Ian McKaye and your Mum   Leave a comment

So yeah, the next absurd test of my psychological weatherproofing was meant to be doing the Damo Suzuki gig and having him stay at my house. Of course I was going to get a plaque made for the space above the front door “Damo Suzuki spent the night here: 17-7-04”, which I like to think would elevate the desirability of a room in Number 8 no end, if only for a certain brand of weird-music freak. However, due to the fact that he has to be at Gatwick Airport for 7AM the day after the gig, he’s going to be going back to London that night. It’s a shame because it could have generated a lot of nonsense for these pages, but at least it’s stopped me freaking out about what he eats (Adam Teasdale suggested “performance poets” – of which I am not one, laughing-boy) and about how I might get a presumably leg-huggingly fractious 3-year old and a not overly hip or retiring mother-in-law out the door before Suzuki-san arrived and I suffered some kind of horrible English implosion of raw awkwardness in Sam’s unbelievably small living-room/bedroom. Yes, that must be a good thing, plaques or no plaques. It’s bad enough just thinking about meeting him and the possibility of some sort of conversation. The only thing I could possibly think of to say would be “I’m a huge fan.” And what would the point of that be? Actually it would be more like “I’m a huge fan of something you did in the period 1970-1973,” which might be a little insulting. I keep trying to bear in mind the interview some American geezer has done recently with Suzuki (linked from his site) in which he is gracious and down to earth whilst matey asks him incredibly dumb questions. Anyway, I’ll let you know how I get on. Shudder.

I was talking about the heroes-kipping-round-your-house phenomena with Chris “Bub” Marling (who is a sort of journalist), and he told me a good story about his mate Ashley, who is a big Fugazi fan, apparently. Anyway for some reason Fugazi end up staying round his house (or his parent’s house, I should say) after their gig, but while Ashley has a pronounced and ongoing enthusiasm for his ales, Fugazi are the original “straight-edge” hardcore band. So, the next morning, Ashley staggers downstairs, apocalyptically hungover, and what should he have to contend with in the horrible light of day but the bone-freezingly awful spectacle of Ashley’s Mum and Ian McKaye sipping tea together on the sofa, and both tut-tutting in his direction. Jesus!

Posted July 16, 2004 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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