Reflections on 'Kink' by Dave Davies

Hardback cover

I’d originally entitled this ‘Kink’ vs ‘X-Ray’ but realised that this helped to perpetuate a sense of competition between the brothers. I know that Dave doesn’t want to play that game. And the two books relate in a complementary way, one illuminating some of the shadows in the other but still retaining the chiaroscuro: put them together and you get the full picture.

You might think from reading their autobiographies and from their constant skirmishes that all the Davies brothers have in common is a love of malted milkshakes. Dave makes his own version with Horlicks and Haagen-Dazs. Music brought them together despite their differences and kept them together through thick and thin. There are many of us who hope (against hope) that one day it will again.

'I probably shouldn't tell you this, but Ray phoned up someone at our office and said: Have you seen Dave's book? They said they'd seen bits and pieces. He said (adopts serious, pained tone): You know, I think this is going to be the end of the Kinks this year.'

This comment manages to imply that the Kinks have an end every year. Not sure whether Ray’s reaction is caused by Dave’s personal criticisms of Ray (as prevalent as his appreciation of his talent) or the fact that Dave’s revelations will somehow affect the reputation of the band, leading to its dissolution.

This started off as an attempt to compare Kink with X-Ray, focusing on certain events covered in both books to see how different the brothers’ perceptions and preoccupations are. But, for the moment, I want to concentrate on an overview of ‘Kink’, and in particular, what it says about the early days of the Kinks.

Dave at eleven, thanks, Frank!

I have already written about X-Ray and stated that it’s in no way a straightforward read. Dave’s book is much more open, more even-handed and seems at first glance much more transparent. But you should never judge a book by its cover or rely on your first impression. As I delved further, I realised that Dave happily disclosed much of his bad behaviour, was occasionally remorseful but sometimes proud. He's able to hide in plain sight, by appearing to ‘show and tell’ but the book does not 'tell all', Dave understandably remaining reticent where some family relationships are concerned. Nevertheless, Kink still provides more detail than X-Ray, particularly on the things that mattered to Dave back then (girls, cars, fashion) with the added advantage that it hasn’t been mixed with fiction (these are the facts as Dave remembers them) and that it takes us beyond 1973 into the 90s. Ray is rumoured to have another book in the pipeline and we can be sure it will be hard to fathom but fascinating. Oh and Dave’s includes an index which helps any reader, reviewer, confirm facts, names, dates, as they go or as they return (something which Ray’s ‘work of faction’ mitigates against) and photographs, including one of Dave as a very cheeky-looking eleven-year-old. I bet he could get away with murder, something confirmed by his mother’s comment ‘you were such a lovely little boy, but what a sod you were’. I don't know if I can write that in a blog. I think it’s ok if I write it with an English accent.

Dave spends a while talking about each album as it occurs: the inspiration for certain tracks, how particular effects were achieved, which tracks were his favourites and why. It’s made me revisit some songs and listen to ones that were new to me (being a relatively recent fan). More on this aspect in the next blog.

Dave’s style is very natural. Like Dave. There’s no additional storyline, no framing device, no omnipotent Corporation. He’s purely and simply stated what happened and when and how he felt at the time. Occasionally he goes off track, but normally when trying to explain or describe something extraordinary. He writes more articulately than I thought he would before I met him (sorry, Dave, I know better now). At the close of the book, he starts to ramble a little and this could possibly have been kept in check by a zealous editor but, as I’ve been known to ramble myself, I’ll forgive him.

‘It’s a miracle we survived it at all.’

Once you’ve read Dave’s book, you can totally identify with this quote on the back cover. No kidding. It is a miracle that Dave survived. Someone must be watching over him.

Dave from Tumblr

‘He was withdrawn and thoughtful. I did the partying; he wrote about it.’

The book is partly a celebration of an era (the 60s and 70s when the Kinks were at the height of their powers in the UK), the new freedoms, the permissive society, the drug culture, the fashion. Dave’s right: he lived the life, embraced it with open arms (and, let's face it, when Dave was young, he wouldn't have been satisfied with just an embrace), apparent in footage from the time, like this rendition of ‘I’m a Lover Not a Fighter’ (my marvellous friend described him as ‘a force of nature then’) or 'Beautiful Delilah', he often appears more assured and comfortable on stage than Ray (sometimes endearingly gauche), who was to come into his own later; Ray remained detached, sampling a little at a time while considering, observing and commentating. As the quote suggests, Ray experienced things vicariously through Dave. He didn’t have to go over the edge himself but, as in his recurring nightmare (described later), allowed Dave to launch himself over the precipice. If he hadn’t let go, Dave’s momentum would have taken them both.

The Scotch of St James

‘It was a very hazy time for me really, because I was always out of it. I was always getting crazy and going around the clubs and having a great time, falling over with Eric Burdon at the Scotch of St James’s.’

According to Jon Savage’s excellent book on the Kinks, when ‘You Really Got Me’ went to Number One, Dave embarked on a binge that was to last three years. He began to care about designer labels, know the names of posh drinking clubs, and was seduced by the trappings of his own fame.

‘I close my eyes and smile and thank God that I’m still here and that there’s nothing I have missed.’

No chance of that, Dave. He captures the hedonistic spirit of the times in a way that Ray doesn’t, possibly because Dave was more in tune/step with them. He quickly realises that his success opens doors and bursts through them, while Ray hesitates on the threshold. Dave’s account floods colour into a picture that was monochrome in X-Ray, as he is prone to none of Ray’s ambivalence. In my analysis of X-Ray, I described it as predominantly ‘Impressionist’ but Dave’s tales are the details taken from that painting. Everyone knows the devil is in the detail.

'His clothes are loud, but never square' ('Dedicated Follower of Fashion')

Dave’s devotion to consumerism is at odds with the Dave we now know, but he’s refreshingly forthright about it while occasionally suffering slight misgivings, choosing to revisit Muswell Hill in 1969 in his Austin Mini rather than his Citroen Maserati. He later criticises the owners of a shop called Lord Jim that gave him credit when he was at the top, but want cash once the Kinks have fallen out of favour. He sees them as traitors because of this. I like a quote from the unlikely source of Shania Twain here. She said that it made no sense that people only wanted to give her free things once she was rich enough to actually afford them. She didn’t accept them.

Told:

‘Sorry, Dave. Come back when you have a hit record.’

‘I threw his clothes at him, told him what I thought of him, then kicked over some clothes-racks before I stormed out of the store. … Before he had had his tongue so far up my arse that he could barely breathe, and now he was treating me like this.’

Dave doesn’t seem to have come across fair-weather friends before and appears to have enjoyed all the kow-towing that preceded the come-down. ‘A Long Way from Home’ is critical of this type of behaviour:

‘… you think/That money buys everything …/ I hope you find what you are looking for with your cars and your handmade overcoats’

Dave enthusiastically documents his voyage into excess with the same no-holds-barred approach in which he over-indulged at the time, with the same intensity which he invests in this 'Milk Cow Blues'. So many times he doesn’t know what drugs he’s taking, how he gets home, who he’s with. He’s led a charmed life. I know plenty of people who’ve experimented to a much lesser degree and are still ruing the consequences (it’s usually the family that bears the brunt). I’m not disapproving although I think he took way too many risks despite proliferating warning signs – his friends George Harris and Ewin Stephens dying from overdoses, his own experiences. Poor wife Lisbet was long-suffering:

‘As she placed the food in front of me, I collapsed on the table, smashing the plate and knocking the table to the floor. There was blood all over the place.’

