Marrakesh Expresso

I’m sitting in the genteel arriviste luxury of our faux genuine home in Marrakesh. Beyond the rose pink garden walls, one of the many rabid mangy street dogs wails his own version of a call to prayer; a rogue moezin summoning his prey.

The air is thick with Jacaranda and the din of a thousand irritable cicadas, rubbing their legs together like dinner ladies with thick thighs in noisy tights.

Being abroad is a fairground crazy mirror. It reflects back a distorted image of myself. I have drunk much florid organic wine from the coast plus espresso with caramel. This I do not do in Clapham. Clapham is better than average Bordeaux and vintage parmesan.

I have played guitar in an intuitive mix of free jazz, second hand world music and my own echoes of young originality.

I’m riffing on the fact that some curious Belgians [are there any other kind?] have chosen to release my 1974 album Cat’s Eyes with the original sleeve, all the Apple  Studios memorabilia and so on, on 180 gram vinyl, whatever that is.

Cat’s Eyes was and still is an ironic title.i could never see in the dark.i still can’t.i could never see in a darkened suburban street, other than the shattered diamante of street lamps  in a black shiny rain. I could never see the moistened lip gloss or the sheen of hairspray of the teenage girls I wanted to pet and pucker up to. Only the coloured lights and the void beyond.

I don’t remember when Crosby Stills and Nash released Marrakesh Express, the pacy over harmonised ode to the hippy trail but I do remember being carried away by the tales of Jimi Hendrix and Yves Saint Laurent forging the truly artistic way down here. having been a voyeur, for twenty years, of the snake charmers, the story tellers, the donkey carts, the Lamborghinis and the posh restaurants that make this city so intoxicating and troublesome, I decided it is the place that best reflects the comedy that is my supposed soul. A nouveau riche, ageing hippy, plutocratic, anti-establishmentarian, deeply entrenched in the establishment, wannabe artist, lover of all things extreme and of all people a generation younger than I am.

The garden is without colour black. Everything is without colour black. My imagination is working on an entirely different plane of sensory overload and artistic re-engagement. I think I really am in love here.

By er…fairly popular demand. here is the link for the album promo! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSX6lAVjzM4