I always enjoy those end of year lists and those ‘Best Of’ cover CD’s that the music magazines compile. They are a good way to discover new music I’ve found. As it’s that time of year, I took a trip to my local supermarket in order to bag a copy of UNCUT along with some bananas, chocolate and one of those battery powered air fresheners that delivers a spray of exotic smelling chemicals at regular, pre-programmed intervals.
I lean in past a guy who is flicking through the pages of Guitarist magazine and notice he’s looking at an A4 pic of Jimi Hendrix. He poses a question to me – ‘tell me anyone who’s as good as him’, nodding at Hendrix. For a second or two I’m taken unawares as this guy does not look like your typical rocker. More street drinker if I’m honest, an old guy with a full beard of wild grey/black hair and a somewhat hunched posture. He’s got a kind of Uncle Albert from Only Fools and Horses meets Albert Steptoe look going on. Judgements aside, we fall into conversation. Picking up on my bewildered expression, he starts suggesting a few names, ‘Gary Moore’ he says, ‘No’, I reply, ‘Good, but not as good as Hendrix’, ‘Slash’, he says – we both laugh and he says ‘he’s shit’, ‘Eddie Van Halen’, we both laugh again. ‘There’s no one better than Hendrix’ I concede, ‘in his day maybe Carlos Santana got close’ and he concedes this one
He bats on, ‘what do you think of Janis Joplin.’ ‘That was some woman’ I respond. ‘She haunts the room she died in.’ He said he had learned this from ‘The Paranormal’, which I presume is a TV show. And on it goes, Slipknot are shit, Machine Head are great, better than Metallica. Looking at my copy of UNCUT, he points to the cover pic of Bob Dylan and asks me what I think of him. ‘He’s OK, I’m not a big fan though’ – ‘he’s alright if you’re in the mood’ he says.’ Then he’s back onto Machine Head.
Sensing that I want to get on with my shopping he says ‘I’ll let you go.’ I make for the fruit and veg section, laughing to myself at the thought of this exchange and wonder about this man. I picture him living alone in a sparsely furnished garret somewhere in East Durham with a second-hand hi-fi and his collection of metal albums. I liked him, he wasn’t sad and beaten; the fire still burning, passion in his eyes, different from the norm in these parts – I spotted him on the way out, queuing, waiting to pay for his basket of shopping. If I see him again I’ll tell him I had a look at Machine Head but they’re not as good as Motorhead. He brightened my day. Music connects us, sometimes when you least expect it to.
DownByTheRiver 