Evaporated music and the pavement boogie.

I often get dismayed that I weren’t quite friends with the right people/ born under the right moon, in the right decade …. to be comfortably and righteously riding the wave of a sound … Banging jungle in my army fatigues - cargo trousers with a rabid dog skirting around my legs. hanging out in the velvet rooms or wherever they hung out. Battering ragga late nineties. Anything.

I look over my time served so far, obviously lean out of my brain, rinsing god knows what records in my bedroom, pissing off my dad with the floor board rattlers , greeting bouncers in a dazed but happy condition… I suppose I have to accept my status as a follower of the rolling bass, I go where I find the rattles in my rib, the pavement boogie, the smiles and the skanks…

Maybe I’m proud to have missed it.

My mum always said about the sixties that it was only fifteen/twenty odd people having wacky colourful fun in carnaby street … everyone else was like her, living in middleclass little suburbs near Slough playing their Rubber Soul LP feeling pissed off. And maybe that’s more real. I don’t know. If I felt heroic, I would say this ones going out to the ones always missing the bus, the millions who catch up late, clapping our hands to find the smoke evaporated weeks ago…