She Gave the People What They Wanted

 

Of the deaths from the music world that have shocked us all this year, the one that has affected Susan and I the most, genuinely reducing us to tears, was the passing of 'soul revival' powerhouse Sharon Jones.  I may have grown up with and possess twenty-odd CDs by David Bowie, or have been such a huge Prince fan that I once flew from my workplace in Belfast to London to see him perform, then caught the next redeye flight back to Belfast, so was naturally shaken when both died this year, but it is the death of Sharon Jones at just 60 years-old that has upset me the most.

 

On April 4th, 2014, we travelled down to Victoria to see Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings perform at Alix Goolden Hall.  It was the first of two back-to-back shows for us that weekend - with the mighty, reconvened Neutral Milk Hotel in Vancouver the following evening - and what proved to be the most powerful live music double whammy either of us had ever experienced.  Sharon and her kickass funk-soul outfit were simply world class, and considering I have been fortunate to see the ilk of James Brown, George Clinton, Etta James and Marvin Gaye, it was hands down pretty much the best soul show I've ever seen.  The band were absolutely smokin' on all cylinders and Sharon danced like a thing demented, singing her ass off all night.  It was fantastic, and everyone in the venue that night would agree.

 

One significant factor making Sharon's hi-octane performance so extraordinary was that she was just four months removed from debilitating chemotherapy treatment, as she had been battling the usually fatal pancreatic cancer.  I've had chemotherapy and can tell anyone that has not that it utterly kicks your ass.  For months after my treatment I had zero energy, some days barely able to put one foot in front of another, so full recovery from what is effectively being poisoned is slow and difficult.

 

Not for Sharon, it seems!  She danced so hard all night that all I could do, understanding what she had been through, was marvel at her superhuman stamina and shake my head in disbelief at her commitment to putting on the best show she possibly could.  Most admirable of all that she was not in the slightest a vain woman, so even though having lost all her hair during chemo she refused to wear a wig or disguise it in any way, so her head was covered in a light fuzz as her hair began to reappear.  To my mind, this made her all the more beautiful and impressive a human being, but it is important to note what a tough, tough lady this was.  It is not just anyone that can conquer pancreatic cancer, but then not everyone has the grit to work as a corrections officer at the notorious Riker's Island facility in New York, or as a guard on armoured Wells Fargo cash trucks.  Sharon did. 

 

After the show, compelled to soak in some of her inspirational energy, we decided to go hang out in the merchandise area of the Alix Goolden Hall where it is common in our experience for visiting musicians to meet fans to sign stuff and pose for photos.  It was, as you would expect, busy with excited fans wanting to meet this remarkable woman, and we were as anticipatory as anyone present.  Out came Sharon from a side door, only to be mobbed, respectfully I might add, by a gaggle of adoring fans.  We just stood back and watched in awe as she worked and controlled the room, aware that a lot of folks wanted a piece of her after an exhausting night's work.  She visibly made note of everyone, including us, that were patiently waiting to say hello, gesturing that she'd be with them 'in a minute.'  As she made her way towards us, she signed something for a couple, then span round to greet us.

 

Sharon was (I will find it difficult for a time to refer to her in the past tense) a tiny woman, but muscularly built like a pitbull terrier.  She also had the most beautiful imaginable smile, and exuded warmth and compassion.  She also commanded the room with such authority that when she was talking to someone, everyone waiting stood back to await their turn, giving space to show her and the recipients of her attention the respect they and the situation demanded.  I don't think I've ever seen that before.

 

So, it was our turn.  We both reached out to hug her, and overcome with emotion I clumsily called her 'sister' when telling her I was a three-time cancer survivor, and that I found her an inspiration considering the hell she had recently been through.  Sharon answered by saying that she hoped to God she wouldn't have to go through such a nightmare as I had endured, hugging me again and tenderly touching my face with her left hand.  It was truly one of the most profound moments of my life, a huge deal for me that is scorched into my memory and will remain there vividly until my own time is up.

 

Susan's turn then came, with more hugs and beaming smiles from both, then with trembling hands I took a couple of photos of these two women I love, but then we had to withdraw to let others bask in Sharon's humanity.  Dazed, we made our way back to the car, barely able to articulate to each other our feelings about the show and meeting its incredible star.

