My dear friend Phil (sometimes known as Ian for no sensible
reason) McCutchion took this picture at Portslade Railway Roots Club. Its not a
nod at narcissism to post it, its because its relevant to a story I heard twice
inside two days from two different sources. Boo Hewerdine, who was heading the
bill at the club, told us how he was playing with Eddi Reader and her band in
Japan, when Eddi announced a new entrance for herself. The band (with Boo) were
to go onstage and start playing and Eddi would come on, open her arms wide and
the lights would come on just as she was about to start singing. Yay, 'show
business' - it doesn't happen at Portslade Railway Roots club - however, it was
all going to plan, the band got on stage, made a start and waited... and
waited... and waited - it seems Eddi opened the wrong door and instead of
walking onto the stage she ended up in a shopping mall attached to the venue.
Subsequently she had to run out of the mall, round to the front of the venue,
get inside and then run down the aisle while the bewildered band were
playing and playing, waiting for her entrance. We laughed, of course, Portslade
Railway Roots club is a friendly place. Boo went onto sing his song, Bell, Book
and Candle which Eddi had recorded (a fine song it is too) and it should have
been the end of the story. However, on Saturday my friend Ray Knight (a very
fine harmonica player) said he had a spare ticket for Transatlantic Sessions at
The Brighton Dome, would I like to go? I had meant to get tickets, the cast was
hugely impressive, Gerry Douglas, Aly Bain and a host of some really special
players. One of those was John McCusker who announced he had written a new tune
called Eddi Reader in a Shopping Mall - and then proceeded to tell a story
about being in her band in Japan... and well you know the rest, I nearly
shouted the punchline but didn't want to spoil it for the other 1699 people
there (it was full). But it got me thinking about stories and tunes and songs
and how we carry them around as part of our own cultural identity, as part of
our own story. Who can claim to own them at all. I always try to write with an
underlying social concern and meaning, and sometimes it hinders my own writing
process. Sometimes I wonder if I should worry about this at all. I mean a song
never changed the world, all it can possibly do is expand life with a range of
observations, a depth of empathy, sentiment and expression which might make a
difference to some. As the poet Wallace Stevens once put it (I'm paraphrasing
his idea) poetry, songs, music, all art gives us ideas about
the thing, not the thing itself. As Simon Critchley says, it's, 'an experience
of meditation that occurs not through a retreat from the world, but by
relearning to see it in all its quotidian banality and violent beauty.' So
whether you're lost in a shopping mall or confronting your world with
thoughtfulness and humility, take a moment to enjoy the experience -
unlike the story of Eddi Reader in a shopping mall, it may never come round
again. Here's a poem from a compatriot of mine, that became a song featuring
John McCusker, Boo Hewerdine and Eddi Reader - take a moment:
