Twelve-Bar Blues

September 2005

Stringing Me Along
April 2005

Pace's Folly
December 2004

Changes
November 2004

Pacing Myself
October 2004

Zappily Ever After
August 2004

Twelve-Bar Blues

September 2005

Never, ever, take a road trip with Sinjin. That is all I have to say.

Unless perchance you enjoy endless chaos, upheaval, loss (and only occasional retrieval) of important belongings and documents, no sleep at all, and a near-constant hangover compounded by incipient total hearing loss.

If that is your sort of thing, though, I highly advise you to contact me immediately. I may very well have the job opportunity of your dreams.

Of course there were extenuating circumstances - aren't there always? See, whereas I've spent most of the year quietly, at home, being what Sinjin so lovingly termed "an utter fucking drag and a bloody hermit besides" (one can always count on Sinjin's delicacy and tact), he believes himself to have been a productive member of society because he's written yet another concept album. 

Sadly, due to certain important differences between his definition of "productive" and his bank's, he lacked the funds to actually record it. So what does one do when one has a perfectly good album and no studio? One wakes one's long-suffering best mate and former designated chief miracle worker to announce that one is going on tour, and one was planning to leave tomorrow at noon so one's roadie had better be ready by the time one arrives to collect him.

After all, he reminded me sagely, it wasn't as though I had anything else to do, now was it.

It is difficult to resist Sinjin's plans, however mad, for much the same reason it is difficult to stop a speeding freight train by getting hold of the back end and pulling very hard: no matter how you dig in your feet, eventually you're just going to get dragged along.

You're probably all thinking by now that I detest Sinjin, aren't you? Well, much as that sentiment was voiced that night and many of the nights which followed it, I don't. He's my old chum and we've done more batty things together than I've done with anyone else, so one does get used to it, in a way. Besides, to be absolutely honest and fair, there was a certain attraction in getting out of my house and actually having something to do besides repairing guitars that some teenager has smashed up. It's rather a depressing job, some days, actually - you wake up to a workbench full of bits of wood; by the time you turn in for the night, the bits may or may not function as a unit again, but sooner or later they usually do; and within a fortnight there's the same guitar sitting waiting for you again, only in different bits. It makes up for being depressing by also being very good money, but it lacks excitement... and if there's one thing a road trip with Sinjin is guaranteed to deliver, it's all the excitement I can handle, and then some. Anyroad, I reasoned, it would just be another living-in-a-van stint, like Charlie's last wee tour. How hard could it be?

Imagine my surprise, therefore, when the first thing Sinjin says to me the next morning is not "Hello", but "Got your passport, then?" It seemed he'd found an agent who had found a promoter who had found some clubs and studios that were looking for a guitarist, and by this process of Lost and Found it was eventually resolved that Sinjin would spend a month or so jamming all over the States, some session, some solo. The promoter, after some bargaining, had been willing to front Sinjin just about enough to cover two tickets and a rental car. Naturally, Sinjin had neglected to mention any of this to me - I mean really, how could I expect him to remember something like that at 2am? He'd told me the really important bits, anyhow, hadn't he?

Luckily for my sanity, I did indeed have a valid passport, and I knew where it was, which put me a good two steps ahead of Sinjin until I located it for him, stuffed down the inside of his guitar case. I am not sure whether it is sadder that he would put it there, or that it would be only the second place I thought to look. So it was off to the airport with us, over the Atlantic in just enough time to bore us all to sleep with two truly crap movies (I'm sure this is how airlines deal with nervous Transatlantic travelers - if you can just put them to sleep, they'll stay right out of your hair the whole flight. They may have nightmares about Kevin Bacon eating their brains, but it's such a small price to pay...).

We landed in Atlanta on the following morning. The heat in the South bears a certain resemblance to the Spanish Inquisition - it jumps from behind doors straight at you, and no-one English or raised in England ever expects it. It did get a bit better though, as at least in the South they are very liberal with the air-conditioning. Of course the studios were all on A/C, and many of the clubs were as well. Not all, though. I do not highly recommend the experience of trying to play with a guitar that is used to the temperature and humidity of southern England while in a place that closely resembles my church vicar's description of Hell. All I shall say is, it kept me very busy indeed.

