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SWG3, Glasgow
28th June, 2024

On a summer’s eve I turned up to Glasgow’s Swg3 to see Dlu who are a Gaelic band, it was a gig to launch their fresh new album ‘Close to’ released 28th June. Their young talent brought about a great night for the venue of epic traditional music transformed into an anthemic rock concert in energy. All hailing from Glasgow the five piece band show cased their talents that hit all the heights of the lower ceiling.

The impressive lighting and other effects had great timing to them and excitingly how they went out between songs was the place went black; Dlu had chosen the right venue.

The sophistication of sound had come from performers more than capable of each fascinating instrument’s contributions, including accordion, elec guitar, fiddle, bass and drum. Their debut album came in 2022 titled in Gaelic ‘Moch’ (early) and soon they brought their music to stage where having a dance in a cool environment the audience were transposed and very relaxed.

The home roots Dlu’s had support from the likewise group Dana. A 4-piece playing music of killer songs fiddle to vocals, words to percussion.

I felt lucky to be at a Dlu’s gig of such significance, nothing like an album launch concert. Called ‘Close to’ it is an inspired album as they bring great traditional music to the forefront of electric sounds. The layout was a decent one, as we enjoyed the high stage. Their presence on it blew to every corner where resisting those jives was impossible. It made a great night of music into an amazing encounter with impeccable original compositions that burst forth into a scene of Gaelic rock.

The effects of the lighting and smoke, showed this really great timing offering something of the ethereal. As their unique take on fusing Gaelic and electric proved to have a quality of making it to the very best it could be.

The set consisted of songs from the new album and they could stand on the success of the debut album ‘Moch’. One overarching power they had was intimacy which in fact is what the name dlu means. Moilidh NicGriogarr’ fiddle was on fire and Aiden Spiers guitar was not to be ignored. The performance impressively stood out with Zach Ronan on accordion, Seòras Chlad on bass and Andrew Grossart playing the drum. Faster pace’s left you tingling in your bones, as the beauty was shared, the crowd filled with joy.

They take to the traditional roots and carry them forward making culture into musical craft. And they have each played their instruments since childhood and have Gaelic School influence. They took these levels and continually raised the bar, having traces of many rock styles from the past 50 years, I noticed heavy metal licks on electric guitar.

Skill and passion were unleashed through songs that could only be described as an evening of, master ship. The smiles were shared by all experiencing truly great moments and impressive creativity and as they played in line (drums at back) sheer beauty billowed from components that I think helped this gig really transcend, they were fit to perform with their outstanding presence.

Daniel Donnelly

Mash House – Edinburgh
24 / 06 / 2024

From Peru to Scotland, making his Edinburgh debut tonight at the The Mash House was the incredibly talented guitar player Manzanita Berardo Hernandez. Born and raised in Peru, Manzanita was surrounded with music from a young age and took to the guitar like a duck to water. Self-taught in the art of guitar playing, he has reinvented the sound of the 60s and 70s Peruvian Psychedelic Cumbia Guaracha for, not just a new generation, but for many generations to come.

It seemed inevitable that Manzanita would end up being a legendary guitar player, especially when he had a musical genius as a Father. One can only imagine the New Year parties in the Hernadez house. This show was surely to be a sun splash of tropical delights.

A very privileged audience filled the floor of the Mash House for a 2 hour journey through the history and the music of tropical Peru , and the sound of South America resonating through the old town of Edinburgh will be a memory many shall cherish for a long time to come. Manzanita has this ability to create an electrifying fusion of slick Latin guitar chords that pulls together this conceptual sphere that transcends his music to another level. Practice makes perfect they say, but dedication makes a guitar hero !!

Los Chichanos are the Edinburgh-based Cumbia legends that were hosting the night, and were the accompanying band on Manzanitas tour. A smooth-silk guitar, uplifting bass lines, percussion and infectious key boards that create the unique sound of the melodies of Lima. Song after song, guitar riff after guitar riff the venue was filled with a mela of dance crazed Latino movers. This was fast becoming a very memorable moment.

Having always loved the music and guitar playing of Carlos Santana, one felt that Manzanita was exceeding that same level. Absolutely mind blowing. With snake-like fingers, Manzanita plucks, caresses , strokes and fondles his guitar strings in a way a have never witnessed before, pure magic. As the heat increased and condensation droplets released themselves from the ceiling above the crowd were truly engulfed in a magical musical wonderland.

This was an experience between artist and audience that is like no other. The story and message within Manzanita songs and playing is educational and profound. Beautiful, warming, and connective, Manzanita has delivered a set with pure love and affection for his guitar and fans. More of this in Edinburgh please.

Raymond Speedie

The Mumble’s favorite Festival!
The Mumble’s favorite Press Officer!
Definitely an interview for the Ages!