She pours his drugs down the drain.

‘I struggled with her and tried to pick the dissolving drugs out of the sink with my fingers …set about dismantling the U-bend’.

They were great boots!

But these deaths and episodes only seem to register momentarily with Dave; he says he’ll be in touch with George’s Mum and wishes he had got his favourite boots back from Ewin. He seems more distressed about losing the boots than he does about Ewin’s death, indicative of his preoccupations at the time.

‘They had been hand-made at Anello & Davide, thigh-length in tan leather with a large Cuban heel and a narrow Spanish-style toe. They were skin-tight and came right up to my crotch, with a loop strap at the top of each boot where I could thread a belt.’

It’s obvious that he really loved them. Even the picture captions confirm his interest: ‘Note my lace shirt’, ‘my trademark gingham shirt’. He was a total fashionista then.

 

Although this seems callous, it’s possibly also a self-defence mechanism. If he stops to think, he’d have to stop … . It’s almost as if he believed he were untouchable, invincible. He rushes headlong into more danger, blithe, oblivious.

As usual, I have a lot more to write, but will include here an example from the two books because I mentioned it earlier.

Brotherly love

It’s interesting that both brothers believe that they will have to look out for or protect the other one and they come to this realisation through some sleep-induced phenomena.

‘I realized that night even though I was the younger brother, I would somehow have to fulfil the role of the older one and keep a look-out for him.’

This is Dave’s comment after witnessing Ray sleepwalking. It’s very similar to Ray’s: 

‘As I looked over at my brother sleeping peacefully in the next bed, I knew that I would always have to protect this interloper even though I could never quite forgive him for spoiling my solitary but idyllic existence’.

‘I had a recurring dream. My brother and I were playing on the edge of a cliff. David Russell slipped over the edge and I grabbed him as he fell. There we would stay, one brother literally holding the other's life in his hands. As the dream turned into a nightmare, I felt my sibling’s hand slip from my grasp, and the pathetic cries from my falling brother caused me to wake, shouting and sweating.’

‘I always end up letting him fall.’

Whether this is through lack of strength or lack of will is not made clear. It’s possible that this was a portent of their future dynamic, Dave always plummeting over the edge as Ray reached out to stop him.

As children, they reject each other and find their brotherly connection with their nephews, who are of a similar age: Ray with Terry (Rose and Arthur’s child) and Dave with Michael (Dolly and Joe’s child).


More in next blog about the three Rs: relationships, responsibility and respect. See Dave Davies - Kink - Man Behaving Badly.

(Thanks to http://maydavies.tumblr.com/ for the gif(t))

Ray Davies Rocks the Hop Farm Festival, 2012

I don’t understand festivals. I like variety but don’t see why someone who can appreciate the extraordinary talent of Ray Davies or the consummate professionalism of Billy Ocean (he’s like an injection of serotonin, his joy is contagious) should have any time for something so bland and uninvolving as Gomez, apologies to their fans, a band who obviously believe their own press releases, urging the people sitting or lying down to get up, begging them to, because why should they bother if we don't, etc., telling us to put our backs into it (hmm – we are here to relax and enjoy ourselves, mate – go polish your Mercury Prize – it seems that anyone can win an award these days and no one ever advises the recipients that ‘Success walks hand in hand with failure’) but who remain pub-standard in my opinion, only singled out here as an example of other bands scheduled for the main stage who aren’t in the same league as Ray and Billy. However, they did get their fans to choose which songs they should play. Not a bad idea in these interactive times.

Mary Epworth, who began the proceedings, was much better than some of the acts that followed – heartfelt singing, a pretty voice, good songs and great hair. Self-deprecating and sweet. Liked ‘Black Doe’ although this video is not really representative of how she comes across live. She’s not as generic-looking as that.

Still not really sure why a former prog rocker (and let’s face it, on this showing, we can dispense with the ‘former’ – it seems you can take the boy out of Genesis but …), Peter Gabriel, gets to headline over Ray Davies whose body of work’s quality far outstrips his but perhaps it was the spectacle of the light show that swung it. Ray doesn’t need a light show – his performance is brilliant enough, blazing bright for some songs, occasionally dazzling but leaving us basking in a warm glow.

Looking more robust than he did during the ‘Come Dancing’ show (perhaps it was just the suit), he’s energetic as soon as he reaches the stage and easily establishes a rapport with the crowd. Years of stagecraft I suppose. 

I Need You

A strange choice to start with, a fairly standard pop song, delivered with verve. Perhaps it’s directed at someone watching? Other songs showcase this era of the Kinks better. Would love to hear him resurrect ‘This Strange Effect’, ‘Tell Me Now So I’ll Know’ or ‘All Night Stand’ instead. As Mrs Doyle (from Father Ted) might say ‘Go on, go on, go on, go on, go on’. But I recall RD saying, ‘I don’t have to do anything’ when asked about pleasing fans live so I’ll shut up now. With a canon of work that huge, it’s always going to be hard to whittle the list down for one gig. 

Where Have All the Good Times Gone?

The extremely cheerful melody and the vitality of the rhythm temper this complaint about the present and paean to the past. Always a winner live. Dave usually plays it too.

‘Well, once we had an easy ride and always felt the same/Time was on my side and I had everything to gain/Let it be like yesterday/Please let me have happy days’

Ray was all of 21 when he wrote this in 1965. And I thought I was prematurely nostalgic! Mind you, I did get there at 11.

I’m Not Like Everybody Else

Great as ever but it's not the same without Dave’s guitar intro (above) (not in the original song but now very familiar from the live versions on YouTube and repopularised by The Sopranos) although Bill Shanley’s playing compensates some. The audience doesn’t know this song so the reaction is more muted but I would have been crazy if he hadn’t played it.

Sunny Afternoon
Which it is by the time Ray comes on, helped by Billy Ocean’s own little bit of sunlight.  Although encouraged to sing 'part' of this, the festival-goers want to hear their own voices and probably imagine they’re incredibly knowledgeable when they remember the verses and insist on shouting these out too. Thanks, guys. Less really is more.

Come Dancing

Jaunty but not as convincing as it was on stage in Stratford.

Semi-gratuitous but so what?

Brief Dave interlude. You know me, I can't talk about Ray without mentioning Dave. Or vice versa. And it seems Ray is the same. Plus it's time for me to weigh in on something Bashful has mentioned in another blog.

