Sweet
Jane . . . if I can still call you that . . . and if you still remember the
song . . . if you still remember me . . .
Standin’ on the corner
Suitcase in my
hand
Jack’s in his
corset, Jane is in her vest
And me I’m in a
rock ’n’ roll band . . .
Sweet Jane
Sweet Jane
Sweet Jane [1]
.
. . except that you never wore a vest, and I’m not in a rock ’n’ roll band any
more (long story) . . . But then we never did know what the song was all about
. . . Perhaps only Lou Reed knew that . . .
But
I’m digressing. Which I had hoped not to do this time as – after three failed
attempts – I’ve actually made some notes. And I'm playing music to make up for the inadequacy of my words - other people's music not my own you'll be pleased hear. (For lots of reasons.)
Sooo, what is this recording all
about? Why am I doing it?
The
answer is, I suppose, that I don’t know what else to do. I’m sitting here on a derelict farm, in a less than half-built studio, surrounded by packing cases and
boxes and things for making music (‘So what’s changed?’ I hear you say) – the
detritus of half a century – and I’m slowly climbing the walls. I have to talk
to someone and the only person I want to talk to is you.
It’s
killing this real-life thing, isn’t it? Or perhaps you don’t have a problem
with it. Perhaps by now you’re a fully formed, mature, calm and contented human
bean and are about to click on ‘delete’ and consign this drivel to the great
recycle bin in the sky – or wherever it is that electronic files go when we don’t
want them any more.
But . . . in the hope that you’re still listening, I’ll carry on. So where was I? Yes,
real life. Which started for me about a year and a half ago when my father died. D’you
remember him? Warra nidiot. Although, much as it pains me to admit it, now that
he’s gone I might even be starting to have sympathy for him and recognise him
in myself. Bloody hell.
Damn,
I’m going off track again, and I know how much it annoys you or did annoy you – you with your clear,
concise, well-trained mind. And I mean that as a compliment. One of the
many many ways we were different and apparently incompatible and ‘unsuitable’.
But we knew better, didn’t we? We knew that we loved and needed each other . .
.
My love, she
speaks like silence
With no ideals
or violence.
She doesn’t have
to say she’s faithful
Yet she’s true,
like ice, like fire.
People carry
roses
Make
promises by the hour
My love laughs
like the flowers
Valentines can’t
buy her. [2]
So anyway, the old bastard died and I decided the time had come for me to leave the band and move back to Devon and support my mother. D’you remember her? She always loved you, you know.
Actually,
by then I couldn’t wait to stop all that travelling, all that posturing on
stage, have some time for myself, write more music.
But
the trouble is, now I’m here all I can think about is what a fuck-up I’ve made
of my life . . .
They say I’m
crazy but I have a good time
I’m just looking
for clues at the scene of the crime
Life’s been good
to me so far . . .
I make hit records, my fans they can’t wait
They write me
letters, tell me I’m great
So I got me an
office, gold records on the wall
Just leave a
message, maybe I’ll call. [3]
Yeah, well, apart from all that, my biggest fuck-up was the way I treated you. So I suppose you could say that this recording is my way of saying sorry. (Got there at last.)
I was feeling
insecure
You might not
love me anymore
I was shivering
inside
I was shivering
inside
Oh, I didn’t
mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I
made you cry
Oh no, I didn’t
want to hurt you
I’m just a
jealous guy.
[4]
And
I suppose if it’s going to be a proper apology, I need to go through every
grisly detail . . . which is not a problem for me as I’ve been through them all in my
mind many times over the last few months. I just hope it's not a problem for you.
Incidentally,
I had a thought the other day. It’s not when you die that your life flashes
before you. It’s when a parent dies . . .
And perhaps it all started with that first – and only – visit I paid to your
parents. I could have played ball – for your sake – and my
mother’s. But I didn’t. I was young and arrogant and I thought I knew best.
The
trouble was, I hated everything they stood for. Also, if I’m being honest –
which I have to be with you – I was out of my depth. I’d never met anyone like them before. I didn’t understand the rules. I felt as if I was in a Noel
Coward play without a script.
I could however have done some homework. I could have listened to Ma. I could have read
the book on etiquette she lent me. But
would that have made any difference? I got the impression I was damned before I
even opened my mouth . . .
But
it might have made a difference to me. I mightn’t have been so angry all the
time. I might have been able to help you . . . and we might have stayed
together . . .
I
guess we were both out of our depth.
To tell the truth I didn’t have the
nerve
I know I only got what I deserve
So now she’s taken leave of me today
Her father didn’t like me anyway. [5]
How are your parents by the way?
Which
brings me to my next cock-up: Chris. My only excuse is that I was desperate. You
and I seemed to be getting further and further apart, and she tried to help.
