...take one of these and you could have lots of new friends...
Not that long ago, when
Matron briefly gave me back a pencil, I wrote a piece about my
sojourn on the sick list away from Hat Mansions and the power of
music - and in my case, the blues in all its disguises - to come and
shake you warmly by the throat, ease you off your sickly comfort-zone
bed and kick your arse back into action.
My word, I seemed to
have struck a chord – no, not Mr Cohen's secret chord with its
minor fall and major lift – but a very obvious public one that has
resonated with people from as far apart as San Francisco and Saudi
Arabia. I have been told of the world-weary getting up and battling
on, the sad and unhappy getting to smile again, the broken hearted
drying their eyes and the Black Dog being beaten off. There is ample
proof out there that music works. I don't know if the lame have
actually walked again or the dead have risen but, in the Extremis Department, I can't help noticing that all those mad people who think
marathon running and Ultimate Mud Warrior Challenges are fun are
usually plugged into some uplifting music when they are doing it.
Amongst the many
anecdotes passed on to me are tales of how people came into contact
with their special music and it got me to thinking that we probably
all share but a handful of typical musical introductions. Years ago,
The Hat walked in to a New York record store and did something he had
never done before and hasn't done since...(no, not that). I heard
what I thought was something interesting playing on the store's own
public sound system, walked to the counter, asked what it was – and
bought it. Of course nowadays, it would be Rihanna or One Direction
beating the daylights out of three chords at eleven on the dial and
the store would have fifty screens showing them doing the Naked and
Oiled Boston One-Step – but back then you could hear what was
playing and the sales assistants knew what they were talking about.
Not a lot of people get
thus moved in a record store nowadays, but there is no doubt that the
'chance' hearing still plays an important role in putting you and an
artist into a life-long relationship. Here, as before, I can point
straight at those silver-tongued, worm in your ear masters of the
radio air-waves. There are many dozens of blues stations in the UK
(although it is a continual fight to hang on to them) and there is no
question that quite apart from the steady stream of fine music they
bring to our kitchens and bedrooms, they play this vital role in
pulling new as well as old rabbits out of hats. 'Here's one you've
never heard before.' 'Try this one for size, I think they are
brilliant.' 'It's quite old but you may not have heard it. It's
important - so listen now'...and so on. Suddenly, courtesy of our Radio Blues Whisperers, you have discovered
a sound, a melody, a riff, a voice that you will enquire about and
start up a relationship that will last until you die – or your
hearing disappears along with your critical faculties.
We all have a Desert
Island disc list and The Hat is (in)famous for having drawn up his
own funeral music list thirty years ago - (I was going to die a young
man...another fail...but it will now be a three hour funeral to
allow for the unexpected lifespan. Currently, Keith Jarrett figures
prominently). All the music you have on those lists will signify
special moments – and in turn that will tell you how you first came
to hear them. Often it is death or near death that brings a piece of
music to your door. Strangely, I have just this week heard, for the first time, a
beautiful tune (Seagull) written by Saiichi Sugiyama and Pete Brown played as a
reminder of a friend who recently died. It's a keeper. Out of sadness
can come light and beauty.
Although you can be taken by new music in a dark bar, one really popular first
meeting seems to be the music festival. You went to see a particular
artist or band and you find yourself standing spell-bound in front of
the secondary stage totally encompassed by someone, or a group you
had never heard of. It is curious that solo and duo (electro) acoustic artists
in particular seem to have that magical power of luring you into
their world and trapping you for ever. Listen. They are amazing.
Listen. They are talking to you and about you and yes, I know I've
never heard you before but where do I sign? But of course, the penny
drops...the song that you like so much, that they are singing for You, was probably about something that happened to them. You are just
sharing the moment, transferring it and it will stay with you.
Festivals have a lot to answer for apart from unplanned babies.
And then there is that
knowledgable friend or your peer group. Some are lucky in that they
know people who both seem to keep ahead of the curve on who is coming
soon and also have that whole back catalogue of good old stuff in
their head. They seize your ear, like Coleridge's Ancient Mariner and insist you hear their story. I have always used this system with books. If someone
whose view I respect mentions a book that they think is a good read,
more often than not I will chase it down. Now, for music, we have
pictures as well. We have YouTube where at the click of a mouse you
can check out a friend's recommendation and listen again and again.
When this is a genuine discovery, new to you, however old it may be,
and it takes your breath away, you clutch it to your chest like a new
found friend. You may keep it secret for a while (after all, they are
your new friend) – and then, in turn, you may well
spend the rest of your life, urging others to meet your new friend.
So there you have it.
Chance meeting, ear worm radio, buttonholed by a persistent friend,
standing in the rain being accidentally mesmerised by an artist
sitting on a small chair on a large stage and - back to where we
started - lying down and facing the Black Dog. With one bound you are
free and over the wire on your motorbike. Hang on to your music. You
don't know when you'll next need it.
As for the New York
record store? Well, The Hat went back to see if he could repeat the
moment. Of course, he couldn't. They had blown the bloody doors off
and were knocking the building down.....
However, I still play
that piece of music all these years later.....
Pip Pip!
The Blues Man In The
Hat
Btw: The piece of music
was 'Santa Cruz' by David Qualey – and you will find him here if you are so inclined. He may become a new friend...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yURW77GD4y0
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yURW77GD4y0