Although Ray dedicates songs to Dave and asks the audience to applaud him (which we would do anyway), I venture to say that there is absolutely no chance of a Kinks reunion as long as Ray continues to add (as Bashful hears, not me, me naively believing that for once Ray would do the better thing – see ‘Come Dancing’ blog) ‘Dave “Death of a Clown” Davies’. Why must he try to reduce Dave’s talent down to this song as if it were the only one he’d ever written, the only one we could have heard about, making him sound like a one-hit wonder, refusing to acknowledge not only Dave’s contributions on songs credited to Ray but also the Kinks songs he wrote, such as the anthemic ‘Strangers’, the effervescently enthusiastic ‘Love Me till the Sun Shines’ and ‘Wait till the Summer Comes Along’ (even sad, Dave sounds happy), the popular live staple ‘Living on a Thin Line’, or the early unparalleled ‘This Man He Weeps Tonight’ and ‘Mindless Child of Motherhood’, let alone any of Dave’s varied and inspiring solo material (‘The Lie’, 'Rock Me, Rock You’, ‘Flowers in the Rain’) , which he’ll probably affect not to have listened to? That was a long sentence, sorry. Ok, he wasn’t as prolific as you, Ray, but his talent extends beyond ‘Death of a Clown’, memorable as it is. He’s integral to the sound of the Kinks, from the guitar riff on ‘You Really Got Me’, to his distinctive vocals on ‘Come On Now’ or ‘Sleepless Night’, to the phenomenal virtuosity of his guitar skills live on tracks like ‘Yo Yo’, ‘I’m Not Like Everybody Else’ (see above) and ‘Wish I Could Fly Like Superman’ (see 3.40-4.50), where his guitar masterclass fleshes out an ordinary pop song, investing it with authentic rock kudos. Whether it's meant as a joke or a taunt, it's simply unnecessary and implies that whatever Ray says about Dave's talent, he doesn't rate him as he should. It’s always a back-handed compliment with Ray; he gives with the right and takes back with the left and with such sleight (or in this case ‘slight’) of hand too.

All Day and All of the Night

Dedicated to Dave.

Waterloo Sunset

To finally hear Ray (now 68) sing this brought tears to my eyes. I felt the same way I did when I heard Dave sing ‘Flowers in the Rain’ live. My heart was full. Wish the crowd had confined themselves to just singing the ‘Shalalas’ and not the verses though.

Dedicated Follower of Fashion

Cue more singalong from over-excited crowd.

These songs still sound amazing each time you hear them, and somehow reassuring, like returning to your hometown after a trip, their familiarity is comforting.

Dead-End Street (but not all of it, he only ventures halfway down the street, Dave got further at Satsang II).Would have loved to hear it all.

Till the End of the Day

What can I say? This is a recipe for instant happiness. So joyful. I’ve taken to playing it in the car whenever we set off somewhere. It really lifts the mood.

Tiny bit of Victoria

Why not more?

Twentieth Century Man

Ray quick-wittedly points out that he's a century out of date. I bet that’s why he played it.

Then the holy triumvirate, with the inevitable audience participation.

Lola

Can't listen to this without seeing YouTube footage of the brothers when young and it saddens me that I never knew them like this. Don’t get me wrong – I think they’ve aged well but still, Dave’s cheeks were so chubby, his hair so glossy and Ray sang it so vehemently. They looked like they were having fun. Now, to a certain extent, it’s got a classic status, which in some ways, decreases its value. It was ahead of its game idea-wise but now it’s just a fun song in the same way that Ray has turned, despite himself, into an elder statesman of rock, the well-respected man although no doubt still a rebel at heart.

Days

‘Thank you for the days/Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me/I'm thinking of the days/I won't forget a single day, believe me.’

Ideal sentiments for a festival but Ray sings

‘I wish today could be tomorrow/The night is dark/It just brings sorrow, let it wait.’

with a touch more feeling. It's a cheerful lament, a subtle blend of nostalgia, gratitude, forgiveness and hope.

You Really Got Me

The first hit and the perfect finale. Instantly recognisable even to the most uninformed among us. It's simply part of history. Leaves everyone wanting more but why is it that acts at festivals never do encores?

We were the wrong side of the stage and Ray only came over to us once, to perform a sexy little shimmy, tease that he is. (It sounds incongruous but Ray can pull it off as he and Dave do retain a certain sex appeal). He looked really well – it’s a shame that my best view of him was on the big screen. It was annoying that the people who’d shouldered their way to the front were a tad clueless: ‘So – was Ray Davies in the Kinks then?’ and ‘I think I know two Kinks songs’.

The set was totally apt for a festival crowd: all the hits. As I’ve booked tickets to three shows on the September/October tour, I hope that we’ll get to hear these and tons more from Ray’s inexhaustible catalogue. The only songs missing that would have fitted in really well, bridging the early Beatlesesque tracks with the later more considered, lyrically sophisticated ones, were perhaps ‘Apeman’, ‘Well-Respected Man’ or ‘Picture Book’.

But I wish Ray would do away with the constant ‘Way-oh, waaay-oh’ calls, expecting a response. Once for old times’ sake would be good. Also that the crowd would sing along when requested but not otherwise. I didn’t come to hear shouted, out-of-tune versions of these great songs; if I had, I would have gone to a Kinks karaoke night, if there were such a thing. I came to hear Ray’s delightfully idiosyncratic voice sing his delightfully idiosyncratic lyrics. I realise it must be gratifying, even moving, to hear a few hundred people sing your words back at you, but a little restraint on the part of the audience would not have gone amiss.

I wish both Dave and Ray would play more of their solo material live. I love the Kinks and I know that everyone wants to hear those songs but they’ve both been busy since they split up 16 years ago. So why not ‘Muswell Hillbillies’ and ‘Vietnam Cowboys’, ‘Better Things’ and ‘A Better Thing’; ‘The Moneyground’ and ‘Let It Be Written’? I would kill to hear him perform 'Holiday' or 'Yo-Yo' though.

Other acts I enjoyed:

Billy Ocean

God, he looks and sounds great although there’s no good footage from the festival. ‘Red Light Spells Danger’ is a highlight, such urgency, such atmosphere, and I’d completely forgotten ‘Love Really Hurts without You’, so even a couple of rather lame ballads and ‘Lover Boy’ can't diminish my enjoyment. Energy and commitment personified.

Mary Epworth ‘Long Gone’

Joel Sarakula ‘Feels Like the First Time’

I Am Kloot ‘Avenue of Hope’

Dog Is Dead ‘Two Devils’

Although I’m not a lover of festivals – I’d rather sit in a tearoom than a bar tent and I prefer to be far from the madding crowd, especially in the countryside – I’ve got to say that the Hop Farm is very well organised and user-friendly. There’s a courtesy shuttle bus from the local railway station – it’s not their fault that this happens to be in the middle of nowhere. There’s little queuing at any of the facilities and refreshments are reasonably priced. Drinking water is available from taps. The line-up is eclectic so there should be something to please everyone. Can't believe though that I managed to miss (the) Eagles here last year.

