(Part One)

****An excerpt from The simpletones Chronicles****

     Four fresh sleeves of Newcastle Brown Ale are seated atop coasters advertising Molson Golden. The year is 1984 and The simpletones are celebrating another terrific session in their usual venue, The Preston Street Lounge, a subterranean cell they share on alternate days with Experimental Farm, a phantom band with more equipment than talent or inclination to play. Thus The simpletones have all the toys for noise and more than abundant amplification in a room with one bare lightbulb and just enough space to unravel a song.

 Ted, Steve, George and Adam resume the topic begun on the not very long walk to the Royal Pub.

 They clink sleeves and George starts. “Talking Heads. Commodore Ballroom, October 7, 1979. That was an amazing show – I also went to see them at the PNE the next day, that was pretty good too. Beautiful bright sunny day. I really didn’t expect to be dancing that much. Hung out with a group of Germans. We were Liepzig – and Danzig with some Polish kids. Great fun, saw how David Byrne uses his guitar as a rhythm instrument. Y’know, I wonder if we should consider auditioning another guitarist to play leads.”

 “Don’t even think about it.” Ted responds sharply. “I got my hands full with the two of you.” He taps a paradiddle on the edge of the thick oak table. “A drummer can only do so much.”

 “I agree. It’s all I can do to keep you two together.” Steve says.  “What about you, Ted?”

 “Bob Marley at the Apollo in Glasgow. Both nights. Uprising. 10&11 July 1980. Dull grey town on the outside, brilliant Rastafari inside.” Ted tilts his head forward, “That’s where I got the inspiration for the Scottish Rastafarian. Wanna hear it?”

 After they hear it, Adam, George and Steve are impressed. So is the  waitress who had rushed to their table to see what was wrong with Ted.

 “That’s wonderful, Ted.” Steve says. 

 Adam is lighting a Dunhill. “Wonderful? As in fills your mind with wonder?”

 “Sorry, I meant to say awesome.” Steve takes a cigarette from Adam’s pack. “I saw Marley at the Agora Ballroom, Cleveland, in June of ’75, Natty Dread Tour. On a polluted and muggy night – oppressive humidity and toxic smog, I wonder if Marley had ever breathed an air so foul. The atmosphere inside wasn’t much better, no ventilation and thick with smoke, roughly half of which was tobacco. The band began a groove with the iThrees that focused all the energies in the room. I had noticed a little guy by the side door I thought he was a stage hand or something. He was wearing an army jacket two sizes too large and dust seemed to be rising from him. Kind of a Jamaican Pigpen from Peanuts, you know, the kid who always has a cloud of particulate matter floating around him. His posture was downcast – shoulders slumped, dusty dreads, barely moving to the rhythm. Fifteen minutes later he was an immaculate giant in the spotlight, a radiant golden lion. Marley transformed the world for us that night. Aston Barrett on bass. No one could stand still – the beat was irresistible… and relentless.”

 “That’s the essence of reggae – all music – the music is born in the beat.” Ted has thought this through: Unhurried melodies emanate from it, funky fragments repeated on guitar, say, or keyboards, while the rest of the band is playing other pieces, the whole assembles itself into a new unity comprised of vibrating interlock like a jigsaw puzzle of sound and the percussion holds everything. Marley’s vocal riffing filigrees itself into five rhythms and drives the assembly into  a towering multi-dimensional architecture, a glowing hologram of African complexity. “Everything is riddim.” He turns to Adam, pokes him in the shoulder, “How about you Mr Singerman?”

 “My favourite concert was David Bowie five years ago.” Adam says, “It was in May. The Montreal Forum. I was late but just sat down when they went into ‘Heroes.’ Migod I was in heaven the whole time. He finished with ‘Rebel Rebel’. 

 Steve: “Saw him at Glastonbury, in June of ’71. Well, saw him is an understatement, we…”

 Adam’s eyes widen, “That’s not possible. His first album wasn’t released until later that year.”

 “Honkey Donkey. Yeah, he was working on it that summer.”

 “Hunky Dory. Do tell.”

 Steve leans back, lights a Dunhill. “After a terrible incident in Cleveland, which I’ll tell you about some other time, I was given a choice….”