Hello Chay – so where are you from & where are you living these days?
I’m from a small village that in Scottish terms is close-ish to Dumfries, called Eastriggs. Although I live in a nearby town named Annan. However, that’s how I preface that answer. Village first. Always!

How long have you been a part of the Eden family?
Can’t actually remember. Maybe 5 or 6 years? I knew Adam Curtis that started Eden from us both having stages at Wickerman, so, it was probably only a matter of time… Dumfries & Galloway is a very creative area. And people tend to gravitate towards each other.

What is your current role?
Press officer. It’s a nice hat to wear as I’ve got a large history within media. And whenever they need me for anything else…it’s a fantastic festival full of passionate multi-taskers.

What do you do when you’re not involved in Scotland’s coolest party?
I have a more normal job in hospitality, which came about because of my background in festivals. Still do the odd bit of journo work as well. After nearly 20 years of booking bands I hung up my boots last year, but, next year, well, I’m getting itchy feet.

Having attended Eden the last couple of years, I can safely say the festival survived the Covid assault on the arts. In fact, last year was one of the best ever – what’s your secret?
How do we do it? Simple answer. With gusto! Eden goers know it’s one of the best festivals in Scotland. The bookers do a fantastic job of trying not to book the obvious. Some bands play just about every festival in Scotland. That’s not really how Eden thinks. It’s about the Eden goers having a seriously good time and thinking about the following year while they are still in The Garden.

For those who have never been to Eden, what have they got to expect from the experience?
Check the above and double it. And don’t forget to be there for the paint fight.

If you could pick any three bands or artists from history to headline the four nights at Eden, who would they be?
I can, in fairness, only answer for myself as all the team at Eden has different tastes. But… Thursday in Rabbie’s Tavern has to be Have Mercy Las Vegas, of course. Then on the Great Mountain stage – Can (Friday), Goat (Saturday) and The Specials (Sunday). Bit obvious but pretty much everything there that you need. Some late night sets from Lee Scratch Perry, KLF and maybe Underworld wouldn’t go amiss.

How’s the line-up looking?
It’s looking great. Having sent it out to a massive mailing list several times and written press releases and various other things, I do work out what I’m probably going to miss in advance…unless I duck out for a bit as I have a couple of family members as my press office assistants.

Has the site got any new additions to the site this year?
The Bodega – Cabaret, workshops… loads. Something that I’m quite excited about as he was (and will still be) MC’ing the Great Mountain, is the Drag Party on The Bodega on Saturday night with Madame Jo Mama & Devine Tension. Shantay you stay, aye?

…& finally, Chay, if there was a mantra for Eden, what would it be?
For me: You are the purveyor of your own good times. We just provide the party. Now go hug a rainbow.

SEE YOU ALL IN THE GARDEN

www.edenfestival.co.uk

THE CAT HOUSE, GLASGOW

The very happening Cat house venue was a scene in itself. Situated right in the heart of city centre it gives you a remarkable feeling as you ascend the luminous stairs going up to the equality lit up first floor, the higher you get up there the more music comes looming in great spirits and as something fluent.

This Thursday night performance was by a young group called ‘Dea Matrona’ headlining and ‘Milange’ to support them. Milange are a Glasgow based band, a four piece that put a skiffle into rock n’ roll and had a sense of heavy metal to be regarded. They are a fairly new act over the last few years, but they have definitely made their beginning having played live a lot and the recordings are starting to come round for them. Their originality was precious as the great many styles and influences came to a wonderfully full musical procession.

After that most enjoyable (decent 40 min set) the crowd got ready, the instruments checked with the lights out, it felt like another greatly successful Glasgow night out. The revelry of music was for not least the many fans whooping in the room.

The scene was highly jovial when Dea Matrona stepped on, with already great gusto in their fine sails, they were the second four piece who had come across the water from Ireland. Having formed in 2018 their rock music of original songs has taken to these fans as a fan is to the flame. The night was perfect for this central yet humble scene in their current tour.

It was clear that rock came from the heart of the two singers, Orlaith Forsythe (bass & vocal) and Mollie McGinn (guitar & vocal) who led the act supported further with an absolute drum and secondary guitar all proving to be a sound most recognisable.

Milange professed to being very happy to be a support to Dea…, and the whole place was under that kind of vibe, friendship and music dancing merrily, with attractive people on a stage. All was overrun with exuberance and dedication that in an exemplary way was given to the shared genre of great rock. Breaking loose of its themes and injecting into it pop styles and heavy metal grooves. Disco balls would have worked well. Their attire was spot on for the modern fringes of rock, not need for 70’s spangler’s, instead making time as travellers in thematic mode’s who connect more with their audience.

Great original writing, performing to a truly enlivened great sense of youth’s accomplishments, so fast, and with every given smile a great throw back to happiness. Glad I saw this rock gig where I really enjoyed my introduction to a most wonderful band. They kicked around the floor opening doors in an act that played to a crowd with effortless ease and destructive beauty.

