Friday, 1 August 2008

After the gig

Clattering over cobble stones with my gear. Uphill for just one more empty street. I percuss my way home with my amp trolley, aware of every bump and change of texture in the dark pavement. I try to go gently, wondering if this nocturnal neighbourhood of open windows and breathing thin muslin curtains is hearing me against the silence of the night, while inside my head, strands of my music soar to jostle and play like they will never sleep again. 

I fling open all my own windows, hear the purring of a lonely taxi waiting somewhere round the corner, and kick off my shoes. Wide awake but weary, I eat a bowl of cereal, flick through the paper without reading it and wonder if I should just stay up all night. 

How it went tonight, the enthusiasm of the new bar staff who applauded our sound check, how we played the edgy new numbers, the surprise conversation I had earlier with a friend when I came off stage and her arms were suddenly around me, the ripping energy of the solo that stunned me as it came to life out of my instrument like it had a life all of it's own -  all these sounds are running in me like parallel trains heading for a distant stations. 

I go and have a quick shower, and as one day swirls and washes away down the plug hole it seems like the spray and the splashes finally overpower the hyper sounds within me. I switch off the alarm, turn out the lights and slowly drink a tall glass of water, knowing that music is going to be playing in my dreams.