I just got cold hands…   Leave a comment

Ah…

Half past nine on a Friday night and I’m here at my desk, as straight as a die, whilst the rest of the world knocks off for the mash-up. The balance is redressed, but I fear I’ll be tearing its knickers off again by tomorrow.

Another Retro Electro the other day. I’d got over my DJ-ing ennui, largely thanks to remembering that I actually quite like music, and also because Johnny kept referring to my last set in hyperbolic terms. This time I felt like I knew what I had to play and why I had to play it. Of course this began to seem irrelevant when there were only about 6 people in the club and none of them were even in sight of the DJ booth. By about two thirds of the way into my ferocious assault on the foundations of Western culture via the symbolic medium of the wheels of steel I decided that I might as well play “Our Secret” by Beat Happening, as no-one was listening anyway. At this point a small group of young women, who appeared to be virtually pubescent to my tired rough-boy eyes, materialised and commenced a hypnotic bop-grind that was so vital in nature that I found myself squinting through the perspex to check that it wasn’t a hallucination. Thereafter I felt in tune with my destiny and attempted to keep them at it with my 7″s. Andrew smirked because I played Tainted Love, and although I didn’t feel as though I had to defend my actions, I dimly recall trying. As I typed that last sentence Andrew phoned to arrange the return of my cartridges and admitted to giving in to a drunken Scotsman’s insistence that he play “Ebenezer Goode”, so I won’t be covered in shame for too long. Talking of synchronicity, apparently there were 67 through the door, just like last time.

Some days later…

Yuck. My fingers stink of foul drain shite from trying to fix Sam’s blocked sink. She’s got a plumber coming tomorrow but, being the handyman I’m not, I thought I’d try and save the co-op fifty quid. Maybe they could take it off my rent arrears. It’s not happening though, there’s some serious dreck up there. Stinks like a nazi and you can’t get it off you.

At Arjuna I work with this woman who happens to be called Gay. Now I’ve got such a puerile sense of humour that I pitied the woman for being christened (or whatever) thus, and didn’t find anything about her name funny whatsoever at all until I heard a co-worker, who is slightly nervous with members of the public, when asked by one of them, say: “Er…the person you need to speak to is Gay…” and I had to bite my lip to stop me from blurting out: “Hey! That is irrelevant! Who cares if…”? Etc. Anyway, Gay I like a lot. She’s about…ooh, I dunno, forty-something, she’s got a dry sense of humour, and you get the sense that she’s seen a few things come and go once or twice. Despite the fact that I like and respect her, she said something to me once that depressed the hell out of me at the time, and continues to niggle away at my self-confidence to this day. Gay’s husband is a musician, and so is her son. It’s like a fucking curse I tell ya. Anyway, Gay, referring to her husband’s continued activities on the fringes of the music biz, with no sign of the big payoff in sight, remarked, shaking her head as she did so:

“Musicians. They never, ever give up…”

I was stunned. It was like a Nagasaki on my gameplan. You see, I thought it was just me. Endurance was my secret weapon! I thought I was going to keep chucking out my oblique little art-chunks until they coalesced (hey! I spelt that right first time!) into an undisputable snowball that would roll down the hill and crush the village of y’all, including your mortgages. Turns out that this is just a delusion! An adolescent daydream that accidentally survived like a coelacanth (didn’t get that one)… or a Japanese soldier on a remote Pacific Island who still believes he is at war…or …sorry, I’m frothing at the mouth.

Ah, fuckit. I believe it was Rainer M. Rilke who said: “works of art are infinite loneliness”

Anyway…

Posted November 26, 2003 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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