I dreamt/ I am supporting Damo Suzuki   Leave a comment

Last night I dreamt that I was in a tent with tiered seating with a fellow audience who were exclusively proletarian in nature and raucous of mood. Gordon Brown, only fatter and unkempt, sweatily squeezed into a suit that was far too small, was at the front speaking. He’d lost his Scottishness and was all North of England. He made some joke remarks about how he could be trusted not to be scheming to become Prime Minister. The crowd cheered, jeered and drank beer. A much fatter version of John Dunphy (who used to be co-licensee at The Boat Race when Shebeen ran the venue) stood near the Chancellor and broke wind. The fart continued in a sort of supernatural way, and Dunphy managed to keep it going as he took the stage. As a finale he lay down, raised one leg and changed the tone of the sound. He must have been guffing for two solid minutes. Then a young woman lifted up her top and made her way to the front to show Brown her naked chest. Finally a young man, obviously pissed on booze, waved a big joint in Brown’s face and exhorted him to try some. Brown took all these events in the best of humour, as though thoroughly enjoying himself amongst his kind.

Then I was in some kind of zoo or aviary. I was standing next to a cage that contained a monstrous eagle, bigger than an emu. Suddenly I realized the front of the cage was open and the gigantic bird flapped alarmingly towards me. I bent double as it drew alongside and reached up to touch its neck to try and calm it. The responded and a silent benevolence flowed between us. The eagle’s neck was featherless and furry like that of an ostrich. I told Syd he had nothing to fear. Then my dad said something like “that’s a wonderful old girl” with some feeling.

So what else? Well, I’m supporting Damo Suzuki next month. This may not mean a hill of beans to you but I was terrified at the prospect until I did the Strawberry Fair and pushed my fear envelope a bit further. I’m a massive Can fan y’see, and a massive Damo fan too. Damo is a sort of hilariously cosmick hippie seer who travels round the world on a neverending tour, using scratch bands of whatever musicians (or sound carriers, as he calls them for his purposes) he can hook up with to play improvised gigs (spontaneous composition). So, not only do I have to play in front of my hero, but also I’ve got a singing-over-tapes act that is the total antithesis of what he does. Plus I’ve been warned that he might well feel moved to join me onstage to, y’know, cut loose or whatever. What happens if he jumps up and tries to join in on the later stages of the 36-second I Don’t Want To Be A Sailor? I’ve been thinking I might include some of my weird reel-to-reel instrumental shit in my set, just in case he grabs a mic and I can have a sneaky minidisk player recording it somewhere. Anyway, I urge you to come to this gig if you can, because I’ll be fretting about it all going horribly wrong, and having no audience might be a good starting point for wrongness.

Right, its Sunday, so I better go and get some wine.

Posted June 20, 2004 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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