Matty turned off the news report from the Riverside Dome and sat looking at the line of guitars on the wall. This was like a teenage dream come true. First week at the guitar shop. He had already sold a couple since starting on Monday. He pulled down an acoustic Fender and started picking a soft, sweet melody. Eve came up the steps from the basement.
“That’s a pretty tune.”
“Thanks, I guess,” he muttered, looking slightly embarrassed.
She laughed. “How come you aren’t at the Riverside Dome tonight? I hear Bring Your Ghost to the Fire are playing?”
“Oh, Eve, mate. A guy was in this afternoon, claiming to be Hubie’s guitar tech. I used to fucking love that band. The first album was like a slice of life-saving, street-level, tough rock and roll with a big heart.”
“Oh, I know, I loved that. It’s weird. It’s an album you could fire up at a party, or on your own at 3 a.m., and it still hits.”
Matty looked up from the guitar. “You serious? You love that album?”
She looked at him, a little surprised. “I knew you were one of the fucking good ones.” She laughed, and he started playing the opening riff to “Howl on the Lonesome Road.”
“Holy fuck,” she smiled and started singing the first verse:
‘Has been, used to be, doesn’t make a difference, We’re here in this moment, and by God, you got to live it.’
They both joined in on the pre-chorus, Matty reaching for the note: ‘Hey now, can you hear it? The sound of the universe, The sound of whatever’s left, To lift us up.’
Eve smiled. “That was the best.” Matty was nodding his head. “How did they go from that to ‘Boogie Pants’?”
She sang: ‘She got the boogie, Boogie pants, Boogie woogie, Boogalicious, Boogie woogie bluesy.’
They both started laughing. “Yeah, that’s a bit shit,” said Eve, as Matty played the riff from “Boogie Pants.
“Hey, we could go sing at that open mic,” offered Eve. “Yeah, definitely. I know it’s kind of like they stopped trying. Maybe the record company had too much of a say. You know they like a more commercial sound.”
In this episode of the Whatever Tomorrow podcast I’ve got a new song ‘Shine’ as well as spoken word in ‘Bus Stop Boogie’ and ‘Let It All Be’
*IN THIS EPISODE:* —
00:00 – Intro Music & Welcome 00:54 – Creative Update: New recordings 03:15 – SPOKEN WORD: “Bus Stop Boogie” 05:05– MUSICAL PERFORMANCE: “Shine” (Original Song) 08:13– A thought on art and interpretation 09:00 – SPOKEN WORD: “Let It All Be” 10:05 – Sign-off & Outro
Bus Stop Boogie
Bus stop in the gentle rain, Waiting, Waiting.
Old couple arguing about something, nipping at each other.
Dressed like they are on a hill-walking expedition in monsoon season for the trip down to the bingo.
Sharing a packet of Wotsits.
The wet grass. Cars rolling by in the street, Turn up the volume, Ian Dury and the Blockheads Burst through my headphones.
And I’m traveling, Borneo, Bordeaux, Fantastique.
Feet tapping, Moving, Near ready to fly. Suddenly, shoulders start going, And the arms,
Like a dad dancing special at a wedding,
I’m moving.
The Missus is over the road walking a dog, Chuckles and gives me a wave. Saxophone solo hits, I give her a wave back.
And I’m moving like Jagger,
Moving smooth like an old soul band, Busting some moves like Sam and Dave, Found the 46-year-old version of the splits, I’m channelling James Brown.
The lights are on at the bus stop, Like a late-night club.
Me and her are dancing together, She always was a great dancer, Natural rhythm, Her perfume.
The dog’s the DJ, Spinning the songs, Looking at us like,
“You got this.”
The old couple are boogying together, They used to do salsa, They announce, “You young ones are missing out,”
They laugh.
As me and my lady dance closer, Slower, As the beat hits,
And we are dancing down The Champs-Élysées, Santa Fe, Troon Bay, Roses and fireworks.
We hear the bus, but it can wait.
At least a beat.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
Let It All Be
I see an advert at the bus stop.
The open road of the USA, highway stretching through Monument Valley.
Nah, I’d rather be here.
On the bus, headphones alive, listening to something real —
like Traquair and the Tranquilizers, or Steve Adams singing, “Have you washed your hands?”
Heading to Irvine beach in the peelywally Scottish sun.
The kind of day you need sunscreen and a hoody, just in case.
The old town is alive with sun seekers, joggers, families and old ones.
Down those old roads, along the harbour.
Smiles at the Hac. I get the feeling that might be my kind of place.
Past the ghost of The Big Idea, drawbridge up.
I’m going to walk from Irvine to Barassie along the beach.
The water slowly rippling in, the sound of seagulls, and the further along you get, the people fade away,
and it almost feels like you are alone.
Arran in the distance, keeping a watchful eye.
Jumping over the streams and sandbanks, the occasional dog sprinting past, chasing his ball.
Wee man just scored the winner, 20-18, in the garden cup.
When did he get so good?
Running circles ’round the old man. Rainbow flicks and nutmegs. Almost make me wish I’d gone easier on him in those first games.
Hear you calling from the kitchen: “It’s ready!”
Toasted cheese or roasted cheese? Cheese on toast… We never could agree.
And a spot on the couch, your smile, your laugh, as you steal the best seat.
Your eyes smiling, 20 years of love, as you turn on the TV. Everyone Loves Raymond, family favourite, a Channel 4 special, familiar as the Ayrshire rain.
Writing lists: Top 5 songs. Top 5 taxi rides. Top 5 bars. Top 5 boozy nights I can remember…
Top 5 places I woke up.
At the bar: As the light stole in, Like a thief. Her smiling, We need to get out of here.
In her bed: Ayrshire Rain at the window, Our bodies tangled. Under the covers. Never want to leave. I have to leave now.
On a bench outside the station: With the rain coming down. And a note in my pocket. And a ticket home. And a hangover. Like an old friend. And the ticket inspector looking confused, Did you sleep here last night?
Aye pal, with a guitar case for a pillow.
Now I just need to hear the rhythm of the train tracks, Like a steady snare.
On the beach: First rays of an Ayrshire morning Guitar next to me, Notebook filled with songs. Dreams. Early walker looking at me like, What the fuck?
Here with you: I’m older now, I was younger then. I’ve learned a little, Just enough. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.
Paul Andrew Sneddon 