Daniel Donnelly

King Tuts Wah Wah Hut
Glasgow
05/05/24

Lyra! yes sista! Welcome to Glasgow!

Lyra is essentially a one-woman Mount Parnassus – all the muses are at play within the electric vortex of her creative soul, which explodes upon the stage in sonic supernovas, like the birth of so many stars. Thalia is there, the Muse of Comedy, cosm well, she’s funny as fuck – I mean laugh-out loud funny, as we ride her Irish bantermind in between the operatic performances of her (mostly) self-penn’d songs. That brings us naturally to Erato & Euterpe, the Muses of Music; follow’d by Terpsichore, the Muse of Dance. Admittedly Lyra pulls off some reyt moves, which she describes as ‘bad dancing’, but I’d have to describe more as physical overenthusiasm. Do they not have choreographers in County Cork?

She is also the living incarnation of Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy, especially when she starts rattling on about her ex-boyfriend of whom a good few of her songs are concern’d – think Amy Whitehouse’s epic laments to Blake in Back to Back. But Lyra won’t be going back to her ex, I’m guessing, for the uberpositivity she’s declaring for this year being her year zero, & from now on she’s doing it all her own way, far from the days when record execs were telling her to not to speak inbetween the songs & to lose a bit of weight… no, those days are over, & she is now less than a month into the era after her debut album, the eponymous Lyra, has been releas’d.

Last night we were given fourteen songs; perform’d in a sparkly, pink, disco-era, thighs-cut-away outfit. Of the set, most of the album was there, & a few other gems. Her older classics, New Day & Falling, have been stitch’d into the album, which gives kudos to her ‘appreciation society’ for waiting a good few years for her debut. They are really excellent tunes, them two, a high benchmark to which most of the rest of the album manages to achieve.

With extreme confidence shimmering in every syllable, Lyra was accompanied by a super-tight, yet flourish-laden drummer, & a keyboardist who control’d that vast plethora of soundscapes that ‘jeuje up!’ each song. In the center of all of this reigns Lyra’s distinctive voice – a key deeper than most female vocalists, but with the ability to explode into nuclear majesty. At times I felt like she was hovering like Mothra at the gates of the Universe, screaming to Humanity to sort its fucking act out. Yeah, it’s that powerful!

Her greatest beauty as a performer is the pub-crack banter in-between the songs, which is so endearing, familial even. I lost count of how many times she said she was ‘mortified’ about some event or other in her life. As for reaching out to the audience, her flatterpatter comes from a truly genuine place. It was such natural warmth which first got me interested in her as an artist – I’d seen her supporting Westlife a couple years back, & was really tickl’d by her chat – the aforemention’d ‘funny as fuck.’ I’ve never, ever, seen someone so musically talented who is also funnier than most of the Edinburgh Fringe.

As she proceeded to whip up her sonic storms, I look’d around the audience & could see people tilting their heads back, looking, not at Lyra, but above her, to some celestial presence, their souls & lips singing along to this pantheon catchy tunes. It’s early days for Lyra away from Ireland, where she seems to be a household name – her album’s number one there I noticed -, but I’ve got a feeling by the time the next album’s being tour’d, & she’s not singing moody songs about her ex anymore, but infusing her music with the beautiful energy she shares with us when she’s not singing, then I’m sure something special is gonna happen.

Damo

I have this dream that I’m on a stage
Singing singalong songs with my friends
And in this dream we’re floating in space
And we all wake up in the end

So what makes a classic album? I’ve listened to quite a few over my time on this music-adoring planet, & I think the answer is quite simple. A classic album is made up of classic tunes. Not album fillers, not decent tunes, but classics; both sides of the LP, when so much so as soon as the last song is play’d on side 2, you flip it straight over to side 1 again.

I mean, come on, Sgt. Peppers, every tune is bangin’. Graceland is a massive feast of classic tunes, while the Stone Roses first album is only let down by the weird backwards track. Then the Morcheeba Album… if only they could have maintained the quality of songs throughout the album after such an opening 5 or 6, etc., etc.. I mean, we could go on for hours & hours analysing the merits of all the classic albums, but we are here in my kitchen to take a look at Scottish sonic-sensationalists, Mickey 9s, brand new album, releas’d tomorrow, May 2nd, 2024

On asking the band’s frontman, St. Kool, what was the, well, essence of the album, he replied, “we’ve abandon’d our punk pretensions and produced an unapologetic collection of indie-funk pop tunes on themes of love, death, and mental health. Odes to old masters such as Eurythmics and Daft Punk, as well as current acts such as Hot Chip and Death Cab For Cutie. Personal and searching, but dreamy and fun, an album to dance and singalong to. You can cry if you want to.”

