Wednesday, 4 May 2011
Just let me hang up there a while
Live. Laugh. Love. Oh dear. And I think we have all wondered this at least nine times a day for the last sixteen years. Or so. What exactly, the fuck, is going on with my life right now? Two things have happened in the last 72 hours or so that, urgently, made me think about this song, and this version of it in particular. It’s more for Jackie’s spoken introduction, rather than the composition itself, to be accurate and honest, but still... have a listen, if you'd care to. I mean, there are no questions coming or anything like that. I just seem to be losing it, in short, just like Jackie did on the banks of River Nore, that is, An Fheoir, all those Doll By Doll years ago. Firstly, rather bizarrely, I was pulled over by three undercover cops at the train station the other night who told me that I (unfortunately) looked like a known drug dealer and they wanted to check my ID, just to be certain I wasn’t him. This was on the back of a pretty keich day, by the way, so I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and so, instead, I asked them for their ID and got a bit fucking stroppy about mah civil liberties, being stopped, and all that jazz. And here is the news flash, folks - and it's a rather general, obvious kind of tip - never, never lose it at an undercover gavver. Sigh. And, even more so, just yesterday, I was at the skatepark with D and R watching them scootering away from the Bank Holiday and intact knees, trying to keep out of trouble, and this very reasonable kind of a guy, from behind me, said, West End poshly, ‘Excuse me, please’. He was on a space-age kind of bike that would cost me and you a month's salary, or whatever, and his partner and young child were also on mini-me techno-bikes, following on behind him as Loyal Tribe. I had one foot on the poorly-tarmaced path that winds its cheap way around the climbing frame and just said ‘Why, what have you done? Ah am no blocking your fucking way, pal’. He got stroppy with me, and rightly so. And I got very, very stroppy back at him. The guy peddled on, just like Luka Bloom did back in the early 90s, and his partner, on her way and chasing tails, shouted back, ‘No offence’. I bit my tongue, and then some. Anti-middle class violence. Jeezo. I don't know: I just seem to be picking, itching, for fights these days, for absolutely no reason at all, on the surface of it - feeling angry at something (myself?) I just can’t smell, touch, see, hold. Is it the emptiness? Me? Seriously, stay away. Please. I think I need to sort myself out, you know. Just like Jackie had to do when he had the biker jacket and the hair in a long ponytail... and he couldnae even say 'hello' to a passing stranger.
Jackie Leven - 'Marble City Bar' (live) (7.35)
Aye, brand new pal, this is something to listen to whilst you have a wee dram of this (if you sell the posh acoustic motorbike).