Opinion

 

16th May,2017

I am a singer, songwriter, guitarist of the old school, who revels in eclecticism, mixing ragtime guitar playing with gentle politics, sharp, steady rhythms with blues ballads, classics with my own material, and taking a pride in playing and singing well. And when willing ears allow I like to chat and make humour, often at my own expense, often by stating the obvious of this world around us, from which emanates much that is laughable. Something of the tranquil past, fighting against the hollow self-aggrandisement of so many people nowadays, and battling the anti-cultured tidal wave of crap that gushes unchallenged out of the usa. A part of me awaits Armageddon, when, stripped of all other means of support and communication, performing artists will have to do what they do, and do it well, with just an instrument and a voice. And audiences, with their headphones barren, will clamour to listen.

Oh, and I play the harmonica in a sling as well………… Of course!

Grumpy old man maybe, but I do still wonder why legislation on alcohol and tobacco were dropped from the 2013 Queen’s speech, why ex-prime minister Blair isn’t in a cell in The Hague instead of lecturing the party he hi-jacked on how they can remain good tories, or why no outside power has ever tried to disrupt the appalling behaviour of Robert Mugabe. What?, they have no oil in Zimbabwe! Oh wow. And on and on.

If we continue to devour the earth’s resources like this then surely soon enough there will be nothing left. Just look at it. Capitalism requires economic growth. It must be evident to even the most blinkered of our leaders that we cannot grow forever. At some point there must be an alternative. For the good of everyone that should be sooner rather than later.

I like to sing ‘Eve of Destruction’, the PF Sloan written, Barry McGuire hit from 1965 in my pub set. It rocks along and without making huge efforts of interpretation its theme is pretty contemporary – intolerance, and racism, possible global destruction, deceit by politicians, ……….“the pounding of the drums, the pride, the disgrace”.