The fabric of prophet’s ages old
Drones on and gathers mould
Gets a weekly airing from a fool on high
Who talks and talks till his throat’s dry
The Prayer of a Realist.
GBH ~ City Baby Attacked by Rats
I awoke to an amber moment this morning swirling in my mind and like Kurt Vonnegut’s character Billy Pilgrim from the novel Slaughterhouse-Five, I like to dwell and investigate these moments of experience. See if some golden truth is pushing itself up from my unconsciousness to my consciousness.
It may be similar to a grain of sand irritating an oyster or some wonderous pearl. Maybe only linking up a few different generations of people or friends like butterflies taking their nectar from the same sunflower. Is it all randomly placed in time … maybe not? In truth I do not think so. Which gets an old dame to pondering.
Two bands from Birmingham, a major city in England’s West Midlands, brought forth two of my favorite bands. Each band speaks and supports a different generation. The members of the band walked the same streets and knew the smell of their home. Mothers (music venue) linger in both of their memories.
The Moody Blues and Charged GBH were playing the same week. One at the Greek theater and the other at the Roxy Theatre (West Hollywood). They both touched down on southern Californian soil. It was revelatory to me. Just the fact that they were both playing the same week was enough to satisfy my glowing and rebellious soul.
Was this a random event or is there more to the story? What is the possibility of this happening and did anyone else notice this random act of Birmingham music? A mist joining two generations of music ached in my inner being of light and dark particles and both danced and started vibrating to a strange tune.
It was a contrary experience for me. I got two tickets for the Moody Blues. I bugged Ross bass player of GBH to be on the guest list at the Roxy. This was going to happen … I felt it when they both touched Los Angeles County. I think the best feelings are when waiting for a band to play while they are touring. The element of music and surprise and favorite songs playing is a revolutionary experience… even if I am the only one feeling this.
It was so intense that coming week. It was like when I found out that my ‘great Grandfather was born in Middlesex, a historic county in southeast England. It was a big deal for me because William Blake also was raised there as a child, they both walked the same streets at one time. Both sharing the smell of their home. Though I never met either my great grandfather or William Blake they both left me with stories and share in that pleasurable place of my good imagination.
“Piping down the valleys wild
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:
‘Pipe a song about a Lamb’…”
The “Song of Innocence,” ~ William Blake.
Husband was not able to attend the Moody Blues with me. I could not find another at such short time to go with me. I was not strong enough to attend myself. The parking, crowds, and elements of being alone did not appeal to my nature at the time. Maybe in my younger years I would have taken on the challenge by myself. I do regret not going.
We hit my old romping punker ground on Sunset. The streets and the alleys of friends, clubs and running wild in the streets. It was different now. My husband and I had a pizza and then a couple of beers at the Rainbow Bar and Grill. When we got to the Roxy, I found I was not on the guest list and the show was sold out.
Since it was a Goldenvoice event, I spied Gary Tovar and he got us in the show. There I found Ross Lomas hanging out with Dora Sundoval and Alison Elliott.
Ross: “You must have been bumped off the list.”
Hudley: “Do not worry Gary got us in.”
Giving Ross a big hug around his waist I said.
“It is so good to be back and walk the streets of my youth as a wild young punk.”
Ross gave me a look and that was the last time I talked to him.
The aroma of the event was exhilarating but filled with smoke. My husband had a major asthma attack and we had to leave early. The good news is I met up with some punk chicks from a younger generation. We had met up at other shows. The continuity of them going to see GBH made me happy. I’d have to say I think the band most likely prefer these beauties then the old punker I’ve become.
There are times in life when one must pursue a dream. Run to it and become one with it. Other times one needs to step back and let it happen without you.
I read about the Moody Blues in the news after their event. I saw the pictures posted on Facebook backstage with GBH. It irritated me a little but not too much.
I made the effort, yet I guess the random act was not complete. At least I can write about it and share my memories.
What would the Tralfamadorians say?
“There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.”