‘Come Dancing’ with Ray Davies, 2012, Stratford

Visited the Theatre Royal Stratford East in the week as we were up in town to see Bob Mould and managed to get much better tickets than were available online. It’s a beautiful Victorian building so we opt to go on the theatre tour prior to the matinee. Wander behind the scenes, past the dressing rooms, the green room, to the upper circle, etc., all refurbished to resemble the original décor of red and gold. I’d call it rococo but am happy to be disabused. It has a certain elegance and the faded glamour of an old Hollywood movie star, keeping up appearances against the onslaught of time, frayed at the edges but it’ll take more than some flaking paint to diminish her splendour. In a way, it rhymes with the production itself (and it’s not impossible that the old Palais might have looked something like the theatre), which captures an era of post-war privation and post-war optimism but although the theatre has weathered the storm and still stands, the Palais could only delay the changing of the musical guard as the big bands dissolved into the background and pop music took centre stage. Now it’s a bonafide community theatre with volunteers around to explain things, hand out questionnaires, and so on.

As it was the first time I had seen the show in any form, I had few preconceptions. I knew that Ray would be in it but thought his role might only be a cameo and he might not sing; I was prepared to be disappointed. Billed as a concert, the focus is the music: it’s all about the songs and not many of us would dispute Ray’s talent in that arena. He is the storyteller, his words providing the background, stitching the songs together but he sings as well, starting some songs that move on to the ensemble or to another performer.

I didn’t know who was new to the cast or who was an old hand; they were all excellent and I particularly liked Julie who reminded me of Shani Wallis (as Nancy) from Oliver!, especially singing ‘Something Better’, an inspirational number for which she suddenly developed a broad Cockney accent, a bit like RD himself does on occasion.

(Of course we can't overlook the choice of Julie as a name for the big sister, also used for the unattainable dream girl of the X-Ray narrator’s fantasy of RD, in ‘The Ballad of Julie Finkel’ and in ‘Waterloo Sunset’. Ray likes to keep these mysteries alive.)

Given the opportunity, RD has finally written that troublesome ‘interloper’, that scene-stealing, attention-grabbing younger brother out of his history, out of this story anyway although some of Dave’s youthful traits (belligerence, vitality, recklessness, sexual ardour, that effervescent joie de vivre, which he still has) find echoes in the younger male characters. It must be fun to revise the past like this, create a fictionalised version; in Ray’s case, streamlining, contracting, editing it for dramatic impact and personal satisfaction. The six sisters have been conflated to three with Peg and Rene’s characteristics and details slightly altered and transferred to Julie.

I tried to note down the songs as they occurred, guessing the titles from the lyrics. I don’t have them in the same order as on the Ray Davies Forum so may well have gone wrong. I won't list them all as some are mere snatches of tunes but concentrate on the ones that particularly affected me.

First, a lively song by the ensemble (there’s a band at the back of the stage) that I will hazard is called ‘The Palais’. Lets us know where we are as the cast enters, the women in fabulous 50s frocks, with magnificent full skirts, tight bodices, demure and alluring at once. I wish I’d lived in that era. Surely life was simpler then.

Then, Ray himself, looking slight, a little fragile, dwarfed by an outsize suit (makes you want to give him a hug); he sets the scene, introduces his ‘imaginary family’ and starts the story with reference to a book (no doubt simply a prompt), sounding slightly tentative but when he begins to sing ‘Come Dancing’ and ‘My Big Sister’ (an effortless swing tune), that voice is so familiar, it tugs at your heart and any wavering is overlooked.

The sisters sing ‘Putting on the Face’, a lively number full of humour, that summarises their personalities for the audience. Enter Tosher, the delinquent who has his eye on Julie, to whom he addresses an impassioned, sexually frustrated version of  ‘Tired of Waiting for You’. I like the way a couple of Kinks songs have been sympathetically interwoven into the story, thread of a slightly brighter hue, immediate and fresh.

Photo of castlist that may disappear ...

At the Palais, we meet Frankie, our host, part-comic, part-singer, part-band leader, one of those all-round-entertainer types, common to the time. I hesitate to say ‘jack of all trades, master of none’, because the actor has a good voice. He takes the part well; the character connotes ‘variety’ to me, not a good thing, as it conjures up The Royal Variety Performance, something that deserved to go the way of the big bands (indeed I would have kept the big bands) but is still clinging on somehow.

Favourites from the first part include:

Tosher’s band’s rousing rendition of ‘You Really Got Me’, his love song to Julie;

‘The Rhythm of the Dance’, an uplifting ensemble piece;

‘Something Better’, an angst-ridden plea for more as well as a statement of self-belief (dreams once more thwarted by life and Julie’s weak heart);

‘When the Band Begins to Play’ evoking the time and place, the escapism that the Palais and the big bands represented for the workers or would-be workers with nothing to look forward to but a lifetime on the factory floor; some of this hope is ill-founded, the ‘New Towns’ of the fifties not the promised paradise on earth that Rose and Arthur envisaged, Stevenage here standing in for Australia, also disappointing in Ray’s opinion.

In the second act, there are some heart-wrenching ballads, around the Julie/Hamilton dynamic: ‘Wherever You Go’; ‘The World Won't Keep Us Apart’ plus the all-pull-together solidarity of ‘We’ll Meet in Heaven’ but the highlight is Ray singing ‘A Better Thing’ in an effort to rouse Frankie’s conscience, so delicately fervent. Notice that he sings with a slight lisp here, rendering the vocal even more vulnerable. Is this done deliberately?

I never hear the words ‘better thing’ without thinking of that other great chronicler/observer/inventor of English eccentrics and the line in A Tale of Two Cities about the ultimate sacrifice: "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." Such poetry in prose. But, of course, if this were Dickens, the character would have done the better thing …. In interview excerpts, Ray has implied that Frankie’s interest in Julie is romantic but this isn’t his motivation in this version but I don’t want to spoil it for people who have yet to see it.

Ray has a fascination with certain ideas (variations on a theme), the desire for optimism is one of them; ‘Something Better Beginning’, ‘Better Things’, ‘A Better Thing’, ‘Something Better’, ‘Things Are Getting Better’ and others that don’t use those particular words but express the same emotion: ‘Look a Little on the Sunny Side’, ‘Rock and Roll Fantasy’, ‘Good Day’, etc. They reflect a positivity he strives for against the workings of a naturally pessimistic soul. You always feel that in trying to raise our spirits or his characters’ hopes, he’s trying to raise his own, a sort of cheerful fatalism. He’s really saying that things aren’t going to get better but if we don’t believe they will, we might as well give up.

The concert showcases Ray’s versatility as a writer; the only songs that don’t shine are the r'n'b numbers, although delivered with gusto by Rita (‘Do It’, for instance, seeming raucous and one-dimensional in comparison to the big band numbers, the pop and the ballads, a mere belter) and the Rock 101 of ‘Rock Till You Drop’, the latter unable to hold a candle to ‘You Really Got Me’, but of course it’s meant to represent the beginning of a band and as such is not supposed to equal the perfect pop songs in the Kinks back catalogue which sparkle anew in this setting, with ever-lasting lustre; the sheer exuberance of ‘Tired of Waiting for You’ the jewel in the crown.

