the gossip of tickling salmon (11/Feb/18)

the mornings are getting lighter…
… I know I’d prefer if they didn’t not so soon anyway even though I know it’ll change briefly when we reach clocks-forward time which actually surprisingly isn’t that far away now as time tick’les inevitably as it does like a salmon with a fly… I remember as a teenager being in and out of each other’s houses all the time and invariably spending such time in one room, the bedroom of whose ever house it was, a friends… as an adult bedroom seem to take on new connotations which back then never crossed our minds, or not incessantly anyway despite raging hormones, nevertheless bedrooms were sanctuaries away from the mad, mad world beyond where you could share passions with like-minded… and again I don’t refer to those kind of passions…… it was normal, the norm, commonplace, what we did, and in my case inner temples of music-listening, or reading passages or poems from books or imbibing in what may have been construed as faintly illegal substances… once that door closed we were unassailable, unlike as it is for those now with their plethora of intruding technology….
there was one friend who when I visited we’d just endlessly sketch in pen and ink all kinds of wild and weird fantasy scenes usually influenced by many of the airbrushing fantasy artists around at the time often best-known for their album cover-art…
bedrooms, whether it was my own or others were second homes, refuges, havens especially away from adults and particularly parents, those strange appendages that came with your friends who I remember more like background noise, so to speak, incidental extras, bit-players in my friends lives to whom a passing smile or polite “hello” was sufficient to appease them as though giving Cerberus a biscuit at the gates of Hell to distract them as we would slope off upstairs or down a corridor to whosoever friends bedroom it was…
if I was the only friend there it felt like privileged access, a gold-plated backstage pass, and if there were others, more than just me visiting then it would be different, as good but more like a posse on a quest to discover something hitherto unknown as in a new record release that only they have managed to get or some gossip about whoever we were gossiping about that week… we indulged our room’inations.
and even though it was probably thinking back predominantly male friends I had and enjoyed such times with there were females too to whom I had a bond and would spend hours chewing the cud, slumming it with some singer-songwriter gracing the turntable or yes, gossiping… indeed, men gossip too, however else they wish to dress it up or call it, it was all the same and these moments were prime-time for indulging in such blissful innocence……

© 2018 robert greig

motorheadonism (12/Jan/18)

just a thought… there are now no living members of Motorhead left alive…

Motorhead, for those who don’t know, were originally a three-piece rock band of the hard and fast type and Eddie ‘fast’ Clarke, the last of the triad, died yesterday with Ian ‘Lemmy’ Kilmister and Phil’thy animal’ Taylor having passed away in 2015… of course I refer to the original band line-up and not the later years where Lemmy remained the mainstay and founder of the band with new recruits taking the places of the other two who’d since left…

it is said that the music you listen too in your teenage years will remain the most influential for the rest of your life whatever else you pick up along the way and Motorhead were one of those aural touchstones… I’d seen them gig a number of times, ground-breaking and a revelation for me and I even had the dubious pleasure of meeting Lemmy, not once but twice, the first in a pub where he was totally engrossed in one of his pet hobbies, a slot machine, along with another, Jack Daniels… not an experience one forgets, and for those who know him will know what I mean… they weren’t even the kind of people I’d have wanted to hang out with but their music absolutely resonated for me at the time and even now still does as being one of many responsible for sculpting my formative musical tastes with their own flavour of full-on rock ‘n’ roll…… he is, should we say, uniquely memorable, as they all were and as we know such lifestyles tend to attract in the main a shorter shelf-life than others……

people and musicians have always popped their clogs though, every single day, those I know, those I don’t, those that touch me and those I think not a jot about, but recently it feels there’s been a prevalence of them shuffling off their mortals when in fact it probably isn’t any different from any other time… perhaps I’m just noticing it more…. I wonder if when the likes of Beethoven and Mozart died people, fans, whoever, felt the same strange absence, a glitch in the force…… surely these people are supposed to be immortal so how dare they slink away without a bye or leave……

but my Motorhead’onism will continue unabated with their growling, distorted crunchathons gracing my turntable and CD player  as they always have…… it’s certainly good music for working out angst, to kick back at the world three minutes at a time……

© 2018 robert greig