IMPRESSIVE SNAKE was recorded in the second half of last year in the two home studios of Scottish singer-songwriter, James Grant (Bicycle Thieves), & also the band’s guitarist, Anthony Paul. Song-writing credits have been split 4-ways equally between the band – no egos here -, & we’ve already heard two of the tracks in the form of ‘Impossibility’ (released 06/10/23) and ‘Moments Go’ (released 01/12/23). The latter was the last BBC Radio Scotland Single of The Week of 2023.

So – is it any good? Well let’s slap it on & have a little dance shall we?

IMPOSSIBILITY

Opening tunes announce the direction of the album. This is Mickey 9s, so of course the bouncy bass-driven beats are there, but now they are nestling in soundproof’d, undrafty studios we also get waves of super-clear vocals, both from Kool & his band harmonies. A poppy opener with a repetitive, dancefloor pleasing swathe of ending verses, including mythological references such as;

Feels like I’m on the brink of breaking down
Feels like I’m all tuned into monotone
Feels like I am Prometheus bound
Feels like I’m living on the coast of this ghost town
Well, you know, you’re not alone pal

I want to lie on Sisyphus’s stone
I want to lie in the myth of my old home
I want to lie in the depths of the burial ground
I want to lie in the mystery of sound
Well, you know, you’re not alone pal

Then you look at the album title, & especially the cover, with the Book of Genesis references, & yer like, ah this is gonna be a deep ride indeed.

MOMENT’S GO

Just as the album opens with the first single releas’d from it, the second track is the aforemention’d BBC single of the week. Moment’s Go is pure 80’s sexysynth. I mean if you were gonna suck the sap out of the tree that holds the decades up, the 80s branch, then distil it’s quintessence into a single song, you’d pretty much get Moments Go. The song itself is a semi-whimsical plea to an old lover for some kind of romantic restitution, but is perhaps a little sparse lyrically to have us truly engage with the message.

WHO DO YOU LOVE?

This is the first track on the album I’d say was a true classic. An immediate muscle-grabber, I’d imagine the dance floor would kick off to this one big time. All the parts work together in a solid block of funk here, including our first taste of female vocals, Imogen she’s call’d, a little too Annie Lennoxey perhaps, but still an absolutely excellent addition to the band’s uberconfidence – this is who Mickey 9s are, this is how we do it, & why ya not dancin’ yet?

So, a third of the way into a nine track album & I start thinking in tryptychs. Act One is over, the three segments of which seem to paint a picture of heroically attaining a high level of amorousness with a probably idealistically imagin’d lady. Eve, herself, perhaps. Let’s bang on Act Two to see if I’m right…

IF I GET LOST

I was right about the love thang, I think; check out the lyrics of this proper snappy popsplosion.

If I get lost, I get lost from you babe
I run around, run around, run around, run around
When I can’t find you

Minor altercations seem to escalate
Gotta hide the baby when we reach this state
Anger starts to grip me
Time to run away
Fight or flight my instinctual urge to stay

The second verse has an even better couplet, reading; ‘Talking, becomes tackling, becomes attacking / Defensive manoeuvres become entrenchments.’ Overall, an infectious earworm of a tune, dripping in melody.

WAVES OF LOVE

Track 5, the keystone, half-time oranges, the centre of gravity, etc.. Waves Of Love is dreamier, mellower affair, tho’ of course retaining the signature highway-driving, beat-focuss’d quintessence of Mickey 9s. And yes, we’re still in the love zone, whose ending is, lyrically, pure poetry

Somewhere underwater
We wander under waves of love
With secret hearts

Waves of love
Wash over us
Waves of love
Will surely drown us

So it is a love album, after all! I’m definitely getting those vibes now!

HEADLIGHTS

Or not! This track had no real love references, while musically it struck me with an astonishing immediacy of coolness. I liked it, I liked it a lot. Classic bass line, chord structure & melodies given new life, with some lovely lyrics transporting us to a late night drive thro’ Scotland, probably after a Mickey 9s gig. Classic tune number two, for me.

DAEDALUS

This album is definitely getting mellower. It’s also brings us back to the mythomemic opening, in which we have Daedelus, the man who built the Labyrinth & also the wax-melty wings which his son, Icarus, used in his attempt to fly to the sun. A third conscious-surfing driftalong in a row, in whose fabulously broken & riveting ending we are definitely entering the realms of Art Rock.

DREAM

So, to the penultimate song, which is almost as important as the finale, for it, of course, sets that up psychically. Happy to say Dream is the third classic tune of the album; more restrained musically – which is a nice for the album, texture is always important-, & flourishes along to its harmony-inducing & hypnotic main lyric which we should all end up singing in the bath at random some day.

DAVE PUNK

Impressive Snake’s lengthy finale ties up all the threads we’ve encounter’d so far; grasping for love, Art Rock & that ever-moving beat given flesh by the band’s ever-slick guitar work. This really means that the entire album is more concept album than an attempt to make a classic, tho’ like I said 3 of the tunes should become perrenial favourites.