It’s actually scary how versatile Ray is and this production is simply one facet of one gem in his crown, or simply a skilfully embroidered sample from Ray’s rich tapestry. Of course he doesn’t work alone and all the cast and musicians play a part – you’d never have guessed they’d only been rehearsing for a few days. I’m sure they could have put on more performances – all that work and professionalism for less than a handful of shows. Such a shame. Perhaps next time a longer run? Or perhaps a concert of the songs from 80 Days?

[There was a girl in costume at the front of the stage, enthusiastically acting out each bit of dialogue as she signed the whole show for the deaf and hard of hearing. Great job.]

Excellent news that the younger sibling, who exists despite Ray’s creative attempts to excise him from their past, is about to release a new album.

Big Star 'Third' at the Barbican + Ray Davies

Bought tickets for this a while ago because we fancied that Mr Ray Davies might grace it and us with his presence. Time went by; names were finalised and Ray wasn’t mentioned. Now I wasn't a huge Big Star fan. I was only aware of ‘Thirteen’, for instance, because Daryll Ann had covered it, and of ‘September Gurls’ via someone my Dad worked with. On recommendation, I listened to a few more tracks on the ubiquitous YouTube and enjoyed them, particularly the ballads, many suffused with a melodic melancholy worthy of the Kinks themselves, a simple eloquence in arrangement and lyric, such as ‘The EMI Song’.  However, I tried to get into Third without much success. Loved ‘Holocaust’, liked ‘Blue Moon’, ‘O Dana’ and ‘Nighttime’, didn’t mind ‘Take Care’ and ‘Jesus Christ’ and, apart from the covers, wasn’t particularly enthused by any of the other tracks. I know this must rankle with longtime aficionados so I apologise. I thought the songs were possibly too slight, too fragile to sustain the weight of an orchestral interpretation, that they would be like sandcastles overwhelmed by the tide or rowboats overcome by the vast power of the ocean. I was wrong.

So we’re sitting in the food hall eating overpriced cakes and sandwiches when Robyn Hitchcock comes in, instantly recognisable by the white hair and colourful shirt. Nice to see they make him buy his own dinner. Naturally don’t bother to speak to him although ‘Heaven’ is one of my favourite songs (hence this gratuitous link) and I would have loved to ask if Ray has been around backstage at all. Then – they have these long tables like a school dining hall – we were descended on by the musicians who would later be playing – so do we acknowledge that we know who they are? Of course not. We pointedly ignore them.

Wander out into the open to avoid being stalked by these annoying famous people and to get away from a curious squat doppelganger gazing at me from the mirror in the Ladies. Am accosted by someone from the Jackie Leven list, also here for Big Star. We join him and his friend for a while before the show begins. Neither has heard anything about Ray coming along and they seem to think it unlikely. Our hopes fade but Ray had hinted that he would be here on Facebook. However, can't see him having the time or inclination to learn any Big Star songs and they wouldn’t suit him anyway so if he sings, it’ll have to be ‘Till the End of the Day’, the song on See My Friends that he and Alex collaborated on – I certainly won't complain as it’s one of my favourites, – I particularly like this version at the beginning of this 1972 concert; Ray is so masterful and yet so camp (complete with breathless pant between words and then a curtsy), holding the audience in the palm of his hand as he promises, rescinds, delivers – it’s brilliant. As for the end of the song – the hair, the screams, Kurt Cobain anyone? Forget what I said in an earlier blog about Ray being a pussycat; by 72, he's found his roar.

I must admit that I hate the idea of See My Friends though. Why would I want to hear anyone other than Dave sing with Ray? Paloma Faith’s version of ‘Lola’ is horrid, no inflection in her tone; Metallica turn the emotion in ‘You Really Got Me’ into rage, reducing it to something far inferior; Mumford and Sons don’t destroy ‘Days’ and ‘This Time Tomorrow’ but neither do they add anything in particular; to me, it’s as if all the songs are being stripped of what made them special. Anyway, I'll hold my tongue for the moment.

The concert starts and is actually pretty good fun. There’s an obvious camaraderie between the musicians and everyone is very appreciative of each other and of the audience although the second track, ‘Kizza Me’ is so raucous, it nearly frightens us away.

The hall is a manageable size and even in Row P, we’re not too far from the action, the only problem being that the conductor blocks the vocalists.

The first half stand-outs are: Mike Mills, ‘Jesus Christ’; Ira Kaplan, ‘O Dana’; Sondre Lerche, ‘Femme Fatale’; Jody Stephens, ‘Blue Moon’; Django Haskins, ‘Holocaust’ (chilling and affecting; you can hear ice in the instrumentation, the little boat must have reached the Arctic); everything the Posies guys do, always had a soft spot for them since they sent me a copy of the lyrics of ‘Grant Hart’ so that I could show them to Grant – he was duly pleased.

There’s an ebb and flow throughout, with each artist bringing something different to the mix.

First half setlist

Nature Boy – John Bramwell

Kizza Me – Mitch Easter

O Dana – Ira Kaplan

For You – Jody Stephens

Nighttime – Alexis Taylor

Jesus Christ – Mike Mills

Big Black Car – Jon Auer

Take Care – Ira Kaplan

Stroke It, Noel – Norman Blake

Femme Fatale – Sondre Lerche

Downs – Robyn Hitchcock

Dream Lover – Sharon Van Etten

Blue Moon – Jody Stephens

Holocaust – Django Haskins

You Can’t Have Me – Sharon Van Etten

Kanga Roo – Brett Harris

Thank You, Friends – Various

The names are simply who sings the lead. My typing’s too slow for me to list all the musicians.

I enjoy the second half better though. This is like a mini Big Star hit parade so we get ‘Thirteen’ – I think I would have felt cheated if they hadn’t played this. Great vocals from Skylar Gudasz. Mike Mills rocks out a rendition of ‘September Gurls’; his voice is perfect for it. Shamefully, many of the songs are new to me

Second half setlist

I’m in Love with a Girl

Thirteen

Give Me Another Chance

I Am the Cosmos

There Was a Light

You and Your Sister

Daisy Glaze

The EMI Song

The Ballad of El Goodo

September Gurls

Apologies if I got any of these titles wrong. Couldn’t take down names of who sung which in the dark. Will accept corrections/additions.

And just when you think that Ray’s cried off, they talk about Big Star rarely doing covers and you know it’s his cue. He’s a miniature tsunami, raising the energy level a notch and sweeping us along with him, upturning the boat. He gets the biggest applause of the night and effortlessly steals the show, smart in a jacket and shirt although his hair looks like he’s been pulled through a hedge backwards. Talks briefly but sincerely about his acquaintance with Alex Chilton and appears eminently affable. People stand for the first time although only we remain on our feet to dance. I thought this picture was particularly topical as we’re about to celebrate the Diamond Jubilee and host the Olympics. Not sure why Gary Barlow (apposite initials) was chosen to organise the concert and not Ray, 'jubilant' as I was when Take That went to number one after having had more than a little 'Patience'. Somehow this return to triumph gave us all a sense of vindication on their behalf after their years languishing in the chip shop wilderness (some selling, some buying) watching Robbie's career perpetually in the ascendant. Did they ever dare think 'Our day will come'? Anyway, there was some validation for the Kinks as one of their songs was mentioned in the Archbishop of Canterbury's address, proof of entry to the pantheon.