 

When the November 13th death of Leon Russell was announced, I said out loud to my boss Steve that I hoped against hope that I was wrong, but bet that Sharon Jones would be next.  I just felt it.  Five days later, she was dead, and like so many millions of fans of one of the greatest soul singers of all time - who broke through so late in life to give hope to those who might feel their chance has gone - I was heartbroken.

 

When it was reported back in September last year that Sharon's cancer had returned, I thought it would only be a matter of time.  And so it was, but she fought to the bitter end with all she had, and exited this world with grace, singing gospel songs with her band around her hospital bed, before a second stroke in the space of days silenced her amazing voice forever.

 

There's not much else I can say, but there will always be Sharon's great albums, legendary live performances, and personally speaking the precious few minutes we spent in her beautiful company.  If anyone reading is unfamiliar with her brilliance, just watch this mindblowing, fan-shot video (hence the shakiness), filmed at Stade de France in Paris on June 30th, 2011.  Sharon and the Dap-Kings were opening for Prince at his request, and holy moly what a show that must have been.  There they are, sharing the stage, two musical giants that have both left us in this strange, stressful year.  It is one of the most exciting live music videos I have ever seen, and you will know I've seen quite a few.

 

Thank you Sharon, thank you Prince, for everything you gave me during your lifetimes, and will continue to give me during mine.

 

        

 

  

 

Are You Lost in the World Like Moby and Me?

 

I just watched this gorgeous video for the first time less than half an hour ago, and in doing so felt both smug and an odd kind of relief.  I talk on a tediously regular basis about the insane technological obsession our species is gripped by, but feel ever more isolated from the world in doing so.

 

Not that it bothers either of us in the least, it sometimes feels like Susan and I are the last people on earth to succumb to the highly addictive spell cast upon humans by these calculatedly slinky, sexy smartphones, and we gaze in despair at more and more people glued to their devices, unplugged from their surroundings, everywhere - as in everywhere - we go. 

 

In Victoria yesterday we (including our visitor Lisa, who owns a smartphone, but has barely touched it since she arrived) watched in fascination and sadness as a zombified public wandered about, cradling their phones before them, or just gawping at what was on the screen.  We all talked about it, at the time and later on, aghast at what has happened and is happening since these things were invented. 

 

So, a video such as the one above, for the Moby & the Void Pacific Choir song Are You Lost in the World Like Me?, seems to deliver some vindication of my thoughts and feelings on the matter, but also a degree of comfort that I am not alone.  Moby has always been a political animal, never shy of airing his feelings via his music, and it is clear from this beautifully animated (I am guessing deliberately) retro video (in reflection of more 'innocent' times) that he feels exactly like I do.

 

Anyway, watch the video and make up your own mind.  I think it says a lot about the modern world, not just from the perspective of technological addiction, but also the pressures and intensity of modern urban life.    

 

Kwinkydinks 2

So, our wonderful friend Lisa is here and we are having a grand old time.  But, in the wake of my "Kwinkydinks" post about the amazing coincidences that regularly come our way, with Lisa another has arrived.  Noticing the tattoos on my arms, she said, "I love tattoos and have eleven.  Do you have any others?"  "Yes," I said, rolling up my pant legs to show her the hummingbird on my left leg, and the maple leaf on my right.  Lisa looked at me, shocked, and said, "Look at this!"  She took off her left sock to reveal a pretty hummingbird tattoo, and lifted her right jeans leg to reveal a scattering of leaves around her ankle.  We both have hummingbirds on our left legs and leaves on our right legs...

Really, what are the odds?

And yesterday in Victoria, in Lisa's company, everywhere we went in the city we kept running into representations - paintings, plush toys, t-shirts  etc. - of one of Lisa's favourite creatures, the narwhal.  Unless at this time narwhals are a 'thing,' some kind of trendy creature in popular culture for some inexplicable reason, there were just too many encounters with them yesterday for it to be extraordinary coincidence.

Hmmm...

Reunions

There are many wonderful benefits to living in such a beautiful part of the world as Vancouver Island, but one we really appreciate is that people line up to visit us here!  Since we landed on this rock almost a decade ago we have been fortunate to receive visitors from all over the place on a fairly regular basis, but it is particularly rewarding when folks from our old lives, especially from our/my time in England, make the effort to come see us.  We know it is not a cheap passage, so we are always very grateful indeed when it happens.