We even get a wee bit of French among the lyrics – ‘sous les lumieres stroboscopiques,’ means ‘under the strobe lights’, which is the main theme of the song, as in;

I never knew I loved you
Til I saw you in the strobe lights
I thought I would never find you
Til I saw you in the strobe lights

So, well done lads, a proper album to listen to for 2024. I mean, that’s just me in my kitchen with a coffee listening to it’s riotous stream of beauties, tippy-tappying on my keyboard, like. I’m deffo up for seeing how the album effects me in the future, either on a drive, or having a cheeky rave in my living room, but wherever it is, I will be listening to it in its entirety, again, I am sure of that.

Damo

LISTEN TO THE FULL ALBUM HERE

April 27th, 2024

On the edge of summer & the verge of another fantastic Scottish festival season, when friends reunite, romances begin & everyone just has a damn funky good time, the first whisperings of that hurricane of music are, well, in the air. Being the veritable audio capital of Scotland, the Glasgow area was feeling the first gusts last weekend with two all-day fiestas of band after brilliant band – in the Paisley case -, & singer after slick singer in the case of La Sierra Casa showcase at Room 2.

It was time for a gentleman’s stroll – Paisley first, & it’s well busy Food & Drink festival, sprawling congestiveley thro the central plaza area around St Mirin’s impressive Cathedral. I mean, Paisley is kinda impressive really, & I’m hearing great things about its music scene, fresh from the lips of my mate, Myles, from Arran, who recently moved to the place. Apparently, there’s this cool jam night on Wednesday’s hosted by The Keg music venue, & by the end of his first jam there had become the drummer in two bands, both of which play’d last Saturday.

The idea is that, during the festival, Keg set up their own stage in a marquee on the bridge over the White Cart Water, in which all the bands who play at their venue get a chance to play outside – well kinda outside -, & as a part of the festival its free for everybody.

People were congregating from Glasgow, Ayr, Arran & Galloway for some proper tunes, including me & crew, & I thoroughly enjoy’d St Mungo, one of Myles’ bands, a standard 4-piece electrified by Myle’s ever evanescent drumming & the honey-soak’d vocals of singing & catchy songcrafting of front man, Greg. I especially enjoy’d their track, Goodbye (above).

After offering my appreciation to the band for a fine performance, it was time for the second half of my Clyde-water’d afternoon of Caledonian guitarwork. So, to Room 2 & the La Sierra Casa showcase. Set up by Kyle Falconer from the View, the idea is you & other budding songwriters go & spend a few days with each other & tutors at a villa near Alicante in Spain, have a fantastic time in the sun & become, by osmosis, a better songwriter.

I’ve made pals for life thro’ this nonsense

Alan Purvis

With several ‘camps’ a year going on, that means a lot of alumni, which meant that Room 2 served up something of a speed-dating style scenario, with new singers every 10 minutes or so. It was like we were all sat by a campfire being lit by the luminous flames of Glasgow’s intense love for music.

From 6PM, however, more time began to be allotted for the acts those whose songwriting efforts are seriously taking root, such as Neeve Zahra, Rosie Alice & Dovv (see Spotify links). The whole affair was fascinating, really, a staccato trolley-dash thro’ 2024’s sonic zeitgeist, it was really interesting to hear how the ‘voice of the people’ was coming out of, well, it’s voices.

Keep it up Glasgow, you really do go from strength to musical strength, with each new generation inheriting, & adding to, your catalogue of classy tunes!

Damo Beeson Bullen

Half the stanzas of the first canto of

Damo’s new epic poem

I want a hero, or an ‘anti’ one
Some mortal who could change the world with song
& moving chords, a maestro, paragon,
Whose melodies & lyrics leap along
Who’ll make us think & dance, perchance upon
A higher plane of consciousness, among
The sibilant hauteurs of humankind,
Whom, hissing, never listen – never mind!

Of all the gifts of mind the Balladeer
Presents an art to us most magical
In which real peoples of the past appear
As powerful as if them Biblical;
Vivid, moving, breathing, soothing, sincere,
So much it proves a lucid miracle,
They live again! those, whom in history,
Did mark their mark thro restless mystery.

The Twenty-seven Club glows emphatic
When titans of drugtaking finally
Find bodies gone on strike, a lunatic
Deviant at the wheel, to supinely
Lay them down, comatose, paralytic,
Often with a demeanour divinely
Accepting the ultimate high of death –
Ten thousand crackpipes in a final breath.

There is a modern member of that gang
A master singer & a brother bard
Who knew just how to tune a guitar twang
To hypnotise the Hellhounds in his yard
Who crooning with the old tramps as he sang
Each word the turning of a tarot card
Would mystify us, energize, inspire
Our souls like faces shining by a fire.

His life shall form the substance of this song
Whose mould ordain’d as Ottava Rima
In cantos of a hundred stanzas long
Projected by poetical dreamer
Well, me that is, whose dragonyear sends strong
Impulses, deep as the first kalima,
To mind, the most poetic lives on earth
In finest lines revive them with rebirth.

