(I)
A seated study
Blurred still
String-hardened fingertips
Taloned
Slide like live china
Along the frets
Skill
Intent and long
Refined in the bones
*
Astride
And stomping
To beat of skins
Plectrum
In nicotine grip
Skids primal
As loins grind
Soul
Improvises from the heart
And through the boot-heel
(II)
Wing-collared
And funereal
Grand Master
Undertakes classics
Patient eyes
Follow pale hands
Which instruct
Patent feet
Embalming old symmetries
Note for note
*
Open-necked
And pounding
Holy Roller
Rocks his pulpit
Accusing fingers
Vamp and stab
Brimstone chords
Smoke and roar
Pushing the crescendo
Further every time
(III)
Eyes on dots
White-gloved
Sniper
In the distance
Surveys his tools
Waits for his moment
Measures his beat
Selects and strikes
Steadies the vibrations
Replaces and reloads
*
Eyes wild
As sticks are twirled
Tossed and snatched
Above volleys of sound
Power
Locked with bass
Blizzard of cymbal
And crash of pedal
Rolling with thunder
The avalanche of beats
(IV)
Muscular larynx
Flexes
Perfect diction
From banal libretto
Takes up positions
On polished stages
From rich boxes
The elite rise
In measured ovation
*
Leathery throat
Convulses
Slangy melismas
From juvenile lyric
Hips jerk
Almost sacrificial
On sweaty boards
At brandished mike
Surging crowd
Whoop tribal
I hope this poem doesn’t give the impression that I don’t like classical music – because I do (a fair bit of it, at least). In a live context though, it can seem rather clinical and stilted compared to rock music. I’m not certain I had particular musicians in mind when I wrote this, but the classical guitarist is probably Julian Bream who I remember seeing quite often on TV. The rock singer looks like it might be Mick Jagger. The rock piano, however, is definitely being played by Jerry Lee Lewis and the rock drummer simply has to be Keith Moon. I doubt whether he was always ‘Locked with bass’ because he may not have been the best technical drummer ever, but he was surely the most exciting.
The photograph is of one Frano Gryc, an extraordinary musician we saw several times on the isle of Lokrum near Dubrovnik. He plays acoustic guitar with an electric pick-up every afternoon at an outdoor bar-café there. Beautiful rippling classical and jazzy renditions of all sorts of song emanate from him. No singing though and very little talking. The shades and cigs are permanent features of the unsmiling Frano-fizzog. Supercool.
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