Last night was some beer lairyness done our way, but now
we’re back in the light of day…
Ouch.
I look at B’s text again.
“Yo. You good? Still up for the
gig tonight?”
My immediate responses, in chronological order: Y-yy-oooo…no,
not really. Whaaaat? What gig?
Whatever it is, no I’m bloody not.”
I don’t text him that, obviously. I just think it.
I recover quickly enough to remember what the gig is. But it will take all day to recover enough to
want to go.
D and B also had it fairly large last night, so we are all
in the same boat. (But I stayed up the
latest, so I win, yeah?)
Anyway, here we are.
And Everyone is here. And not
just in that fashionable way that insufferable wannabees mean: everyone is
represented, music and poetry in Bristol, most strongly. There’s people who put on great things,
brilliant poets, musicians of all styles, producers, artists of all kinds. Lovely people, funny people, talented
people. I see lots of faces I
recognise. I’m almost too overwhelmed to
talk to everyone, and some of them I haven’t seen for ages. I do say a quick Hello! To BC and McK, who
have put the thing on. “Why a
Sunday?” B asks. It was the only night they could book them,
says BC.
I tell B & D that if a bomb hits The Trinity Centre
tonight, there will be no culture in Bristol.
For a least a few weeks. On
facebook, the day after the gig, I will learn that loads more talented and cool
people were there than I saw. And I saw
many. It seems to have been a huge draw
for a lot of the creators in this city – a bit like the Godspeed You! Black
Emperor show recently (although that was a bit more muso, a bit more male
dominated and not very diverse.)
The person who told me what “piff” means (and then made a
very funny race-based joke about it), the person who floored my mate GDog with
her poetry (and who has done the same to me once or twice), the person who
invited me to guest with his well-known and well-liked band when I was a wee
loudmouth teenager starting out, the person who hosts the poetry night where I
tried something out (and who was very encouraging to me about it), the person
who always does a great job with sound and is so relaxed and welcoming about
it, the person who I’ve seen play in a million bands that are all different but
all pretty (or very) good, the person who asked me to join him on stage for the
biggest gig of our lives, the person who also played there and backed us both
up, the person who interviewed me on her radio show many years ago, the person
who runs a great pub where I have played many times, the person who fronts that
brilliant band with all the lovely people in it, the person who is that
well-loved solo artist with all the fun wee instruments, the DJ who played a
Public Enemy song I hadn’t heard in that pub that night, the person who
produced my friends’ excellent album…
They are all here.
(Some of them are more than one of the above. That’s what writers do, yeah? Conflate several people into the same
character, or parcel tem out into discrete dramatic units, for their own
purposes?)
Art is not made in a vacuum: all these people have inspired
and helped me, in innumerable, immeasurable ways. And they are all here, probably to be
immeasurably inspired by what’s happening tonight. It occurs to me, even during the proceedings,
that all of the above have already inspired me more than what is happening on
stage, engaging as that is.
I will also learn from facebook that Charlotte Church was
apparently there.
Big Ups to all the people there, those I know and those I
don’t. Those I spoke to and those I
didn’t. (Why do I do that? Why do I see people I know and like and not talk to them? I’m shy.
No one ever believes me when I tell them, but…)
Who could draw such a crowd?
Tank & The Bangas, that’s who.
What do you mean you don’t know who they are? They’re from New Orleans. I would find it tricky to describe them, and
I’m not inclined to try. Which should be
alright, since no one has asked me to….I’m tired. But happy.
Anyway, it’s so easy to just look things up these days, isn’t
it? Remember when we had to go to A Place
for A Thing? How quaint.
B says he hopes I will review the gig. He also apologises for telling me this blog
had gone right downhill, going into some details about the ones I used to do
that he preferred. He was drunk that
night, and apologises for his candour, but I appreciated it. He hopes to get a mention – NO CHANCE, Son!
I tell B that sometimes it’s nice not to review a gig – and
to decide that early, because then I’m not making notes, or thinking about what
to write about it, which frees me to be more present, to just enjoy it.
For the record, I enjoyed it.
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