Take Back Your Manifesto....I've Got Music
Those that know The Hat
well are aware that he has always been a part-time fan of The Conspiracy Theory
and its undoubted value as a Fall-Back Plan B. This is of course why
I have been known to keep silver foil in my hat, cross the road when
I think I see a plain clothes policeman and know full well that
somewhere in the middle of Utah State those evil people at the NSA
are patiently monitoring all my tedious phone calls. Yes, they've
all got it Infamy – now and again....
Being, from time to
time, old, wise and pragmatic, I don't let this take over my life but
it marries nicely with my innate mistrust of the systems of power,
suspicion of charlatans with ostentatious pretend power and powerful
people who pretend they are not powerful. I have in my time supped
at all these tables and seen in close-up the hollowness of much of
this. Nevertheless, fear not. I am not about to adopt a hair shirt,
live in a barrel and give away my Rupert Bear Annuals. I was, and am,
happy to pick up the perks as they are brushed from the table. I
guess many of you have done the same....but, even so, the barking mad
and alien world of the Party Conference season is always a good time
to have all your suspicions confirmed. It is no wonder that every so
often The Hat has been known to stand up and shout out that He is as
Mad as Hell and Not Going to Take It any More. Recently I have had
some spare time to hone My Revolution and beat back the lunatics who
have taken over the asylum. Take back your Bollox Promises. I have
already decided. Give me Music.
My reason for putting
my part-time paranoid cards on the table is that, not by choice, I
have spent a lot of time lying down recently – you know - thinking
about the Meaning of Life and Stuff Like That. A sick bed or a
hospital ward is a great leveller. For example, you immediately
realise that almost everybody is worse off than you, that the tea
lady is probably the smartest, wisest, kindest (and funniest) visitor
of the day and somehow the staff manage to treat you and everyone
else as 'Primus Inter Pares'. Same boat. You are all first amongst
equals in here, sunshine. As The Boss said, 'You want courage/ I'll
show you courage you can understand'..
A sick bed also gives
you a lot of downtime. Away from the bell-jar, you can dream, make
plans, make lists, do your desert island interview, resolve to be
grateful for small mercies, watch unspeakably bad television and,
really importantly, listen to unspeakably brilliant music. You have
time to close your eyes and re-live your greatest moments, re-visit
and re-write the memories of painful and beautiful lost love. You can
be cool and famous, rich and humble, an artist and an aesthete. A
total jerk who finds the light. Deadlines can be missed without
sanction and you don't have to take any phone calls from people who
think you are dead or want to sell you broadband.
Ok, Ok...I concede
there is a downside. But, you know and I know that you put on the
music and it disappears. It should come as no surprise that there is,
and always has been, a musical answer and explanation that can deal
with any situation. This is the magic pill that we all take. And, Oh
Boy, it works. Listen to Bruce Springsteen's The Rising and you will
hear the definitive and life affirming statement about 9/11. Listen
to the words of J J Cale and you will hear your life story. Listen to
any of those extraordinary talented contemporary blues song-writers
that we love so much in the UK and you will hear the stuff of life
and death and of sadness and how to deal with it and then the joy,
humour and elation of coming out the other side.
That cliché 'the tracks of my years' applies to everyone and it doesn't matter whether you were head banging to Lemmy or shedding a tear while Art Garfunkel hit the high notes. Try not being cheerful when Tom Attah or Marcus Bonfanti are in your ear, try ignoring those big shouty bluesers when they are giving it large, try not melting when any one of the dozens of beautiful British female singers look into your head and tell you how they feel. It's not one size fits all...quite the contrary, somehow we all have a different collection that fits us perfectly. That is what is so wonderful about this magic pill....it's not a placebo, it is a potent personal medicine.
That cliché 'the tracks of my years' applies to everyone and it doesn't matter whether you were head banging to Lemmy or shedding a tear while Art Garfunkel hit the high notes. Try not being cheerful when Tom Attah or Marcus Bonfanti are in your ear, try ignoring those big shouty bluesers when they are giving it large, try not melting when any one of the dozens of beautiful British female singers look into your head and tell you how they feel. It's not one size fits all...quite the contrary, somehow we all have a different collection that fits us perfectly. That is what is so wonderful about this magic pill....it's not a placebo, it is a potent personal medicine.
Come home late and the
music is ready to go. I bet you remember that first date and what
about those Ninety Minute TDK compilation tapes – the music is
ready to go. Then there are those awful gut-wrenching break-ups, the
weddings, the funerals – the always present music maestro with a
gentle soothing hand. There is a wonderful musical moment for every
significant part of our lives – and believe me, when you are lying
down a lot, feeling like the other side of awful and contemplating
the Meaning of Life, this comes in pretty handy. Far from the Blues
giving me the Blues, it has lifted me up and given me a talking to.
In my ears, I have been cajoled, pleaded with, advised and told to
pull myself together and put on my dancing shoes. Passionate singing
women have told me, in 3 minutes 54 seconds that I have seen the
light, the new dawn, beautiful mornings. Weeping guitars and soaring saxophones have brought me sunshine and singing birds and don't start
me on what boogie-woogie does for my back problem......
So, this is what the
power of music can do for you. I ask you to tip your hat to those
musicians that bring us the revolution on a daily basis, in bars and
clubs, at festivals, on vinyl, on CD - and all those radio blues hosts who pipe in their medicine. They manage it without breaking
a single promise, without racial prejudice, without attacking the
poor or the disabled, the dispossessed or the disenfranchised - and
without demanding a second home or even a touring bus. Now that's a
Proper Conspiracy, believe in the Magic Pill - not a bad deal.
Thank you for the
music.
Pip Pip!
The Blues Man in The Hat