Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening
Welcome to Lager Time.
This week I’m on a music theme. I’m slowly working my way through the tracks, mixing them, for the forthcoming More 64s of Boredom, so I talk a bit about that and the bigger questions of why even do this in the first place; for so little material reward.
Answer - I’m still figureing that out but I enjoy it, that’s enough of a reason, for now.
All 5 poems below for those seeing this on Substack - cree.substack.com for those that aren’t
Here’s a link to the Clublife poem (with sound design) I mention
Don’t forget, you can catch me live @ POETRY & POPPADUMS on Friday 27th March, Karmel, Wood Green, London - Murray Lachlan Young, Skye Young, Paul Lyals, Me
Thanks, as ever for listening
Have a great weekend
Peas and taters
Paul
Two tunes no tone
Back when CD’s still sold, I was
working music retail
Gatwick Airport
Early shift
Two teenage girls walk in, family
browsing elsewhere
Older-looking one picks up
An album
Black Eyed Peas
Elephunk
There’s only two songs worth listening to on this
She says with a tone of
authority
‘Oh’ – the other one
Replies, with a
Tone I don’t wish
to discern, even
though I
did
If I was to ask this harsh critic
So which two songs are they?
Most likely, she would’ve named the two singles
Spun dizzy with radio rotation
Adverts and
MTV
I could well have been
wrong of course
Probably wasn’t
though
What bothered me, was the
casual assertion of
informed opinion
While mugging off the
Remaining songs
Without having
Ever heard
them
Most
Likely
when she could’ve
just said
I only know the big ones
So why not give all of it
a listen?
You never know,
You might
Like it
But that requires a
Bit more work
Doesn’t it?
They walked off, in search of
Their parents, I’m sure
They had a great
Holiday, with
Or without
Black
Eyed
Peas
Or
My
Condescending
judgement
School Bus
Sometimes this life has all
the noise of a top-deck
London bus
Packed with school-
Kids, unfiltered,
Rudderless and
Lacking control
Heated particles
Fizzy off hormones
And sugar, fearless
And chaotic
When it’s like this
There aint a lot
One can do but
Sit tight
Grit teeth
clench
Until it all
clears
Iron Signal
My brother sent me a link to this
article about Iron Maiden
The Metal band
I’d half read it on the Lizzy
Line but had to stop and
Switch trains at
Whitechapel
The article was talking about how
They’d never really
changed, what they did
they just doing
it
I was enjoying it.
So got stuck straight
Back into it when I
got on the District
Tube, sat down and continued
To read
This old boy then sits
opposite me, with a long white beard,
hair and of course, a sleeveless denim
Jacket with Iron maiden patches and
Iron maiden bracelets.
Immediately I thought I
need to talk to this guy, let him know
that I’m reading about Maiden.
I didn’t though, like Maiden, I just
Carried on reading and told myself the
gap between us was too big to have
a conversation.
Maybe we didn’t need to
Speak after all
It was
enough
Whistle Posse
At some point the
world got taken over
by a load of kids too
scared to get to get in
the swimming pool
they got hold of the
lifeguards whistle and
went happy hardcore
now, a load of us are
scared to get in, not
because of the
water, though
Clublife
I was never on the rave-wear
hi-viz, facepaint, whistles, weren’t
me, mate
preferred hoods, Stussy, Eko, Evisu
couldn’t afford any of it.
I often wondered how the rude-boys did?
all kitted out in Mosh and Air Max
doubt that many of them were
dealers or rich kids
clothes on tick, most likely
a time when banks would frsibee-out
credit-cards to anyone asking
got me in the end
all that fancy dress looked fun but it weren’t me, mate
my eyes would be on the DJ Booth or
the stage as soon as we entered the place
the PA, The DJ’s, MC’s, the lights, the haze
silhouettes of nodding heads and ravers holding
down their space
the darkness, loved it, mate
weren’t really on the drugs thing
preferred the beers, could deal
with the hangovers
pill comedowns were something else, like the
world got turned inside-out then spat-me-out on
a train platform, some grease-stained chicken box; all
gristle and bone, jaw ache and cold sweats
charlie turned mates into dickheads and
puff was of them of things that was grief to get in
just a few beers for me, mate
got blasted off breaks, bass, double-drops, dub
plates and MC’s spitting lyrics, just wishing it was
me, bopping away, holding down my space, mentally
replacing them on stage
with my face, one
day, mate