Most epic poets plunge ‘in media res,’
That is ‘the middle’ for those not winning
School Latin prizes, (& res rhymes with ease)
Where was I? Oh yes! a poem spinning
On Kurt Donald Cobain, when, if you please
I’ll begin his tale at the beginning
For round our childhood deeds & people swarm
Which piece-by-piece our deeper fabrics form.

Let us begin with the ‘Aberdeen Curse’
Being the continental terminus
Ocean next stop or star-stitch’d universe
Attracts th’interminable verminous
Thinking, ‘well, things cannot get any worse,
I might as well stay put – the sperm in us
That seeks a host, he’ll spread his DNA
By the shores of Gray’s Harbor’s ria bay.

From copulation comes the miracle
Of this existence in consistent form
When singeth Fate at thy most lyrical
& Angels bringeth babies to be born
As when upon Gray’s Harbour Hospital
Already beaten-brow’d by crown of thorn
Out of a bloody uterus, thro hurt,
A boy, for all of us, a boy call’d Kurt

A boy was born in windy Aberdeen
Among the forests, by the endless sea
Of ceaseless rain & sunshine rarely seen
Of difficulties & delinquency
Crack rocks for breakfast & the jocks are mean
To one starchild of cyclic mystery
Y’know, the ones on earth most seldom born
Like single lilies in a plain of corn.

Soon as the babe left the baptismal font
He’d entertain squads of aunts & uncles
Who, begging to babysit, with a want
Somehow bewitch’d, planets around a sun, gulls
At scraps, Arlo’s Alice’s Restaurant
& others of Simon & Garfunkles,
He sang with cherub sweetness, sheer delight
Did fill their lives with Elven fairy-light.

There’s nothing like loving thy first born child,
When every waking day’s a nursery
& sleeping’s a myth, as toys & nappies pil’d
In only months Kurt’s curiosity
& perceptive sharpness would lead to wild
Excited, explosive precocity
Whose tantrums becomes something to endure
But, this toddler, was talented, for sure!

Sensing a love of music in the boy
Aunt Mari bought a bass drum that became
Within a minute his favourite toy
That with a wildness none of them could tame
He’d bang & bang & bang & bang, annoy
The house & all the neighbourhood, first fame
For his performances, as marching round
The Streets of Aberdeen all heard the sound.

And every time his bedroom lights did dim,
Out came his first imaginary friend,
For Boddah any bed could comfort him,
Kurt knew he would be right there to the end,
More tangible his monkey was, Chim-Chim,
On both of them, just them, could Kurt depend
For festered at the gateways of his mind
He fostered hatred for all Humankind.

Aunt Mari was a musician herself
She’d play’d in bars for years, even releas’d
A single, she produc’d it from the shelf
& play’d it Kurt, whose love for her increas’d
“Auntie you are famous!” her little elf
Did squeeze her hard, as solemn as a priest
Said, ‘one day I’m gonna be just like you!”
“What’s that?” “A singing star, I’ll be one too!”

“In that case you’d better listen to these…”
& carefully selecting some albums
Awards him the Beatles & the Monkees
Before long a Mickey Mouse set of drums
Was his for Christmas, with a kiss, cos she’s
“The best mum in the mummyverse of mums!”
Thrash-smash-bash-crashing, splash-crashing, ev’ry day
That by the Spring was far too trash’d to play

One day he gave his grandfather some art
With Donal Duck so accurately drawn
He was accus’d of tracing, so did start
Another drawing straightways, when alone
With papers, markers, comic books, apart
From other human beings, he would spawn
Aliens & monsters, from time to time
He added words, & even ones that rhyme

He watch’d the choppers rising from Saigon
& just like that the war in Vietnam
Was over, one they never could have won
His uncle home return’d a diff’rent man
Who, walking with his nephew said, ‘Kurt, son
There’s not much work these parts, but of you can
Avoid the US Army, witness’d I
Such sights my sleepless nights still horrify.

In an age when pharmaceuticals reign
Doctors dismiss holistic vitamins
Prescribe, instead, what drags the wild kids sane,
Dependency on drugs thro ritalin’s
Properties, anti-narcoleptic grain,
That’s more a borderline ampetamine,
Which wears, off leaving Kurt awake all night
Reading back issue comics by torchlight.

As waking dreams reality defies
& promises of better times instils
He shut out all their arguments & lies –
As Wordsworth saw a host of daffodils
Whenever he clos’d his Westmorland eyes
Kurt too saw things – from bad birth control pills
Swarm’d weird flipper babies with lizards tongues
Singing discordant sentences as songs.

