Recently, I've been spending time going through dusty boxes and transferring to my hard drive demo and rehearsal tapes of myoldbands. Such was the lack of acclaim and clamour for more - strangely reminiscent of the actual times themselves - I decided now would be as good a time as any to upload my own version of one of my favourite Bob Dylan songs, recorded live and mixed today. That's what Sundays are for, right?
I didn't always like Bob Dylan. In fact, I hated Dylan for years, mostly because my Dad liked him, that and his terrible, whiny voice and repetitive, boring chords. So naturally enough, the first Dylan song I ever got into was Masters Of War - a finer example of dear old Bob's whiny repetition it's hard to find! But the words - and later I began to learn to appreciate the voice and the music, too - are filled with such meaningful venom, as appropriate then as they are now:
And I hope that you die And your death'll come soon I will follow your casket In the pale afternoon And I'll watch while you're lowered Down to your deathbed And I'll stand o'er your grave 'Til I'm sure that you're dead
It was probably not until 1999 that I first heard Shelter From The Storm and the "Blood On The Tracks" album. That's the time I remember trying to figure out how to play it. I heard it on FlashForward the other night and with the weather we've been having lately it reminded me of a storm I encountered in August. It's a while since I played it - or played anything for that matter - and my finger tips were raw by the end of it.
I didn't realise back then that it's an open tuning, so my version is a little different from the original and slower. And my voice is obviously nothing in comparison to Dylan's, which I hear now very differently. But I enjoy playing it and this is probably the best I've sung it!
After the fireworks, we climbed up the hill to the Palace itself and queued to get into the German Bier Festival. To call it a Festival is really a big overstatement. It's a few years since I went to a beer festival and it was most likely Up North in deepest, darkest Bury, Lancashire, or somewhere like that. Maybe they do them differently Down South, but this was a bit of a let down. One tiny little bar, like you might find in a marquee at a modern marketed music festival. One brand of German Bier - Paulaner - and only two varieties: Munich and Weiss. The Weiss was off by the time I had been pushed and shoved forward by the ten deep bar queue. If you didn't fancy Paulaner Munich, you could have that old Bavarian favourite, Foster's. And they insisted on calling it Beir, which makes me wonder how authentic it really was. Not that authenticity seemed to be high on the agenda as it was all served in the obligatory health and safety plastic beakers.
So, we all got beer and seats in the Great Hall by which time a bunch of Cockney Irish fiddlers and banjoists started murdering Pogues' classics, much to the delight of the mostly student audience who I'm sure were out of their minds by now. Not that it stopped one of the thieving little tykes nicking my beer when I laid it down to rest and turned my back for five minutes.
What followed is a little hazy - maybe the beir was real, after all. I fear that I may have danced to Chas But Not Dave or Chas And His Band or whatever Chas 'n' Dave are now known as. I was a little disturbed by the large, bald bass player, especially when he kept repeating "Gertcha!" like an overly loud belch, totally drowning out scrawny-looking Chas on vocals.
To make matters worse, on leaving, I stopped for a Hot Dog.
"Sorry, no onions" said the serving assistant.
"Oh, that's a shame. I like onions on my Hot Dog. So. They are £3.00 with onions, right?"
"That's right, sir, but we don't have any onions left."
"No, you don't. So, if it's £3.00 with onions... how much is it for a Hot Dog without onions?"
"It's £3.00, sir. With or without onions."
By this time I was already in full Basil Fawlty mode. "I'd like a discount, please. If it's £3.00 for a Hot Dog with onions, then I'd like 20% off for a Hot Dog without onions."
"It's £3.00, sir. With or without onions."
"How can it be the same price, with or without onions?"
"It's £3.00, sir. With or without onions."
"So, can I have a discount, then or not? I'm willing to pay £2.40 for a Hot Dog without onions. If only you'd removed the empty onion trays and not told me you had no onions I'd never have known. Or you could scrape up the remaining slivers and let me have those...." Now, I felt like Yossarian in Catch-22 trying to get out of the Air Force by being crazy, but being told that he couldn't be crazy because he wanted to leave. And only a sane man would want to leave.
"I'm sorry, sir, there's nothing I can do. I can't give a discount. I just work here. It's £3.00, sir. With or without onions."
"You could give me a discount if you wanted to. I'm sure you could."
The guy (no pun intended) behind me piped up, offering to call the Office Of Fair Trading. I suggested that they might want to consult the Sale Of Consumer Goods Act.