 

This year has been really good for visits from friends old and new, but soon and into 2017 it is about to get even better.  Next weekend a lovely woman I have known for twenty years is about to drop by as part of a longer visit to Canada and the US.

 

I met Lisa in 1996 in unforgettable and bizarre circumstances, and although in the interim - because we have always lived in different cities (and now, countries) - we have probably only hung out a dozen or less times - she remains a quietly huge presence in my life.  Because I met Lisa, the dominoes started to tumble, and my life changed enormously as a consequence.

 

In 1996 I was travelling around the world for a full year, and when on the island of Java in Indonesia I was privileged to visit the astonishing city of Yogyakarta.  One evening I was standing on the balcony of the hostel that was home for a time, watching smoke rising from, and a glowing orange 'dribble' of lava moving down the side of, Mt. Merapi, way off in the distance.  Merapi is an extremely active, sometimes dangerous volcano in one of the most volcanic regions on earth, so although utterly mindblowing to me this was a fairly common sight to the locals.  As I watched in awe, a young woman came up the stairs, said hello, and asked what I was looking at.  "That!" I replied, pointing at Merapi.

 

My girlfriend and I continued travelling around Java, bumping into Lisa and her then boyfriend, Tom, elsewhere, then we arranged to meet in Jakarta and see the sights of that insane city together.  After Jakarta we parted ways after exchanging contact details, and vowed to reconvene when back in England.  Lisa lived, and still lives, in London, but continued to travel for quite some time after we returned home in February 1997.  Long story short, she eventually visited me in Brighton, bringing with her her best friend, Julie...and all these years later  Julie is one of our favourite people on earth.

 

Julie ended up moving to Brighton, and into a house with my ex-girlfriend, who I had been travelling with.  Soon after that Julie's boyfriend followed her to Brighton, but - even longer story short - they eventually split up...and he and I started sharing an apartment!  This was Tam, son of Elton John's guitarist, Davey Johnstone.  (I know, I couldn't make this up!)  And on the dominoes fell...

 

Anyway, I haven't seen Lisa for around 13 years, and Susan has only ever met her once, so we are thrilled for this visit, even though it will be brief.  I love reunions and this one will be special. 

 

Even better is to come in August next year when my dear old friend Shemmi, from my years in Birmingham, will be headed our way for a three day stay, with his beautiful wife Charn and their two adult children, Suresh and Zeeta, whom I have never met.  I was at Shemmi and Charn's wedding 33 years ago, but have not seen Shemmi since 1989, two years after moving to Brighton.  I am so excited about seeing my dear pal, who has been suffering with his health, that I feel like I could puke or weep when I think about greeting him and his family off the ferry.

 

Time marches on and these long-overdue reunions are the perfect illustration of that fact.  It is almost unfathomable that it is so long since I was in the company of these wonderful people, just as it is that almost ten years have passed since Susan and I arrived in Nanaimo to start anew.  But, all in all, these are anniversaries and events to celebrate.  Life is so short and, as has happened so devastatingly to several friends of ours in recent times, it can change for the worse in an instant, so we must grasp and embrace these happy times with long-lost friends when they come along, as there is no knowing if we will ever see them, or they will see us, ever again.    

The High Priestess of Soul

 

Prompted by the summer release of the 7-CD boxed set, The Phillips Years, a period during which she was at the absolute peak of her considerable powers, I have been revisiting the catalogue of the unique Nina Simone in a big way of late.  I would actually go as far as to describe this rediscovery as bordering on obsession, as I just cannot get enough of her remarkable music to the extent that I am on a committed path to gradually picking up every album of note from the forty-odd she released.

 

It feels timely to be listening to Nina so heavily right now, and learning all about her crazy life.  (Rather than ask me about her, just watch the wonderful documentary, What Happened, Miss Simone? - just released on DVD with a best of CD - to see what I mean.) 

 

But what do I mean by 'timely'?  Well, concerning the recent spate of totally unacceptable deaths of unarmed African-American citizens at the hands of trigger-happy cops, to be by coincidence immersing myself in the music and messages of a woman who was so deeply involved with the Civil Rights Movement that she ultimately became viewed as a black power icon can only be termed thus.

