Crying in the front room.

Evening Strumpets, I was introduced to the guitar at such an early age it regrettably eludes me to post a specific year on this marble to assign it to. Me Uncle Mick, who was my Mothers daft little brother was one of those lucky sods who was born at a time when Rock N Roll was hitting the radio airwaves, albeit restricted certainly in the North West of England, when they were about 15. Can you begin to imagine the experience of, after having survived the Second World War and the grey drabness which that evolved artistically and musically, hearing Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, and of course Carl Perkins, whilst suddenly realising that firstly a libido existed, and secondly, you weren`t the only one with one. Uncle Mick was one of those kids who had a radio which could pick up the oversea`s radio stations. Picture his face the first time he heard "A wop bop a loo bop a boom bam boom!" I often do. He then got the fortune of after having been spoiled initially by this free at last realised new world music, and over the following four or five years becoming accustomed to the usual drab replica with which may have been assigned to "too much of the same" schemata by the original Punks i.e his generation; to be in his early twenties when he first heard a couple of Scouser`s singing about how you should love them do, because you know they love you. You know where I`m going with this. Stones, Zep, Cream, Floyd, etc. I`m introduced to him in 1971. Uncle Mick had shown Our Gary a guitar, but Gary snapped the strings and wanted to know how to restring it. That`s how his head worked, and still does, if I`m being honest. By the time I was old enough; which as previously stated still eludes me, possibly 5 so we`ll say 1976, to see my first guitar in real life (this was the seventies remember) I fell in love with everything about it. Which is funny, because the guitar in question had no strings. It had been given by Uncle Mick to Our Gary and as previously posted had been attacked with a pair of scissors. I loved that guitar. It was huge, and it was ungainly, and it was hollow, but man alive I loved the shape and feel and texture and everythingness about it. Until it was restrung by Uncle Mick and given to me for Christmas in 1978. Now it wasn`t right. It was a real instrument. I`d have to put time and effort into translating the sounds previously Philharmonthropic in my head into the blunt and thubbed notes my soft, oh so soft fingertips would make when pressing the cheesewire like nylon strings onto the drunken Glaswegian hardness of the fretboard of the instrument. My fingers bled. I learnt The Grand old Duke of York and, like a satisfied purveyor of superficiality, I put it under my bed, willing to tell anybody who should care to listen that I could now play the guitar. Which I did, aged 11 and now in Senior School, to a lad called Carl Dalton. We were in the music room at our school, and this time I can tell you what the time was; Autumn 1982. Carl went and got two guitars, one for him and one for me. He proceeded to play, in a note only fashion, the riff of "Another Brick in the Wall". I sat there agog. He was David Gilmour. He was now the coolest person I had ever seen in my life (and he still is if I`m being honest)and he was asking me what I could play. Grand Old Duke of York was not only at that time a million years away, but also as forgotten as that thing the wife asked me to do last night after having had a glass of wine. However one thing I remembered was that if I put my finger on a string and slid it up the neck of the guitar it would make a sound not unreminiscent of how we imagined an erection might sound if the soundwaves allowed. A much more sophisticated use of novelty "bonk on" sound than a ruler, if you don`t mind me saying. Amazingly it worked. Carl just said "cool" and taught me how to play the Floydian "dur de dur dur" which once home resulted in me immediately pulling my dusty and loosely tuned guitar from under my bed and again practicing until me fingers bled. Since then I have become a bit better at playing the guitar, but have remained as ever still in love of Carl`s guitar playing. In 1989 within a month of each other, my Mothers Sister and Mother died which means that my Uncle Micks sister and his Mother died which means that my Auntie and my Nana died. I couldn`t make my Aunty Sheila`s funeral because I had just started Polytechnic, and Mam God bless her had not told me the date as she felt it might be too upsetting, When Nana died I was invited to stay at Uncle Mick`s in Silverdale. By this point like most Hippies, Uncle Mick had done remarkably well professionally and was (still is I think) head of the water board for North Western England. He was neighbours with Geoffrey Durham, a magician known as "The Great Soprendo" who was married to woman called Victoria Wood. He had "a house on the hill", with a balcony overlooking Morecambe Bay. He was also, for the first time I`d ever noticed, very sad. we sat on the balcony, in the dark, sipping sambuca and discussed rock n roll and Django Reinhardt and Stephane Grapelli, and agreed to have a jam the next day. Uncle Mick had a drum kit in his front room (I still think that`s very cool: It was in his FRONT ROOM!!!) and several guitars, bass guitars, amps, pedals etc. I started the jam,as is the way, playing the intro to Johnny B Goode, and we were away. The next two hours, were full of a joy you can only behold if you`re making music. At one point I looked over to Uncle Mick who was enjoying playing a Bass lick over a blues tune, whilst his son held a steady 2/4 on the drum kit, and I kid you not, there were tears in his eyes, though not of sadness. Uncle Mick did not cry at Nana`s funeral, in fact the first time I saw him cry was as we both held Mam`s hand as she lay dying of Brain cancer nearly twenty years later. I`ll be honest, I didn`t cry at nana`s funeral, even though I had loved her as much as the truth loves an outlet. I think we did our crying in that front room, jamming, playing, pissing about. I am blessed to still be in a couple bands with my mates, one of which, as you well know is Carl. Here endeth the lesson. Till the next one, Learn something new. Mark.