"I can't give a discount, sir. It's £3.00, with or without onions."
"OK, I give in. I'll have a Hot Dog without onions for £3.00."
"You have to pay first, sir."
"What?! But you just gave him one! He hasn't paid yet!"
"I'm sorry, sir. You have to pay first and then I'll give you the Hot Dog."
A young American woman approached me. "Please stop harassing my staff, sir."
"What?! Harassing your staff?! You've got to be joking?!"
"No, sir. You're harassing my staff. Now, please stop it or I will have to call Security to come and remove you."
"All I want is a Hot Dog with onions for £3.00 as advertised. If you don't have onions, then fine, I'll buy a bareback Hot Dog for £2.40."
"Sir, you can buy a Hot Dog without onions for £3.00 or go without."
"Why can't you give me a discount?"
"I only work here, sir. I can't give you a discount."
"Hang on. I thought you were in charge? Surely you can use your discretion and keep your customers happy? I just spent plenty of money tonight on donating to the cost of the fireworks display and buying beer for me and my friends."
"What's your problem, mate?" asked a student grumpily and who looked like he had dyed his original wiry ginger hair black. "It says Hot Dogs £3.00. Doesn't say anything about onions."
"No, I know it doesn't say anything about onions. That's a very good point. And that's why I'm not going to engage you in any further conversation. Enjoy your Hot Dog! Thank you all and goodnight."
Thanks also, to Lee, Gemma, Michael, Atul, Dan, Raheem and Angelina for making it a fun night out. And my apologies for any offence caused to the Hot Dog stand workers.
I posted yesterday about a visitor to my home - a golden Autumn leaf specked with raindrops - and took some nice photos of it. I connected it to some reminiscences I'd had about a crying boy in my childhood.
Since then, I've had two more visitors - a moth and a blue tit:
All of my visitors have returned from whence they came, unharmed, I'm pleased to say. The leaf floated off quite happily to join its mates on the ground. The moth put up a brave fight, clinging on for dear life to the inside of the glass I used to move and shake him/her free (I have my mum's fear of moths) - s/he didn't want to go. The bird was understandably panicked. He must have flown in through the open kitchen window while I was in another room. I didn't want to scare him any more by going straight to the window (and I also wanted to get some pictures!) and have him flying around the house. Eventually he calmed down and rested/hid behind the curtain. When I opened the window it took a few seconds before he shot out at lightning speed.
A single leaf is an ancient heraldic symbol that represents happiness. Leaves (together) have entirely different meanings though. The leaves of the oak trees are religious symbols of faith and endurance.
If you catch a falling leaf on the first day of autumn you will not catch a cold all winter.
"To become gold is to become light, and the light in this precise sense is Truth itself". -- Hazrat Inayat Khan, Sufi Teacher, 1882-1927
"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower." -- Albert Camus
The moth ... could be suggesting that you are being lead to a place where you will be hurt unless you recognize the danger. The danger could be emotional or psychological, not necessarily physical.
With its power of flight, [a bird] is capable of rising above the world, a telling allegory for the elevated experience associated with transcendence.
Birds ... flying free may be symbolic of spiritual, psychological, or physical freedom.
The very basic and primary understanding of the Number One is that of new beginnings and purity. When we see this digit doubled as with the 11 - then these attributes double in strength.
Yesterday, I took some photos of the golden Autumn leaves outside my window. This morning, it was miserable weather, rain and wind, and there were more leaves than ever before on the ground as well as swirling around. Overnight, the leaves seem to have become even richer in colour (or is that just me messing around with Picasa?).
Anyway, last week I was talking with a friend about childhood and I suddenly remembered a birthday party I had when I was maybe eight or nine years old. I couldn't remember much, except that I was upset that another boy at the party had somehow "stolen the show". I've never been one for celebrating my own birthday since. My friend suggested I try to forgive this boy.
I spoke to my dad today and asked him about it. He recalled there being another boy at the party who was "not very robust" and who was teamed with me in a three-legged race. Unfortunately, my competitive spirit got the better of me and I ended up dragging this poor boy along the ground, hurting his leg in the process. His mum had to come and collect him and take him home crying.
Not long after, I began meditating. After about half an hour, I was "awakened" by this single brown leaf as it blew in through my window with "tears" of rain running down its "face".
It’s Just A Ride.
Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed through a slow vibration, we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, life is only a dream and we are the imaginations of ourselves. Here's Tom with the weather.
Bill Hicks