 

Initially following the non-violent doctrine of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., when - like any sane individual, of any colour - Nina had had her fill of the lynchings, police brutality (yeah, nothing has changed), segregation and abusive daily racism, she changed her tune, so to speak, to become ever more militant in line with the revolutionary Black Panthers.  To this end, I wonder what the woman who was inspired to pen Mississippi Goddam would have had to say about these recent tragic events?

 

I try hard to desensitize myself from the evils of this world, but - resigned to the fact that wherever there are humans there are problems, that there always have been and always will be - I try to get on with my life as best and peacefully as I can, yet keeping myself informed.  Listening to Nina Simone has stirred up my interest in the Civil Rights Movement once more, as it's a subject and period of American history I read extensively about when travelling in the US many years ago.  If your interest is aroused, I would heartily recommend seeking out the book Free at Last? The Civil Rights Movement and the People Who Made It, by Fred Powledge, as a starting point.

 

At the end of the day, though, music is a healing force, and as much as I might consider the motivation behind the lyrics of many of her most angry songs, I am able to simply enjoy the extraordinary power of one of the most breathtaking performers the world has ever seen without getting too fired up and raising my blood pressure higher than it already is.  I could have chosen any one of a ton of clips to illustrate this (especially, oh my, the incredible Sinnerman), but the one at the top of this post will do nicely, especially for anyone who has somehow yet to experience the one-off genius that was, and always will be, Miss Nina Simone.  

 

 

Pokemon Go...Away

Although not done for another week-and-a-bit, this sweaty August of 2016 has been quite a month.  It has left me exhausted.  So much has happened personally, professionally, domestically and internationally that I could have chosen a hundred or more topics of interest or concern to write about.  Yet I keep coming back to one extraordinary image that has lodged in my mind, being the one you see above.  It is a painting called "Control" by the controversial Polish 'political art satirist and philosopher,' Pawel Kuczynski, and because of it I must once again vent my spleen at the modern world.

Being one who deeply appreciates satire in all its forms, therefore in the art world obviously a fan of such as Banksy, I have been aware of and interested in Kuczynski's work for some time.  Yet although I love his painting style I cannot pretend to understand everything he does, but when his work is as direct as the painting above it can have quite an impact on me.

Because of my persistent vocal rallying against the effect that personal technologies - particularly smartphones, Androids and their ilk - are increasingly having on humankind, effectively turning us into a species of zombified slaves, I am often accused of being a luddite.  But I am not a luddite: I embrace and am amazed and deeply impressed by certain technologies - especially, for example, those aimed at improved health care.  Some of these things are brilliantly designed and, even if I have no desire to own one, I readily acknowledge their uses.

As I say, it is the effect that such as smartphones have had on human behaviour, and how we have allowed it to happen, that disturbs me.  Body language has completely changed, as owners of these things wander around cradling their precious devices in their palms, like Linus' blanket, thinking for all the world they look cool, important, and too 'busy' to interact in the 'real world,' with real people.  But they do not look cool - they look rather sad and pathetic in their reliance on these things to the extent they cannot bear to even put them in a pocket or bag.  And walking up the street, traversing a crosswalk, socializing, driving, the world - except Susan and I, it seems - is glued to its little screens, hypnotized by whatever crap it displays.

We are big fans of the show Parks and Recreation, and recently watched an episode in the 5th season called Sex Education, in which the character Ron Swanson (played by Nick Offerman) takes the character Tom Haverford (Aziz Ansari) to a remote cabin to wean him off his Internet and device addiction.  It was brilliantly written, as always with this great show, but the truth is there are millions of people that are genuinely addicted to their devices to the degree that this global problem has spawned addiction clinics specifically to deal with it.  I don't know about you, but I find this astonishing.

Go ahead and Google the phrase 'internet and device addiction clinics.'  You will find such as the reStart Centre for Technology Sustainability, whose homepage bears the legend, Connect with life, not your device.  Then at rehabs.com you will find a directory of the best Inpatient Internet Addiction Rehab Centers, giving you a choice!  There's even a Wikipedia page for 'Digital Addict,' and so it goes on and on.  It is a part of modern life that is here to stay, and other than using this computer I type at for emails and work, I am delighted to possess the strength and utter lack of interest in all this crap to have not succumbed like so many millions have...