Love! ye men of the marrying kind,
Tho’ in the main how they’ve hen-peck’d you all
& as for thee, whose bridal pledge survives,
Why should it be such vows protect you all
Not every couple’s hugging magic thrives
Better it handl’d intellectual
Until at last the smother’d fire goes out
& puts the business past all kinds of doubt.

His father was a Chevron mechanic
With neither love for learning or the learned
But watching sports border’d him on manic
& of results grew trueliest concern’d
Watch’d basketball matches in nigh panic –
Basketball & baseball – his wife felt spurn’d,
“I don’t think I ever really loved him,
Most nights there’s only me & Kurt & Kim.”

Whenever a family is divided
Somebody’s gonna have to rear the kids
A decision anciently decided
The mums’ll get ’em, even invalids
Some might call the custom quite misguided
Others, just our link to the arachnids
When, after mating, females set a tomb
Inside their gullets, nourishing the womb.

So Wendy got the boy, but beautiful
She soon attracts attention, & soon found
A man to fuck her from dysfunctional
But, as often deliver’d by rebound,
She met a loser, reprehensible
He beat her, mind & body, to the ground
Who told her son was better if he scramm’d
A cuntish “fuck you mum!” as front-door slamm’d.

His dad mov’d out to Montesano, where
His prefab home truck’d to a trailer park,
& with a party was assembl’d there
With beers & beef & banter in ter dark
By morning glow a brand new home to share
With his dear son, a modern Noah’s ark
Without the women folk, but with the dogs
& mice, a paradise among the logs.

Whatever Kurt now wanted now he had
& did whatever too, his dad did teach
Him how to shoot, to smile & just be glad
They lived near nature, he was no Nietzsche
But knew where to tickle his son when sad
& when, one evening, camping on the beach
When pled, “Dad please don’t get married again?”
Don said, “Son, I promise I won’t, most plain.

The walk to Montesano’s High School took
Less than ten minutes, one morn, time to kill
Shortcutting thro thick woods, retorting ‘fuck!’
he saw a human hanging, twisted, still
For more than time Kurt stood there & just shook,
Useless limbs to life, a dimly-lit thrill,
But nothing happen’d, suicide is real
No more to think, to stink, to drink, to feel.

Wondering what this discovery means
Some prescient portent of life story
Reflecting family suicide genes
Of trigger-pulls, collapsing all gory,
Into deep’ning chats with the same old teens
Slots, “I’ll go out within flames of glory
& kill myself a famous superstar
For drums & songs & strumming my guitar.”

When Star Wars came to town his powers bloom
He knew he was watching his relations
On Tatooine a memory exhum’d
Of visiting, with the delegation
Of some red planet, by two suns illum’d,
When cursing these human limitations
Kurt wish’d he could just Jedi back to base
At hyperspeeds, & leave to Earth no trace.

Then comes the fatal gym class skipping rope
He trips & slips a disc, scoliosis
Soon evolves, pain so rough most barely cope
For spinal curvature’s long prognosis
No cure intends, no respite & no hope,
“Nobody ask’d for, nobody chose this
Why do bodies transform in such strange ways,”
Mulls Kurt Cobain in his painkiller haze.

Then came the day Kurt wish’d he would have stay’d
In Aberdeen, his dad fully reneged
Upon a promise, just so he’d get laid,
Promptly remarried, furthermore was plagued
Step-siblingly, old loyalties betray’d,
As when the British soldier ‘Gen’ral Haig’d’
& blindly usher’d t’wards trenches promis’d
Empty – when maxim bullets did the rest.

Within a house of larger yards & bulks
This just-add-water family took root
Whose basement grew a cauldron ditch of sulks
A pit to lock the door, shut out, refute,
This mad reality, a pile of hulks,
Thors, Spidermen, & always this strung lute
Which playing with the tenderness of youth
Expung’d the bullshit from this living truth.

However much that weird woman tried
Her second mother’s soft felicity
Grieving for his own family that died
Descending into animosity
He’d bully his step-brother ’til he cried
& fought his father to adversity
Begging his mother always on the phone,
“Can I come back…” “I’m sorry son…” & groan…

Don tried the best he could in his own way
Some kids have never seen their father’s face
& took his son to work each Saturday
Where, letting him have the run of the place,
Kurt makes prank phone calls, climbs log-piles at play,
The scampers to Don’s truck, his special place
‘News of the World’ by Queen plays constantly
‘Til sounds cut out at drain of battery

Upon the day Kurt’s fourteen years now are
A choice from Uncle Chuck, a brand new bike
Or an old electric six string guitar
Made in Japan – well Kurt, what would you like
As when a whaleship blips on a radar
Or finger slips out of a Dutch boy’s dike –
From tranquil seas futurity explodes
In scudding floods, ferocious overloads!

The mysterious manna from Heaven
Which thro our art unproven consumes us
& drives us blindly to our obsession
That uses, confuses & illumes us
Remnants of ectoplasmic possession
Oozes thro juvenilia, dooms us
To dedication & a wasted life,
Or not, for Art is Art & Art is Life!

