Thursday, 26 July 2007

I was in London yesterday filming an EPK (a short informative film for those that don't know) for the release of an album I'm part of by Leo Abrahams called 'The Unrest Cure'... I'll fill you in on this on another post as it's worth a more detailed explanation (I'm listening to it as we speak and it's sounding great).

Being that it was an EPK organised by the record label I was afforded a taxi there and back.  The taxi there was uneventful, I just looked out the window and felt a bit sick.  However, the taxi back was a different thing altogether.  I got into the car not really in the mood for chatting or listening to someone else chatting for that matter....  I looked into my bag to make sure I had not forgotten to lift the album I was given (the unrest cure), and as I searched the driver politely said "have you left something behind sir?" fully intending to stop the car and return to get what I'd left behind... "is it important?" he asked.  I said "well sort of, it's an album I was working on" at which point I found it and announce my relief.

He said "would you like to listen to it?"

I was so tempted to say no because I knew that a conversation would ensue... I know how terrible this is but it's true... anyway, I was overcome by my eagerness to hear the record so I said yes...and left myself open for a pleasant but pointless taxi journey conversation.  You know the sort, after two minutes it a comfortable return to "so have you been busy?"

This was not to be the case...

I found in this man, with a tongue that would cut the nose of a fly from a thousand paces, a deep well... a love of music, art, conversation, family, life... an informed commentator on everything from organised religion to prize fighting -something he was part of in his youth... his hands where like spades - ... a man full of passion yet exuding peace...

The journey should have taken 30 minutes but due to heavy traffic it took the guts of 2 hours.  I wish it had taken longer.  He talked about his tough childhood, his marriage, his children, his repressed anger and his sensitivity to a good song....

As he began to listen to the album I sang on he asked had I produced it.  I said no, I sang the last track on it though.  He instantly went to that track saying with the kindest mischievous eyes I think I've ever encountered "I've give you my honest appraisal whether you want it or not!"

He said he like it, but not before telling me where I'd gone wrong.  I couldn't help but smile from ear to ear.

He asked if I wrote my own stuff so I handed him a copy of my album, which he instantly unwrapped and put in the player... I was beginning to wince at this point.  After ever track when it was just about to go onto the next one he said "ah, no you don't... one for you and one for me"  and he'd put on the stuff he had in the car.  A bizarre mix of golden oldies and AC/DC !(?)

When he put AC/DC on he clapped his hands and stretched his arms out as wide as he could in the car and mimicked a rock and roll singer, jeering, drinking beer and spraying it from his mouth onto the crowd then laughing hysterically.  A laugh that was entirely infectious. When he put the golden oldies on (complete with MIDI drums and everything) he sang like a lark.  He sang better that the woman on the CD, embellishing the melody as he saw fit then telling the singer on the CD "come on, keep up Rosie" followed by a rye smile.  At one point during one of these songs we sat in traffic, and he sat there singing beautifully, and loud with his eyes shut tight.  The traffic moved on and I knew horns were about to start blasting from behind us... but I couldn't bring myself to cut short the moment.  There was something about this man that had me hanging on his every word.  He sort of reminded me of my father.

For most people this would be a stressful journey with cars pulling out, others being heavy on the horn and pedestrians walking out in the road at the last second, but this huge ex prize fighter with his ferocious tongue never once showed any sign of annoyance towards this stuff!  Not remotely!  He barked about bad music, the church that had mistreated and therefore misguided him but that was it.  He said he has a lot of anger but it's nicely tucked away in a box, never to be released unless someone offends his family.  I instantly sensed his sincerity.  Not a threat.  No pride was taken in the statement.  It wasn't a testosterone based statement of strength.  Just a fact that he passed on among many others.

What blew me away about meeting the man was driving up my road, the last few minutes of my time in his car.  We had come to the last song on my album.  I had asked him to clarify one of the stories he'd begun but not finished from earlier and he was in full flow, bursting with visual language and gestures... at which point my secret track came on (not that it's secret now) which is my daughter singing you are my sunshine...

He stopped in mid sentence, and pulling into the side of the road he turned the volume right up.  And cried.

He sat and cried!  Not a break down cry.  A quite and dignified cry... not attempting for a second to hide it.  It was like he gloried in it.  Even as much as he gloried in the gory details of his past.

The second the song finished he said "is she 3?"

"She was just about to turn 3 when she did that" I replied.

He nodded smiling, turned the CD player off pulled back out onto the road and burst straight back into the story as if he hadn't missed a beat.  Nothing more was said of it.

I wanted to make something of this meeting.  I wanted to get his number or something, but I'm not sure what that would have meant to him.  I get the feeling, he got back into his car and started singing till the next customer got in and I was all but gone from his memory.

In certain situations from now on, I hope to be more like Tony Matthews, the London cab driver.