Dancing is Freedom

For the late-night dancers in ‘Lunched Out Lizards’ & ‘Molly’s Bar’, WOMAD UK, July 2017.

I have always loved music
and
when I was younger
I loved it so much I wanted
To possess it
Drink it in
Own it and know it was mine.

I’d always ask
‘What’s that tune?’
‘Who is it by?’
And rush out and purchase it.
Owned
Or so I thought.

I’d watch the boys and girls
Who could effortlessly create
Music
With something like
An envious rage

I would try to emulate or replicate
Musicians, singers, DJs
But my efforts would be a pale fail

Hell.

I’m older now
And have learned
That possession was a false path
My role was never to own
Or to create music

I love it just as much as I did then
But I now know that my role is
To let it wash over me
To caress me with its beauty and power
Until I reach a point where it
Releases my singular purpose.
My talent.
My destiny.

I dance.
I shimmer. I reflect in movement
What music says in sound
I open my love organ
And breathe in music
Then breathe out motion sheathed
In blissful affection for the world
And all alive in it

Touch me while I move
And I will show you
The kaleidescopic possibilities of love

And joy

So no.
Me, you –
We’re not creators, curators
Beatmerchants or such.

But we dance

And dancing is freedom –
Dancing is love.

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Dinner-On-Wye

I was sat beside Robert
Roland. He was stripping away
The layers of convention and
Getting to the heart of
His belief in the soul.

He drank champagne
And spoke like it too.

I tripped over the
Extended leg of Lev
He made a joke about
Particles and interference
I made an uncharacteristically
Witty and urbane
Response. He rewarded
Me with conversations
About worlds.

I talked poetry, language
And Africa with Janne,
And God with Peter Atkins

Mary Midgley was there too
And I had to keep them
Apart. She winked at me and
Bared her right bicep.

“I’ve a wicked left hook”
She twinkled mischeviously.

Then Steve burst into the room
Verbally jousting with Tankus
And the Henge. The Correspondents
Appeared and Justin rose from
His dining position and
Manned the decks.

Bruce leapt onto
The table and kicked
The crockery on the floor.

A plate struck Hilary on
The temple and I
Thought he was going to cry,
But with a surprisingly
Deft manoeuvre he jumped
Onto the table top and showed
Mr Bruce how to soca-rumba.

By now Roland was flirting with
Janne and Paul was showing
His muscles to Susan.

David Nutt was rolling spliffs for
Everyone in the kitchen
While Steve Fuller attempted to
Deconstruct the goings on.

The psychologists danced with
Each other and tuneless
Physicists sang.

I ordered another bottle of Perrier
Jouet and took one of David’s joints.

It was going to be a wonderful night.

The End Of The Groove

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In The Groove. Photo by A. Nowell

James Brown famously recorded a track entitled Doing It To Death. I discovered this tune as a young man in my twenties (via my younger brother who was a huge JB fan). I loved the attitude that this record suggested, and I felt that it reflected my then hedonistic sentiments entirely. In the midst of sweaty, 1980s dancefloors – and while surrounded by my peers who were also creating intricate physical interpretations of a 4/4 rhythm – I vowed that, like Mr Brown, I too would being doing it until death. The it which I was pledging to do was to dance, to dig music, to be funky. How, I thought then, could life be worth living without the appreciation of funky and soulful music. I reasoned that even if septuagenarian dancing became painful and difficult, I was still going to attempt it – just to show the world that I was still alive.

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The Irresistible Lure of the Linear

Straight Line Cityscape

Straight Line Cityscape – Photo by Montag

Straight lines.

Great aren’t they?

With straight lines we build barns, houses, bridges and roads.

With ruler – or straight edge – in hand, our engineers design piston rods, pipelines, train tracks. Even artists use them to help create the illusion of perspective.

The humble straight line has been responsible for countless advances in the modern world.

Take the wheel, that shining exemplar of the non-linear. Wheels often only make motion possible through the use of spokes or axles. That is, straight lines.

No wonder then that we’re obsessed with the linear. But it’s not all good.

A word of caution, if I may.

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L’Instant Présent

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Live For The Moment – Photo by Montag

If you have read any of my other pieces on here or elsewhere, you might rightly reach the conclusion that I am utterly in the thrall of the philosophy which is known as existentialism.

Indeed on this blog alone, there’s one essay entitled Existentialism In The Age of Social Media and frequent references to this intellectual love-child of Jean-Paul Sartre in many of the others. I have written existentialist articles for my other blog but I can provide no proof due to my insistence on doing a Banksy and keeping the Montag identity a bit of a mystery.

It would be easy to think then, that existentialism is the philosophical substratum to my waking life and that it underpins my thoughts and deeds in the way that a good, practical philosophy should. The truth is that this is not completely the case. It is true that I am a great admirer of existentialist thought, but this is mainly because it gives contemporary expression to aspects of a much older philosophy which has informed my behaviour through the majority of my adult life.

Here’s the story.

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Freedom Lost

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Wood For Trees – Photo by Montag.

I was lucky.

I was born in the nineteen-sixties.

I grew from babe to child in the second half of that decade, and matured into a teenager during the colourful and spectacular nineteen-seventies. I consider this timing to be fortunate because it seemed to me then – and still does – to be a time in which the populace were not afraid to experiment. My impression is that the middle years of the twentieth century were alive with new ideas as well as the motivation to live them. Most importantly (and especially so from the perspective of today), denizens of that time seemed prepared, if the ideas they wished to live required it, to go against the accepted grain.

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Jazz. Rooms.

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Original Jazz Rooms poster from 1995

It is nineteen ninety-three perhaps, or maybe ninety four.

Whatever the year, it is certainly late. It is nearly one o’clock in the morning.

We are in a dark roughhouse basement room. The walls are carelessly painted in a matt black emulsion as are the wooden benches that occupy various spaces around the perimeter. However, it is far too dark to make out any of these features clearly. There is also the odd cluster of more comfortable seating – little wooden stools with upholstered seats, and maybe a low table amongst them. That is as good as it gets here.

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