Such manna fell on Kurt Cobain’s lithe hands
& pick’d up Louie Louise, so he thought,
The one song play’d by all the North West bands
De facto anthem, with a chunk he caught
The change of chords, the strangest vale expands
Of sounds achievable, if when them sought
He’d sit down, & with patience at his back
He’d spin a finger-fumble to a knack.

His uncle’s band’s guitarist came along
& sat him down & ask’d him what he knew
The boy play’d ‘Louie Louie’, got bits wrong
& there corrected was, the pair soon flew
Thro three fast months & many a new song
“My Best Friends Girl” & “Back in Black” but two
Another, “Another One Bites the Dust”
&, overall, Kurt learnt them all, well, just.

Kurt found himself three chord structures strumming
& settl’d them into soft metal grooves
In moments rich melodies was humming
Which his internal editor approves
Mouthing their sounds, syllables kept coming
That like a lyrical instrument moves
Together to the guitar & the beat
He’s tapping out in time with sneaker’d feet.

‘So this is what it’s like to write a song,’
Kurt thought, committing soulparts to the page
‘The one’s that people like to sing along
When they are sung before them on a stage;’
The need to write another song grew strong,
As steers the noblest poets of an age
Running to the sun of procreation
Shining on their wonderful vocation.

As golden ratios thread the dance of scales
Like planets realigning with the stars
Impenetrating mating chords of Whales
& throbbing hums of market day bazaars
A driving beat divides them into bars
Whose even punkwork frames, whose wild wassails
When yellin’ & a hollerin’ on top
Wades us thro’ sonic guts like hogs in slop.

To everything else’s detriment
Kurt practic’d his guitar, his father sat
Him down one day & on the next was sent
To join the best boys on a wrestling mat
A chance his inner furies to unvent
A smash of shocks, a flash & jocks splash-crash
Transforming this shy guy from nerdy squirt
To hyper-daemonical extrovert

Coach told Don, “Kurt’s one of the best I’ve had!
& I want him to represent the school,”
So came the match, the first made Don mad
The second shock’d, the third time felt he fool
After the fourth he storm’d out, red-fac’d, mad
How could the little bastard think that’s cool,
Just folding arms & getting himself pinn’d
with no resistance, his roof I’ll rescind!

A teenage body rack’d by double pain
His stomach screaming at his I.B.S.,
Like random lightning striking thro the rain
While ever ached his ccurv’d scoliosis
That domineer’d his back, the brutal reign
Of arthritic emperors, but far worse
For soreness over vigour’s life’s worst curse.

Being born in the post-nuclear age,
With Reagan’s button-finger’s puppet-poise
Set to send destruction, with silent rage
The Cold War wages, with its lethal toys
Array’d in red & blue upon the page
& TV screens, news dribbling ruesome noise
Of who was winning, whom the stock-pile star
America or the U.S.S.R..

Our kids they could be anything at all
Some sports obsess’d, some staunch political
Some natural parents, some hate the role,
Some heavenly & some heretical
Some total seafarers, some hometowns small
Whiel some turn out to be poetical
Surmising standard schooling, “What’s the point?
When knowledge chieves us thro’ a reefer joint.

One lunchbreak in the school refectory
In swagger’d a huge creature from elsewhere
Quite confident of coming victory
Kurt could not help but drilling with a stare
Into this spirit, felt a factory
Of frolicking was working hard in there,
Yet, something else, Kris Novoselic smil’d
At him & shimmer’d as a summer’s child.

Alone, again, into those muddy streets
A boy, barely halfway to thirty
Pockets with copies of ‘Perfume’ & Keats
Passing houses ramshackily dirty
A time to tear out triumph from defeats
To funny be & foxy & flirty
& with electric geetahs in his hand
Light up the world, the front man of his band

Unable punk to buy in Aberdeen
He’d have to make his own, his amp’s ten watts
Full power strained, screaming for Halloween
He wailed a prototune called ‘Papercuts’
& slumped exhaustedly, asweat, serene,
After the blast, he felt it in his guts,
With just three chords he would have, after all
Something to contribute to rock & roll.

Aunt Mari had a four-track, now & then
He’d songs record, percussion wooden spoons
Upon an empty suitcase, denizen
Of low distortive holes, guttural croons
Evolving slowly into something ‘zen’
That once or twice resembl’d actual tunes
& now, with ‘Fecal Matter’ he’d record
A formal demo where his soul outpour’d.

The demo did the rounds of Aberdeen
‘Illiteracy Will Prevail,’ it’s name
With screeching gusto agitating spleen
& perfect grounds to hurt, to hate, to blame
On one song Kris Novoselich grew keen
& made the call, the birth of all his fame;
“Het Kurt, its Kris!” “Hey, man”, “I’ve listen’d to
Your tape, I’m really loving that ‘Spank Thru.’”