on
this occasion was 'What are The Blues?'. Even the daft title is
enough to bring on the golfing yips and make you go off and spend
some time on Playstation killing aliens. However, dear reader, as you would expect,
The Hat was obliged, on your behalf, to kick it around the park for a
para or two. In the process, I was taken straight back to my
favourite Aunt Winnie's seldom-used front room where, as a short
trousered Dennis The Menace, The Hat was allowed to play exuberant two handed Thunder and Lightning on her polished parlour piano. Over the years I
progressed to the works of Jelly Roll Morton and have fond memories
of succumbing to her repeated requests for 'SideWalk Blues' - the
lyrics reminded her of her childhood apparently and she could dance
weirdly round her kitchen. But, Hang on A Minute! It's called A Blues! Is That
Really A Blues? Oh my God, does this mean Jelly Roll was A Bluesman? Only write
on one side of the paper. You are ahead of me, as usual. If you stood
and watched the multi-genre Paddy Milner riffing this or Wolverine Blues on a
keyboard on a stage near you,would you care whether it was blues,
barrelhouse, jazz or dance music? I guess not – and neither did my
indulgent Aunt Winnie.
I was reminded of her deaf-ear kindness
once more when I read again that lovely tale of Brian May helping his
dad construct his first proper guitar on the kitchen table. And then
there was the famous bluesman posting on Facebook recently how he was simply glowing
with pride at the sound of one of his young daughters playing guitar in
the next room. What great memories these are and will be. Sometime ago, in
a previous millennium, The Hat sat at the top of the stairs at Hat Mansions and listened to the sound of 'Hey Joe' drifting up from the
basement. It was being played on a very cheap Taiwanese copy of a
cheap Taiwanese guitar. Although the chords were a touch stuttery and
the voice a touch pitchy, these shortcomings were more than
compensated for by the warm delight of listening to one of the
offspring taking those early tottering steps on his musical
adventure. The fact that his particular road was rudely diverted at the
crossroads to drumming for a punk band was still Fun To Come - but
the joy at that time was unimpaired.
Many decades later, there was a
different noise coming through a different door - a grandaughter with
a ukele replaced the guitarist, Blur replaced Hendrix and 'Hey Joe'
became 'Woo Hoo'. And then there are the nephews, nieces, the cousins, the children
of in-laws, the children of friends, the kids next door... As they
say in those crap crime programmes - I can see a pattern here....the
extraordinary power of music, the encouragement to play when you are
young, the sympathetic ear, the quiet funding... and it always has
been thus. Look Closely Now. Somewhere in your extended family, in your
circle of friends, there will be a small person who is setting out on
that Incredibly Discordant Journey right now. You may, like my Aunt
Winnie, have to pretend to enjoy hours of Thunder and Lightning at full volume.
You may have to invest in ear-plugs and music lessons. You may have
to acquire the patience of Job, or an unused front-room.
Nevertheless, The Hat would like to encourage you to Keep on Keeping
On Encouraging - in the confident knowledge that there is Hope in the Future and the present Strident,
Discordant, Toneless, Shrill Shrieking Hell will turn slowly into a
magical glow of warm pride and a silly smile. And you won't care if
it's the blues or not....
So. You see I have real hope for the small people. However, right now I am going off to play Bad Penny Blues and Un-Irk myself. Even though it has jazzman Humphrey Littleton playing trumpet
and a stride boogie accompaniment by the fabulous Johnny Parker, I'm
thinking of having it played at my funeral. Now that's what I call
The Blues, Ed - so nah nah nah.......
Pip Pip!
The Man in The Hat.