BACKLOG

so much to talk about

my precious seeds

so much poetry

so many musings and inklings

so many pages of idling notebook filled

but so busy doing nothing

so distracted and confused

so little time to commit virtual ink to cyberpaper

so now my friends

now is the time to clear the backlog...

TOWER OF SONG

this music bar borrows its name

from a leonard cohen song

his face adorns the walls

part of a giant mural that features the greats of rock

lennon

dylan

hendrix

et al

segments of the revolver sleeve

paul's unsmiling face peering out nonchalantly from a pillar

i can't believe it's taken me so long to find this place

it is for music aficionados

not for boozers

not for loud groups of mates out to get plastered

the sound system is clear and bathed in dreamy reverb

it allows no casual interruptions

the lights are low

but the spotlight illuminates the artist

staring out into the blackness

it is difficult to make out the audience

it puts you in the zone

alone with your voice and your instrument

but in touch with the punters

who can hear every nuance of your sound

the genial owner tom jams along with several performers on his digital piano

he is already in my good books for offering me an ale on the house

when i popped in the night before

tonight bill is organising the rea river roots club

he runs a tight ship

a strict diet of two songs per artist

each of whom is summoned to wait in the wings

to take the stage as soon as the previous act finishes

there is an extended set for the special guests - easy street

whose guitarist expertly coaxes his gibson

into bluesy cascades of melodic sound

when my turn comes

i manage to fluff the first verse of radioactive

but importantly don't let it throw me

like it did one night at the prince of wales

and i fare better when properly debuting the great game

the echo makes it sound strangely like the audience is joining in with the choruses

perhaps they are

there is a lovely variety of artists

two acapella acts

one male

one female

singing songs of sadness and beauty

an eccentric old irish fellow

banging away manically on a bodram

a technically accomplished and muscular classical guitarist

and towards the end

a couple of morose-looking chaps

one plonking away on a ukelele

the other stepping up to the mic hands in pockets

to harmonise on the choruses

plaintively bemoaning the loss of public libraries

the nhs

even our social bonds

to 'the big society':

'and when it's gone it's gone

when it's gone it's gone

then it's gone'

heart-wrenching

and absolutely unforgettable!

WORK-SHY

currently rereading tom hodgkinson's

'how to be idle'

and what a pleasure it is

to savour the good humour and bonhomie

that tumbles from every page

just to show what we idlers are up against

tom offers a chilling quote from heinrich himmler

in a nazi edict from january 1938

as the storm clouds were gathering over europe:

"work-shy elements within the meaning of this order

are men old enough to work

and who have recently been certified fit

and who can be proved to have rejected

offers of work on two occasions without just cause

or have accepted work

only to abandon it again shortly afterwards without adequate reason

will be sent to concentration camp buchenwald"

LIKE SHIPS

Like ships

In the night we pass

Clocking off and clocking on

We navigate the murky waters

We ebb and flow with the tide

Like ships

Like ships

Like ships

On the waves we roll

Listing from bow to stern

We chart the open oceans

We drop anchor far from shore

Like ships

Like ships

Like ships

From the rocks we hide

For safe passage we hope and we pray

We shelter in draughty harbours

We weather raging storms

Like ships

Like ships

THE GREAT GAME (SONG VERSION)

The Great Game will suck you in

Make you tired and restless

It will trap you in its web

Control you like a chess piece

Oh the Great Game

The Great Game dictates the rules

You must follow to the letter

It’s not a game you’d want to lose

But winning isn’t any better

Oh the Great Game

Defy the Great Game at your peril

For you will be stigmatised

Ridiculed and rejected

Insulted and patronised

The Great Game will bleed you dry

It will push you through the mincer

It conquers and divides

Then turns to point the finger

Oh the Great Game

The Great Game will spit you out

Chuck you on the scrapheap

It will cart your bones away

Bury them in landfill deep

Oh the Great Game

It’s not your age or gender

It’s not the colour of your skin

It’s not the nation on your passport

It’s the master you serve

THE GREATEST SPEECH EVER MADE?

DR JEKYLL AND MR HYDE

strange day at the mill
anti meridian
your humble fireseed plies his trade as university lecturer
exposing innocent teenage minds to the evils of civilisation
post meridian
your favourite blogger assumes the role of responsible father
taking his darling daughter to the polling station
to place an 'X' for the greens on his ballot paper
vote 'no' for a city mayor
and educate her in matters of democracy
come nightfall
your popular singer-songwriter is back at the prince in cambridge street
after a lengthy absence
debuting a song he's just finished writing at the bar moments earlier
it's a crazy idea on a crazy night
as i'm waiting to go on
the place is suddenly mobbed by a crowd of scary-looking skinheads
darts fans from somewhere up north
chanting 'barmy army' at the tops of their voices
it would be an intimidating atmosphere
even if you're sensitive tunesmith wasn't about to hit the stage
but by a stroke of good fortune
the storm clouds part
and the sun comes out
the crowd clears out just as suddenly as it arrived
as I finally strap my guitar and stride up to the microphone
i thank my lucky stars
i wouldn't have liked to refuse a request from that lot!
the remaining punters get a rather loose version of 'relationship'
which sounds to me like all voice and no guitar
it's hard to get a sense of the overall sound at the prince
but the pa seems to emphasise the vocal and i find myself popping the mic
then i do something foolhardy
placing my notepad on the music stand
i announce to anyone who's listening that i am going to sing 'the great game'
the song i've been working on for the last day or two
and just scribbled out some lyrics for moments earlier
it's not at all bad considering
and gets some positive reaction from john the host
i've quickly learnt that this is the great thing about open mic
it's all about taking risks
improvisation
experimentation
pushing the boat out
i finish with 'coming home'
and spontaneously improvise an ending
singing the praises of the pub
and its status as the best open mic venue in the city
again this goes down well
then i'm back out into the streets and the rain
running for the last train
(i'm always running for the last train!)

THE GREAT GAME

the great game
a game of social constructs
a web of socially constructed concepts
that structure and define daily life
take the construct of a job
a role, duty or service performed
not for enjoyment
not for fulflment
not for altruism
but for money
that other social construct
that key chess piece in the great game
for enjoyment, fulfilment, altruism are never the prime motivation
they are but useful by-products for those fortunate enough
to exercise or receive such rewards
for those who are not
the great game says 'too bad!'
closely allied to the construct of a job
is its close cousin employment
here the language gives the great game away immediately
to be employed is to be passively used by another
to serve
to do another's bidding
to toil and to sell one's labour to achieve another's goal
to be deprived of self-direction and personal agency
to be in common parlance a lackey
self-employment merely renders the user and the used one and the same
leaving the game unchanged
the great game dictates the rules
and requires them to be followed to the letter
legislatory body and judiciary rolled into one
the great game refuses to tolerate non-players
those who choose to opt out
those who see the great game for what it is and for what it isn't
such non-players are viewed as a threat
they are patronised, stigmatised and ridiculed
they are robbed of the means to participate
in different pursuits of their own choosing
the great game subordinates all human activity
to the achievement of its grand designs
it pits the players against each other
it divides and conquers fellow countrymen and women
it sets native populations against incoming migrants from abroad
it scapegoats the outsider and 'the other'
it rewards the winners for their ruthlessness
it punishes the losers for their lack of the same
in the great game
it isn't a person's gender that matters
nor their age
their nationality
the colour of their skin
it is the master they serve