We did Georgia, Florida, Mississippi, and Louisiana in two weeks - Sinjin was trying to find out last week if the little place we played in New Orleans is still standing. We've had good reports. From there we had a few days' grace before the next collection of dates in the Southwest - but why am I giving you a tour itinerary? Because I'm dull, naturally, and because when one's chiefest concern is where we were meant to wake up the next morning, it's understandable that what stands out most in my mind is the insane amount of night-time driving that I was required to do, and the peculiarly vibrant colours of road signs in high-beam headlights. If you asked Sinjin, I'm certain you'd get a whole different story.

For example, Sinjin would be sure to mention the night in Miami where he decided to go along with a bunch of his new mates from the studio and do what they called "The Bluesman's Pub Crawl" - it's twelve bars, you see. Only he would be talking about the ladies and the drinks and the terrific time he had, while I might be more likely to mention sitting in a cheap motel room in a city I'd only ever been to twice before, wondering where in the hell my guitarist had gone, and his subsequent arrival at an impossible hour, heroically drunk and wearing only a pink feather boa, a pair of satin knickers, and a quantity of glittery purple lipstick, most of which was not on his lips. On second thought, Sinjin might not talk about that night - I wouldn't wager a tenner on whether he even remembers it...

Or he might talk about the concert he played in Chicago. Now there, my friends, is a fun city. We had a great audience that night, despite the fact that probably three people in the audience had ever even heard of him, but it didn't matter, because he was absolutely on fire and the crowd loved it - so much so that they began crowd-surfing. Sinjin, never one to pass up an opportunity to break his neck, promptly vaulted off the stage, guitar in tow, to join in. By the mercy of whichever saint it is that protects idiot guitarists, they caught him. Our dear Sinjin is a tad on the scrawny side, though, and they realised it right away: they threw him back. I called him "Catch And Release" for three days afterwards.

Yeah, it was a lively trip, no doubt of that. Thankfully, it ended just shortly before I would have felt forced to schedule Sinjin a private gig at the Betty Ford. I don't know if he actually made any money out of the whole affair - he might have done. That wasn't really the point, though. I've heard rumours that he wants to do it again, only this time in Europe and with a band. Get the old name out there, like.

After all, it's been a year now. Hard to believe, but there it is - it'll be a whole year this week.   And at this point, we have to look at moving on a little. Getting our lives back together, throwing off the mourning veil, all that sort of thing. I mean, it wasn't just us four, me and Sinjin and Liam and Pat, that lost someone. It was anyone who loved anyone who was on that flight. We owe it to them, to all the ones who disappeared, to remember them - but to end grieving for them. Charlie wouldn't have wanted us to be sad forever. It doesn't mean it's not hard, some days, to look around the house that is now mine, but used to be his - to see his guitars, his things, kept up just as he would have liked (better, even, as I was always a more exacting housekeeper). It is. But you know, if Charlie came back tomorrow and saw us all, the way we are, I'd want him to be happy. And he was never happy if I wasn't. He'd do his best to cheer me up, to get me through whatever was on my mind, so harmony could be restored.  And I've always said, right from the beginning, that for me the biggest part of dealing with Charlie being gone is filling his shoes, doing the good things that he would have done if he were here to do them. I guess it was hard to see that I was missing the first step, the biggest step, in the process.

We're going to have a wake tomorrow, Sinjin and I and maybe Pat, or Shaggy, or any of the old crew who happen to be around. The plan is to get drunk, play a lot of music very loudly, talk about and possibly re-enact the fun we've had together, laugh until our ribs hurt and we're too weak to sit up, and just generally have a good time. Because if Charlie were here, that's what he'd be doing.

I'm going to step away from my role as Good Old Responsible Zap here, and encourage all of you to do the same. Don't feel sad. Don't be in pain. There is enough pain in the world without adding to it. You can stop singing the blues. Have a good big party with your best mates, and feel alive.

Because we are alive. We just have to remember that.

Cheers.
 

 zap[at]driveshaftband.com