With Ray Davies:

Till the End of the Day

The Letter

Showstoppers both.

I don't know how Ray fits so much into his schedule (he really is a workaholic) but I like the fact that he finds time for this. It doesn’t really matter why he chooses to take part, whether to reinforce the respect (and adulation) of his peers, out of a general need for recognition and admiration, out of respect for Alex Chilton and Big Star, out of pure altruism, out of a desire to be perceived as purely altruistic, the all-round good guy next-door. It’s the ‘taking part’ that counts although of course Ray also wins in this instance, always important for him.

Encore

Back of a Car

All in all, a great spirit of togetherness and celebration among the musicians and a heartfelt appreciation of Big Star’s oeuvre, conveyed to the crowd on waves of their own enthusiasm and love, inspiring those of us relatively unfamiliar with the songs to investigate further.

Next stop: Bob Mould, Come Dancing, Citizen Cope.

Dave Davies: Satsang II: April 2012: You Only Live Twice

So we decided to have this once-in-a-lifetime experience twice. Starting to remind me of a title for a James Bond movie.

I’m not going to write a complete blog as I don’t want to repeat what someone else might do or has done. Instead, a few snapshots of the weekend, in words. Plus ruminations on the nature of faith.

‘I'm all about denial/But can't denial let me believe’ (‘Pavlov’s Bell’ – Aimee Mann)

I suppose that’s how I would categorise my feelings for Dave’s credo and in fact, any religious doctrine or spiritual creed. Simply wanting to believe cannot make it so because logic, reason, a natural propensity for scepticism often triumph over need and desire. They’re the Spaniards in the works as Lennon might say. Ok, I’m not the world’s most logical person but I do tend to ask too many questions.

So my beliefs bear more resemblance to superstition than anything else. I pray to St Anthony for lost items and to St Jude for lost causes. For me, faith of any kind is a triumph of will over common sense. Dave is obviously very well read and has done his research but me, I judge by results. If it works, I do it again. (Talking of ‘Do It Again’, have just seen the documentary so a review will follow shortly.) I’m not someone who ponders on whether the tree falling in the forest makes a sound kind of thing. Life’s too short; let’s not go there.

Say you watch a fantasy series, you need to suspend your disbelief in order to accept that vampires exist, that Buffy can kill them, that Sunnydale is the Hellmouth, etc. My attitude reminds me of something my Dad once said, while watching an episode of Smallville (I’ve long since stopped worrying about my Dad’s unerring interest in US teen dramas); one of the teens with meteor powers uses them in a destructive way, so, in order to control this, she’s forced to wear a bracelet made of lead, which prevents her from accessing her powers. My Dad is up in arms over this: ‘Ridiculous! As if a lead bracelet could do that! …’, etc. He’s happy to believe that a meteor shower could give people special abilities, that an alien arrived from the Planet Krypton and is living as a Kansas farmboy before becoming Superman but he draws the line at the efficacy of a lead bracelet. Now, whenever we’re watching something that does invite the suspension of disbelief, and we’re tempted to question an event that seems even more unlikely than the general tenor of the film might dictate, we call it ‘having a lead bracelet moment’ and laugh at ourselves – why is this one thing less credible than the rest? But we all have them, I think, those moments, however spurious, the lines we’re not willing to cross, either out of reason or out of fear, the bridge too far. I’m not sure Dave has them though and that’s what makes his outlook and his conversation so fascinating. It could lead anywhere.

Dave doesn’t discount or disavow other religions, mentioning Christ, Ganesh and Buddha – he’s inclusive and accepting and has cast his net wide in search of enlightenment. So, we’re looking at a patchwork quilt of different philosophies, so that, as well as a buffet lunch, we can partake of a spiritual smorgasbord (always wondered if I’d ever get a chance to use that word), with some options for the more refined palate, or those who have acquired a taste for something relatively rare, and others more easily digestible to the spiritual novice.

It’s the sort of thing I’m perfectly at home with, although I don’t accept that any of it is necessarily true or real; I have a similarly inclusive mentality. Why shouldn’t it be so? Although I’ve never seen an angel, I believe Dave when he says he has. At the risk of sounding facetious, I always wanted a visit from the Blue Fairy.

Perhaps my problem is that I’ve never particularly desired enlightenment. I’m more at ease with confusion. Should the divine be explicable or should it remain a mystery? Transubstantiation, the Trinity (such a beautiful word), reincarnation, all lovely ideas that might fall apart under analysis.

What seems contradictory though is the rejection of the ritual of established Western religions (vicars, communion, incense, kneeling to pray and so forth) and the embracing of concomitant rituals in Eastern faiths, such as gurus, types of breathing, mantras, chanting, meditation, all of which to me are just symptoms of the same kind of mind control. Why should chanting a certain phrase be any more effective than saying a Hail Mary? I’m sure Dave would say it wouldn’t be, that they would both have value.

Maybe I harp on about this because I find being instructed, however gently, when and how to breathe extremely stressful, partly because of my complete inability to comply, and thus, while for others, it is inducing a sense of peace, the perfect prelude to meditation, in me, a state of panic is rising and the very opposite is achieved.

[In the ante-room, there’s a statue, a Buddha or an Indian god, I can't remember, with a bowl of satsumas in front of it. I was just about to nab one before I realised that possibly they were an offering to the deity – I’ve been on a Buddhist retreat so I’m a little wise to this sort of thing – I do see someone else take and eat one later though but I won't tell on them.]

‘Look through any doorway/Tell me what you see’

Who’s to say what’s real, whether the voices people hear are those of spirit guides or demons or aliens or the result of drug-induced psychosis? If the latter, does it make them any less valid? Maybe it’s simply another way of opening the mind, of looking at the world? Perhaps it’s how we react to them that determines our fate, whether we consider them friend or foe. I know many people who have, sometimes as the result of a bad trip, sometimes through stress, developed what used to be diagnosed as schizophrenia. Some have never returned to ‘normality’ (whatever that is – I know the way I live would not fit most people’s definition; as Dave says in Kink, ‘What’s normal, anyway?’), some are fine for a while on medication, then relapse, some just cope with the existence of a certain amount of what could be deemed ‘unreality’. Just watched a documentary on Peter Green; his experience with mescaline is a good example.

Dave copes well without his spiritual helpmeet, Rosina, absent through illness but the schedule suffers a little – I wanted to hear about the UFOs but, for some reason, we never got round to this.

Without the constant rain of last year, we were able to appreciate the location. Although not far removed from town, there was still a sense of remoteness, of cut-off-ness, ideal for a retreat. Plus this time we took the Magic Bus (some of our number having been on the real ‘Magic Bus’ that I had only read about in novels and didn’t imagine had actually existed), so the length of the path we were on felt emphasised as we were driven through picturesque chocolate-box villages on our way out to sea.