...which brings me back to Kuczynski's painting.  I have observed in bewildered horror at the sudden surging popularity of the 'augmented reality' 'game,' Pokémon Go.  Augmented reality...think about that.  "It gets people out of the house, into the fresh air, exploring their area," said one person I know who shall remain nameless, lest I embarrass him.  Really?  People need to find and capture fictitious, dumb creatures - that, I repeat, do not exist - in order to get into the open air, enjoying their community, nature, and a healthy lifestyle?  Well, I'll be damned.  

I read in equal parts amusement and despair at the imbecile in England who has quit his job to play Pokémon Go full-time.  Have fun, dude, while those of us who have no choice sweat and toil day in, day out in order to pay the bills.  And I read in horror at the deaths, car smashes, and other serious incidents that have occurred as people play this dumb game.

"Control," then, is a painting that for me not only brilliantly portrays the slave-like aspects of the Pokémon Go phenomenon, but is representative of addiction to any and all technology of this nature.  This is a very serious problem, one that is never likely to go away as programmers and app builders continue to devise ways of keeping the populace glued to their screens and hungry for whatever bullshit they are force-fed next.  ""Ooh, an app that replaces all heads in photographs with images of turnips!  Gimme!"

I will not be amongst the populace in this way, content to plough my curmudgeonly furrow against this shit until my time is up.  Truly, if I am the last person on Planet Earth not to own a device and get sucked into this rabbit hole, that will suit me just fine.

Plumpocalypse!

Each summer since we moved into the house we have gradually improved our garden in one way or another, becoming more successful at growing certain veg, and learning a whole lot as we go.  This year, for example, our first attempt at growing potatoes has resulted in among the sweetest spuds I have ever tasted, while certain types of tomato plants that have been a hit with bountiful harvests in summers gone by have just not taken.  We guess with the odd, untypical weather so far this summer that some plants are confused and decided to just give up.  Who knows, but it's all part of the trial-and-error fun of cultivating an ongoing garden.

Although it takes no sewing or tending effort whatsoever on our part, one thing we have yet to cope with, however, is the harvesting of PLUMPOCALYPSE!  Hanging over our yard from one neighbour is an enormous plum tree that, without warning, at any given point in late June or early July, suddenly starts shedding HUNDREDS of plums a day, landing on our yard.  We are never ready for it, but when it starts we know we're in for a busy time clearing them up, as well as a mess from the ones that split open upon impact.  As they have fallen, rolled a bit in dirt and dust, we have thus far been unable to salvage any of the fruit.  The huge tree also sheds scores of plums outside our gate, doubling the work, but add to this our own plum tree on the perimeter of our property chucking down its fruit, and we have one hell of a lot of plums...er...plummeting to earth each day.

This is not remotely interesting in itself, I know, but perhaps a little more so is that this situation has had us dreaming up all manner of elaborate plans to combat the problem in future, but particularly to salvage a huge amount of perfectly good fruit that we can use and share.  The latest idea is to attach a large tarpaulin to our back fence and neighbour's fence, which are at right angles to each other, using some kind of tripod or elevated thingy at the unsupported corner, allowing the plums to plop softly into its sagging centre, whereupon we can easily collect them every day, and put them to good use.  No doubt other kinds of ideas will come our way, but one thing is certain and that is that this is the last summer when the fruit will go to waste.  Hell, I've even diarized the installation of some contraption we eventually decide upon for early June 2017! (Colour me organized.)

And then, there is also 'Apple-ocalypse!  We have Gravenstein and Transparent apple trees in our side and front yards respectively, and the latter has taken to dropping around twenty-plus apples every day, so that's another bunch of fruit we have to dispose of.  In this instance, the apples are not yet ripe, and immediately bruise heavily or split from worm infestation when they hit the ground.  Despite our religious spraying of our fruit trees with sulphur and lime, in order to stave off potentially overwintering bugs, we have yet to have a decent, blight-free crop of apples from this tree, so the battle continues.  This year, however, for the first time, our Gravensteins are looking amazing, so if they prove to be wormless, that will be a first!

Ah, the challenges of homeownership and fruit tree stewardship!