And if it’s any comfort to you Chris and I finished not long after you left. (Damn,
that sounds conceited, as if you needed comfort, as if I still meant something
to you by then, as if I mean anything to you now.)
So
I didn’t have you and I didn’t have Chris, and that’s when I left reality
behind.
Yes,
life on the road is an adolescent boy’s dream (even if I wasn't adolescent in years myself) and, while most of what you might
have come across in the low-life media – if you concern yourself with such crap –
wasn’t true, some of it was. Fool that I was, I thought it was my cure for a
broken heart . . .
And so it came
that I stood disillusioned
By everything I’d
been told
I just didn’t
believe love existed
They were all
just digging for gold
Widows and
bankers and typists and businessmen
Loved each other
they said
But all it was
though was just a manoeuvre
The quickest way
into bed
And so I
followed the others’ example
And jumped into
the melée
In the hunting
grounds of Earl’s Court and Swiss Cottage
I did my best to
get laid . . .
[6]
Meanwhile I
didn’t go home to see my parents except for brief visits for more than thirty
years but then, when my father died, my mother needed me.
I
stayed with her. We talked. And I realised that we’d stopped talking to each
other properly when you left. Perhaps even then – although I didn’t know it – I felt
guilty. I helped her move out of the bungalow and into her parents’ cottage in
the middle of the village where she’d always wanted to live.
Somehow,
what with all that talk, and seeing my grandparents’ cottage again – its long
overgrown garden full of places where we used to hide as children, the tiny kitchen
where Grandma baked us biscuits – and the past exploded over me like a
thunderstorm. I knew I had to come home for good.
So
I bought this farm a couple of miles outside Black Dog (Yup, strange name. I
remember you laughing at it.) and set about renovating it and converting the
barns into recording studios for me and other musicians. At least that was the
idea. I haven’t got very far.
Anyway,
to cut a long story short, one day last autumn as I sat drinking tea with Ma
she suddenly said ‘Did you know that Jane’s back in Devon too?’
‘Jane?’ I said, not sure whether I’d heard
right. Ma and I had by then talked about lots of things, but we’d never got
round to talking about you.
‘Yes, Jane. Jane who you once wanted to
marry,’ she said. ‘I heard about it from Flo – my old schoolfriend - whose
grand-daughter works at the same place as Jane.’
‘Oh,’ I said, trying not to react.
‘And
she’s single,’ said Ma.
I didn’t say anything at the time – I
didn’t want Ma to get ideas - but I couldn’t stop thinking of that news about you.
Which
brings me to my latest screw-up which, ironically, is probably the one I feel worst
about, and I’m afraid it involves Chris again.
One
of my biggest problems since I got here is being alone. The very thing I wanted
was the very thing I couldn’t deal with. In particular I’ve missed the band,
even though I couldn’t wait to get away from them. But Dougie’s bought an
estate in Scotland and moved there with his family, Steve’s still on the road,
working with other people, and Johno’s in rehab somewhere.
So,
after Christmas, I went back to the uni and trawled the department to see if
any of the old lags were still around. (Yeah, I was that bad.) And who should I
bump into but Chris. (I know Chris has her suspicions, but I swear I didn’t
know beforehand that she would be there.) It turned out that she was back in Devon
too, working in the department. What’s more, she’d broken up with her husband
and she too was single.
Now
I was really confused. Fate had to have a hand in it somewhere. Why else would
all three of us be back in Devon at the same time and all three of us free agents?
And the reason for the coincidence, or whatever you like to call it, according
to my warped logic – skewed no doubt by years of so-called success – was that
Chris was there to help me get back in touch with you.
We
stopped for a coffee together and while we were talking, catching up on old
times, this idea came to me, and when I put it to Chris she agreed, because like
before she wanted to help. But as soon as I put it into action I knew it was
wrong and wanted to undo it.
And
what was this idea you ask (if you’ve listened this far)?
The
idea was that Chris and I would pretend to be engaged so that when you heard
about it through the media (if you did) you would be reminded of me - and Chris
- and the past, and shocked enough to take another look at everything. Or,
to put it another way, so that I could approach you without risking myself.
Hideous.
Unforgiveable.
And
now I don’t what to do, and the only person who can help is you.
I’m
sorry. Sorry for everything. I wish I could go back and undo it all. I wish you
were here.
To see you
is
all I want
And all I want
is to see you now. [7]
1 From
‘Sweet Jane’ by The Velvet Underground
2 From
‘Love minus zero’ performed by The Walker Brothers (written by Bob Dylan)
3 From
‘Life’s been good’ by Joe Walsh
4 From
‘Jealous guy’ by John Lennon
5 From
‘Her father didn’t like me anyway’ by the Humblebums
6 From
‘Love chronicles’ by Al Stewart
7 From
‘To see you’ by String Driven Thing
