May 22
Sometimes it just seems like life is just speeding past you… or maybe it’s you that’s speeding past life.. never mind, a quick round of bullying towards your civil servants or juniors or whoever those no-marks cluttering up your office are and - just the ticket! - everything can be nicely squared away… but what if you find yourself having to resign “so as not to be a distraction”? Well, JAZZ NIGHT AT THE BEE’S MOUTH is a means for we lesser mortals out here on Airstrip One to reconcile ourselves to the inconceivable lightness of our unanchored beings here in meatspace, so when everything goes a bit Holly n Phil we’re able to draw deep healing draughts from the bottomless well of musical inspiration that pours forth its bounty in an unending stream whenever man like Luke “Ministerial Code” Rattenbury (gtr) and Loz “Parliamentary Standards Committee” Thomas (drms) get together to lay out the hot licks and cool grooves for your delectation, and reconcile us to our mortal bounded lives here on the third stone from the sun … let the whitethroat sing among the hawthorn, let the seas team with the returning bass, let Abdul King Of The Block send his semaphore to the unseen denizens, let Capn Jack and his crew of dandy highwaymen make ready to welcome you with high grade liquors at your request, let the thousand ukeleles of the fringe play on, let the night be alive with the sounds of merriment, we know what time it is so a thousand curses upon the enemies, you know who you are… off to Rwanda with the lot of em, we’re going to have a time, come and join us why don’t you?
May 15
What’s you current vibe? National Cons with Cruella n Jacob n their jolly crew resurrecting the ghost of Enoch Powell, or Eurovision with bellowing Swedish women dressed like Tina in Beyond Thunderdome celebrating transnational electropop diversity, or maybe the quaintly retro skinny jeans n guitars of good ol’ Great Escape, leaving its litter of broken dreams between the Green Door & The Hope… let JAZZ NIGHT AT THE BEE’S MOUTH set you up on your feet, unfurl your cramped wings n shuffle your pinions towards the flood of light drawing upwards off the motionless glassy sea, scouring the skies and pouring into the chartered streets, as spring announces itself via the perennial migrations of swallows, blackcaps, chiffchaffs and the Ladyboys Of Bangkok all returning to their accustomed habitats, the first hen dos of the season tentatively inflate their comedy penises, the first seppos look for sweet n sour pork balls for their tiktoks, the sap rises in the bud, and we’ll have man like Luke “Straighten Up” Rattenbury (gtr) and Loz “Fly Right” Thomas (drms) doing their thing with the hot licks and cool grooves like they’ve just been born again, with me gamely persisting on the bass, plus whatever special guests may bless us with their presence, whatever grifters may blow by in the echoing street outside, whatever sportos, motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, wastoids, dweebies, lovers losers and thieves may drop in thru the wildly swinging door to come in and do their thing, and so should you.., leave earnest drama, ukeleles and shoddy circus skills to the fringe where they belong and come and join us, life moves pretty fast, lets do a thing.
May 8
Sated with pageantry, slippery with anointing, deafened by oratorios, bloated with fealty, knees grazed and forelock tugged, your red waistcoat stained with your own tears, brass buttons tarnished like your own fondest illusions? Or are your red-rimmed eyes pools of implacable righteous republican ire, is your face contorted with sneering fury, your brain reeling from hours of composing angry letters about Nick Cave for the Observer? Let JAZZ NIGHT AT THE BEE”S MOUTH take the kink out of your twisted mind and ease you out of the freezing bank holiday comedown and back into whatever you think might constitute the rest of your life with those captains of the auditory airwaves Luke “Logan Roy” (gtr) and Loz “T-1000” Thomas (drms) as they conduct their own awesome celebratory ceremony of hot licks and cool groove, assisted in a non-hereditary manner by me on the ol doghouse, plus whatever minstrels, wastrels, lost roundheads or cavalier self-expressors may drift in thru the wide open door from off the chilly slippery pavements outside, past the wreckage of two successive official 3-day drinking binges, past Abdul the gesticulating prestigitator and king of the block, past your own hesitation and regrets, facing forward, not backwards, moving forward, not backward; upward, not forward; and always twirling, twirling, twirling towards freedom! The countdown’s started til Skynet comes for us all feeble carbon-based meatsacks so don’t delay, gird your loins afresh and come and get involved, why the hell not?