‘True Phenomenon’

That connection with Dave, not as pronounced this time, but he certainly felt my breathlessness, as an asthmatic without an inhaler, when I entered the room, asking ‘Are you having trouble breathing?’ I was suffering from a sense of disquiet too that I hoped I hadn’t communicated to him (or that he hadn’t communicated to me) as a friend thought he seemed more relaxed than last year. I thought he was pretty relaxed last year.

I was more in awe than last time, perhaps because then I had only liked the Kinks for two months and had had only a little time to absorb the huge amount of material they had produced over their thirty-year career, not to mention all the solo stuff. I knew they were amazing but hadn’t really absorbed the scale of their talent.

Highlights of the gigs: Dave on acoustic ‘Are You Ready, Girl?’, ‘Fortis Green’ a stormer both nights, ‘Milk Cow Blues’ a rousing finale, the new songs, ‘Green Amp’ and ‘Remember the Future’, which he did when requested. Dave, ever obliging, sang, when asked ‘Visionary Dreamer’, with a member of the audience and delivered ‘Dead-End Street’ almost word-perfect although it had not been rehearsed. Surprised by how much I enjoyed ‘Hare Krishna’, even the singing along and ‘Creeping Jean’ which used to frighten me. Loved dancing to ‘Sea of Heartbreak’. I had requested ‘Imagination’s Real’; they had rehearsed it; but Dave didn’t seem to want to play it so I said I didn’t mind if they didn’t. Listening to it now and it’s so darn pretty, I wish they had played it.

As Molly, our lovely yoga teacher, was about to leave, there were calls for ‘Good Golly Miss Molly’. Thank God Dave had the presence of mind not to comply; the lyrics would have been a little inappropriate ‘Good golly, Miss Molly, Sure likes to ball’ for this remarkably prescient young lady.

Band personnel (as last time but minus Kristi – we missed you): Jonathan Lea, David Nolte, Frank Rawle. And Dave of course!

People: There were fewer of us (due to some last-minute cancellations) so it was great to see some familiar faces and get better acquainted as well as meet some new recruits. Last year, there were some people I only spoke to on the last day and wished there’d been more time. With fewer people, it was easier to get to know each other. Although the instant sense of camaraderie wasn’t there – that first time was different probably because it was the first time – they were all lovely, like- and open-minded folk.

The artwork: I did manage to add something to it this time; last time I never got round to it and thought any addition I made could only detract from the general effect. So I went with words instead of images. As Jackie (Leven) was very much on my mind, I used an album title of his. Luckily, writing with a paintbrush looks sort of artistic.

Mementoes: There was a raffle and I got a copy of The Aschere Project: Two Worlds, which is probably ‘prog’ enough for my Dad to like. I’ll have to lend it to him. Interesting and actually much more listenable than I expected. (Actually two days since I wrote this, I woke up singing the title track - it's a grower.)

Also managed to scalp a setlist that the band was kind enough to autograph and received another special memento, courtesy of Jonathan (it’s nothing inappropriate).

‘There were times when there was absolute compassion in the air’

(Sorry to quote Ray here but he does have a way with words)

For all of us there, I can only say follow Dave’s advice and ‘Trust your heart’. Surely any issue or disagreement can be resolved if we simply allow love, compassion and respect to prevail.

In the back of a record rack/There's an old double pack/Twelve inches and black/With an old crumpled cover/But every track is stacked

On our last night, members of the group said they were going to reconvene at the Anchor in the evening and gave us very specific directions to reach it. We passed these onto the rest of the party. Left Dave’s house and tried to find the pub. Came across another one, the Crown, but had somehow missed the Anchor, I thought because we’d been talking, and walked past it. I was dispatched into the pub to ask. The natives were friendly and happy to engage with me on the subject of the mysterious Anchor although they listed all the pubs in town (which I already knew) and could only surmise that we were expected to go to a nearby town (we’ll call it ‘Mordor’) where there was a Blue Anchor. Mordor was a long way away, down a very steep hill. I said ‘I’m not going to **** ing Mordor!’ Then my sister came in, and noticed people waving at us from the back of the room, the people who’d told us to come to the Anchor. Even now, they had no idea this was the Crown. Girls! Anyway, then I went back to the bar and asked the regulars to pretend this was the Anchor if anyone else asked. Sure enough, another group arrives, puzzled too that here’s a pub at the exact location but it’s not the right pub. So they ask a man smoking outside – ‘Do you know where the Anchor is?’ and he replies, ‘Apparently, it’s here tonight’. It was a lovely pub though, with a turntable and we could choose our own music from a box of records on the table, so we started off with a Kinks greatest hits, so inevitably there was dancing; the backroom looked like a record library. What an amazing collection. Plus they stayed open till 1 a.m., still serving one of us. How welcoming.

So the tale of how we renamed Dave’s local for one night will make us legends in our own lunch hour.

Picture is of the sunrise after a

Sunrise from the hotel

‘Sleepless Night’

Had a strange experience in bed that last night. I take a lot of medication to help me sleep but suddenly I found myself thrown off the bed so violently that I bit through my lip, causing it to bleed and swell up. I’ve never fallen out of bed in my life before and this was a double bed, much bigger than mine. Now, if I’d bitten my tongue, I could have taken it as a sign … . Annoyingly, we were going to meet someone we work with the next day, for the very first time, so he’s going to think I’m a bit of a bruiser, like the young Dave, picking fights in bars. I did notice that everyone was very friendly to me on the train home, no doubt anxiously wondering what the other guy looked like.

Anyway, it was great fun but it feels weird to blog about it because it’s a little like going to stay with friends then writing a report afterwards ... what they said, what you ate and so on ...

Booked tickets to see Ray now but can't imagine it could compare to being a foot away from Dave when he’s performing. If only Ray were playing some more intimate venues. Looking forward to it though.

Adventures in Levenland: Celebrating Jackie Leven

A report on our Easter escapades in Levenland, which probably won't help to demystify any of the list correspondence from that time, but wouldn’t we all rather be mystified than demystified anyway?

After our experience with Dave Davies last year, this seemed like a cinch – no pre-payment, a fraction of the price, no terms and conditions, no cloak and dagger, just a ‘let me know when you intend to get there’. Mind you, Jackie never really played the star card and only occasionally the hero one.

What worried us was that all these people knew each other and had been congregating as/at the Church of Leven for nearly ten years. We were the strangers on the square. Although a very welcoming group, they were very different to us; we must have seemed like we were from the Stone Age, having only succumbed to a mobile phone last year, and that because a friend bought one for us. It’s not an iPhone or a smartphone or anything like that. We can text, take pictures, but rarely give out the number so hardly ever get any calls. Every time someone calls, there’s some confusion over how to answer it, usually resulting in the caller getting cut off. As for laptops, tablets, iPads, don’t go there. We’re from a long line of Luddites, deeply entrenched in the ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ school. We still have vinyl, for God’s sake.

Phil said the cabin might need to be spruced up a bit (note woodland reference).

But soon we had it looking like this.

The location was lovely and the cabins were triangular (A-frame we were reliably informed) although there was no triangular honey from triangular bees. We were warned that a dangerous cupcake- crème egg-eating ogre was en route, the indomitable Emjay. The men took refuge behind a forest of laptops. The ladies were braver and offered tea and biscuits. We eschewed the forest and wandered out into the ancient woodland. What an idyllic setting – bluebells, the river, birdsong.

