lunes, 19 de febrero de 2018

Clothes, Clothes, Clothes. Music, Music, Music. Boys, Boys, Boys.

Clothes, Clothes, Clothes.  Music, Music, Music.  Boys, Boys, Boys.  (Thomas Dunne Books, 2014)
by Viv Albertine
England, 2014

Utterly entertaining/bodily fluids-rich punk rock-and-motherhood memoir from original Slits lead guitarist Viv Albertine (b. 1954).  While the pull no punches Albertine can manage to be both amusing and revolting at the same time--"My humiliation is overruled by terror" (59) she fesses up in one early nervous laughter- and squirm-inducing sequence recounting how as a teenager she had to enlist her mother's tweezing and spoon-crushing aid in ridding herself of an infestation of crabs--and the various first generation punk anecdotes were the expected muzak to my ears, what I was increasingly appreciative of by the end was less the juicy tidbits about what it was like to pal around with the likes of the Clash and the Sex Pistols in her adventurous youth and more her openness in laying out how she responded to the more prosaic challenges of motherhood, a failing marriage and a surplus of midlife bullshit once her life went analog to digital age- and youthful exuberance- and fading celebrity-wise.  In short, a very engaging read even w/o the "scandalous" mid-1970s bits about shooting up with Johnny Thunders and what it was like to sort of have sex with a Sex Pistol.  Looking forward to the follow-up.

Viv Albertine then & now (photos: top, David Corio, 1980; bottom, Michael Putland, c. 2014)
When we arrive in Philadelphia, we decide to pay Sun Ra a visit in homage to his great music.  We don't know how to find him so we do what we'd do in England and look him up in the phone book.  Phone directories are inside public phone booths in America, same as England.  We look under Sun, but find nothing, we feel a bit foolish but we also check under Ra, and there it is: Ra, Sun - followed by his number and address.  Someone suggests we call and check he's in (not to ask if he wants to see us), someone else shouts 'No no!  It's destiny, of course he'll be in!'  We all agree we should just take a chance and turn up, so we pile back into the van (Ari, Tessa, Bruce, Steve Beresford, Christine Robertson - who co-manages us with Dick O'Dell - and Dave Lewis, who later plays guitar with us) and navigate through Philadelphia, past rickety clapboard houses with stoops, stopping and asking directions whenever we get lost.  It's Hallowe'en, we're dressed in our usual stuff but the people we stop peer past Christine, who's driving, into the back of the van and ask if those are our Hallowe'en costumes.  We arrive at Sun Ra's small terraced house; it's very ordinary and modest with a front gate, short path and plain front door.  Not what I imagined at all, I thought there'd at least be a plaster planet on the gatepost or something.  We knock, hopping from one foot to the other like children on the doorstep of a birthday party - Christine and Dave stay in the van so we don't overwhelm Sun Ra - no answer.  We knock again.  The next-door neighbour opens her front door: 'You lookin' for Mr. Ra?'  'Yes!' we chorus.  'He's away on tour right now.'  She gives us a quick look up and down and immediately shuts the door.  Still, we got to see Sun Ra's house and Sun Ra's street and talk to Sun Ra's neighbour.  Result.
(Clothes, Clothes, Clothes.  Music, Music, Music.  Boys, Boys, Boys., 236-237)