SF. Pt 7b. The Jazz Club.

River of Shit indeed. It’s the old teenage Angst thing again innit. Nobody understands me. Nobody cares. Just me, all alone on the River of Shit. Vastly exaggerated too. Yes Arthur was lonely but he’d come to accept it as the natural human condition.

As you’ve probably gathered by now I don’t like to get too analytical about things. I leave all that clever stuff to people with educations so it’s no good asking me to account for what attracts two people to each other. I wouldn’t know where to start. But without going too deeply into the nature of friendship it’s possible to say that Arthur had one friend at school. His name was Simon. I suppose they were friends. Here, I’ll let Simon tell it himself.

Well thanks Dick. I was wondering when I’d get a word in. Yes Arthur did have one friend at school. Me. We met when he showed up at the school jazz club. I’d seen him around of course, we even took the same bus home but he was in 4b so we’d never actually spoken.

Jazz Club? Sounds a bit grand doesn’t it. Actually the ‘jazz club’ consisted of 5 or 6 boys sitting on chairs in a drafty classroom with a gramophone. I started it. The headmaster, ever on the lookout for signs of anarchy, had given his reluctant permission. Looking back I suppose there was a subversive element but nobody saw it that way at the time. Simply put there were enough boys interested in musical developments to make it feasible. So why not form a club to discuss it? The idea was that we could use an empty classroom after school once a week. A gramophone was to be provided, everyone would bring their favorite records and we would have discussions about them. And that’s how it was. We wore the usual grey flannels but we loosened our ties a bit. I, being the founder, actually flipped mine over my shoulder if I recall. That was about as rebellious as we got but I can see now we must have been a seething mass of suppressed hormones. It was a small group at the first meeting and I was the only one that actually brought any records.

So I played my records and explained a little of the music. I remember I’d even made up a primitive chart showing how the music had evolved from African slave music. From Blues to Jazz with people like Earl Bostic and Fats Domino representing a kind of fusion. West Coast this, Delta that, Blues, Jazz, Rhythm and Blues. At first nobody had a clue what I was talking about but there was something about the music that got their toes tapping. Nothing quite like it existed on the English popular music scene at the time.

And that’s how I met Arthur. He sidled sheepishly into the Jazz Club. We’d already covered New Orleans, Sidney Bechet, Kid Ory etc. and I was beginning to get interested in Delta Blues. So I wasn’t too thrilled with the batch of 78s Arthur brought along. Bessie Smith would have been most welcome at the Jazz Club I suggested, even Ottilie Patterson. But not Frankie Vaughan and Petula Clark. This got a chuckle from some other members and made Arthur squirm. I thought he was going to take his records and go home but he stuck it out and we became friends.

I suppose friends is the word. We clicked on some organic level. Maybe because we were both only children…I’ll rephrase that…neither of us had any siblings, and we recognized something in each other. Anyway our fates became entwined.

My father was a shrewd stockbroker cum amateur comedian. Handlebar moustache. He was a perennial star of the local panto. Think Jimmy Edwards. He also drank a lot, played rugger and collected things. I don’t remember his exact words when I took Arthur home, probably something like, “Hello chaps. Fancy scattering some peasants?” Scattering the peasantry was one of Dad’s favourite pastimes. It involved roaring through villages in one of his vintage Bentley’s. This was usually followed by drinks on the terrace under a parasol with his rugger chums. Mum was a quiet woman who seemed to find amusement in everything he did. She would make lemonade for us. Dad would get caught topping it up with gin. Ha,ha. On one occasion he also produced two tickets to a Bill Haley concert. Good old Dad.

Our house was bigger than Arthur’s. Same Mock-Tudor style but more rambling. It was rumoured (by my father mostly) to have a secret passage but I never found it. Arthur took me to his house and introduced me to his parents but he wasn’t comfortable about it. They seemed OK to me. Normal uptight, middle class, English folk I suppose, but Arthur was obviously embarrassed.

You may not be aware of this Dick but I go back to the old school some times to talk to the boys. It seems I’m a kind of cult hero to some of them. A bright new theatre has replaced the dusty gym where we used to have assembly. I give them my potted version of Brit Pop and my role therein. After which I graciously spend some time fielding questions from the next generation of eager young rock stars, record producers, DJs and TV presenters. I know they are looking for tips. Did I have a clear idea of what I wanted to do? No, not really. I was lucky to be in the right place at the right time ( I sense an undercurrent of envy. They know the Sixties were special and they aren’t coming back). How do I feel about Pop today? Love it. Coldplay? Great. Amy Winehouse? Fantastic. Someone, a teacher, asks if I do any charity work. Charity? Who do you think I am? Terry Wogan? That goes down well with a group of Emo types at the back. Then I’m careful to mention a few things I actually have done for charity…suitably downplayed of course. Do I have any regrets? No not really. I could have stuck with the guitar I suppose. People who remember me from those days often ask why the skiffle group didn’t go on to greater things. Why did I not practice my guitar for hours every day like Jimmy Page and Eric Clapton? Dedication I explain. You needed to be dedicated to the music. I was into it but not far enough. Perhaps I may even have had doubts about its longevity. Yes I know it sounds silly given the way pop music exploded but that is how I felt at the time. Banking it was thought offered more security. Rock writing and property development came later. It’s all in my autobiography. Now available in paperback. I even mention my brief stint in the City. Yes, I was one of those nameless hordes crossing London Bridge every morning. So it was hardly a seamless transition to TV personality…in fact I…

Thank for that Simon. You’ve certainly filled in a few gaps. Very eloquently too I may add. And it’s nice to see you’re still the same smooth, lovable, show-off.

My pleasure Dick.

We must have you on again.

I’d love that Dick. Thank you.

You’re welcome.