Weirdly nearly everyone there (with a couple of exceptions) had only started liking Jackie around the early 2000s, at exactly the time we stopped going to gigs for some reason or other, and none were Doll by Doll fans. Felt a little guilty that we hadn’t seen Jackie live for so long. Our loss of course.

Good Friday

A singer-songwriter called Jinder (don’t ask, we did, and forty minutes later …) was kind enough to visit in the afternoon and sing us a song he’d written for Jackie, so far entitled ‘A Song for Jackie Leven’, part-tribute, part-manifesto. Very moving; some of us cried. ‘In the meantime, I’ll work hard to see, that you weren’t the last of a dying breed.’ Bless you.

A trip to Portsmouth to see him play a full gig in the evening followed. We enjoyed the other acts too – Piefinger tried hard to engage with an audience whose main concern was to shout loud enough to drown them out – they were Jayhawksy, pretty harmonies and a ukulele. Bemis were met with an extreme lack of interest by the rest of the Levenites (despite their partiality to one of our number, he knows who I’m talking about), who interacted via phones with the list and each other throughout their set (hmm – wouldn’t have got away with this if it had been Lee Griffiths – you’d definitely have got ‘the stare’) but I actually really enjoyed them. Great spirit and camaraderie when they took the stage and their enthusiasm was infectious. Plus their harmonies were lovely. I liked their own material as well as the covers. And I never thought I’d be in a pub in Portsmouth, dancing to ‘The Stray Cat Strut’! Not in 2012 at any rate.

Easter Saturday
Walked to Botley (recently featured on ‘Countryfile’, a UK TV show, as the perfect village, according to William Cobbett), where Jackie lived. Not sure how long it usually takes Phil but with a group, it was a two-hour trek, partly owing to the cross-examination he received on the John LeBourne Incident – a tragic tale in which a poor upstanding family man is vilified and slandered although all the evidence against him is purely circumstantial. Phil has been reading the Botley Parish Register and informs us that people used to die in entertaining ways. Wonder if they thought, God, so and so’s death was so dull, I must make mine more entertaining. The more intrepid of the party climbed trees. Our leader was on hand to identify every flower: from wood anemone, butcher’s broom, dog violet ‘to the humble forget-me-not’ (‘Standing in Another Man’s Rain’).

Met up with some late arrivals at the Deep Pool, yes that Deep Pool and at the Leven local, the Brewery Bar, including Adrienne and Hollie, surely the best-behaved dog in the universe. During the meal, Deborah, Jackie’s partner, arrived, with her new dog, Treacle, and she was gracious enough to supply a carrier bag of items for a Lucky Dip. I was fortunate enough to get some of Jackie’s guitar strings, which I will treasure; wore them as a bracelet to the Dave Davies weekend the week after. Other people got Doll by Doll or Remember badges. She also let us leaf through some of the great man’s notebooks: fascinating stuff, with shopping lists intermingled with poetry and commentary on life. I was very touched because his handwriting is so familiar to me as he sent me a lot of faxes in the days before he had email. Somewhere, an inveterate hoarder, I still have them all, on yellow fax paper. Such a distinctive hand and such exciting times.

Repaired to the centre to eat, watch Leven videos, and then (the) Lee Griffiths played a set, including a cover of ‘Wish You Were Here’ (mention that for my Dad) and ‘Meet Me Halfway’; I remember when he first played the latter at a Castaway party. Great stuff. Ambience had been supplied, with tables of candles either side of him and, after I’d fetched my Parka, I was fine but everyone else was freezing so we adjourned to the largest cabin. Lee is a revelation to me – what a lovely guy, what great stories.

During the course of the evening, Phil’s dark secret is revealed. He used to be in a band, The Dead Trout. With that name, you can tell they didn’t covet success. And they got their wish. But, undeterred, the more curious among us, and let’s face it, the more masochistic, discover that we can still subject ourselves and our enemies to the joy of their music, if we really try.

Easter Sunday

Today we walk in Jackie’s footsteps, encountering the sights he’s described in various Deep Pool pieces – the white horse – it breaks my heart to leave this friendly animal alone, especially as it follows us to the far reach of its lonely field, the abandoned train engine, the graffitied tunnel, the ‘rickety bench’ (so shaky that only Lyn dares sit on it), the Romany encampment.

Jackie wrote:

‘To the right, nearly wholly hidden in creeper and silver birch saplings, is a beautiful old bright blue and yellow steam train engine,still with wheels and everything. I first saw this, and maybe wrote about it then, on a fine winter’s morning with the lightest of snow covering on it. It’s completely magical – the engine has such presence: I’d love to find someone who could tell me how it got there – it doesn’t look like it will be going anywhere else in a hurry. No matter how banal the story of how it came to be there was,there would be a moment of absolute magic in the telling, of this I am sure.’

The more adventurous of our expedition set forth to investigate and brought back photographic evidence.

Yes. The steam engine turns out to be of the Thomas the Tank variety.

A compellingly powerful illustration of how we make our own myths.

Soon we are overtaken by the Gary Numan Crash Team Investigators (identified by Phil’s sighting of a Tubeway Army badge or could he be pulling our legs?), our progress being more peripatetic and desultory than theirs. But do they climb the forbidden bridges? Do they heck? Or did they? No way of knowing as they left us for dust ages before. Gratuitous Tubeway Army link for my sister-in-law.

Yes, Phil leads us across bridges clearly barricaded as unsafe. Undeterred, we follow. He knows best.

Later, Lyn comes down to the main cabin, with a robin standing in her hands. This bird sat outside the window, and didn’t move when she approached and spoke to it. When she put her hands down behind it, it hopped onto her palms, and doesn’t seem to want to leave. We worry that the bird is injured in some way although it looks fine. Decide to put it back on the grass by the cabin, to see if it can fly. On our way back up, it takes off. Just dropped in for the photo opportunity. I like to think it was Jackie’s spirit that came by to tell us he was ok and no longer constrained by any physical impediment, now free to come and go at will. The more prosaic say it had flown into the window and was stunned – but why get on someone’s hand? Whatever, it was a pretty special encounter. I’m on the side of magic and poetry. Honestly, can't you hard men believe in fairytales?

Along the trail, I learned that it’s protocol (whenever I use that word I feel like I’m in a Bond movie) not to use your real names on the list and am asked to choose something. Opt for Wyrd Syster(s). Now I’ve just got to start using it.

Thanks to: All the people who provided plentiful food on a tight budget and introduced us to Manchester tart, to Phil who organised everything brilliantly, kept us on track as well as leading us down the garden path a few times. It was great to meet everybody. Emjay wasn't frightening at all.

Photos of the miraculous robin and Thomas: Lord Oates, Captain of the QEII.

Next stop: Exmoor and random ramblings on Satsang II. For more on this, see bashful.

Other Leven blogs can be found at The King of Love Has Died,  Exit Wound and I Never Saw the Movie and Jackie Leven'.