BILLY JONES - RADIO PARTY (new)
Picture this...1965, winter, a Sunday night, Edinburgh, Grafton Street, Tollcross, I'm 18 years old, comin fi my hame in Bathgate tae my digs in the capital, 1st year university, carrying bag and guitar...gazin intae shoap windae, hifi gear, n a' tha'...coupla bouncers standin in the doorway o' a gamblin club, The Grafton...wan sez tae mi, Geordie accent, Newcastle, like..."You play tha' or you carry it as an ornament?"..Ah look roond n there's these two big guys, evenin suits n a', starin at us, nae expression, so thocht ah'd better be polite, like ah wiz brocht up...ah sez, "Aye ah play a bit"...n the big Geordie, smooth face, impassive, sez, "Play us sumthin then"...ok ah thinks, deep breath, nervous, step intae the wee entranceway tae the club, at the fit o a steep staircase, take oot mah guitar fi its battered saft case n start tae play well outtae tune, but dinnae dare tae stoap...the shorter o the two sez, pointin at his pal, "His name's Daniel...kin ye play Danny Boy?"...so ah dae n ah've jist goat past the first chorus n the big Daniel sez jist stay here n lopes on up the stairs...nearly wettin masel' by this time, keepin up a fixed grin fir the wee minder beside me...the big man comes back doon wi' this skinny wee innocuous guy, sez he's the manager o the club, he's cried Victor n can ah play any Hank Williams...ah dae...he sez Marty Robbins...dae that tae...Johnny Cash...nae problem...the wee man loves the country music...sez come up the stairs a minute...ah folly um, thro the club, quiet, hardly oany punters, tae the office n he introduces me tae the owner, Peter Williamson, n his pals, 3 or 4 o them, a' loungin round, broon leather chairs n sofa..wan' a whisky n coke? sez the boss...ah dinnae refuse n then ah play a few mair songs n ah get a joab playin weekends in the restaurant...10 o'clock till the last customers go, n it's late nites n gangsters n foxy wimmen, maistly aff their heids, guid money in the hand, n ah'm walkin hame tae the couch at ma friends Mary n Hazel fi Bathgate, n naebody else is awake, n ah'm fu' n ah'm high, n ah'm thinkin this is a strange life...aye, well, suits me...sorry...couldn't resist the Irvine Welsh inflection there...kind of appropriate for that story, which is a beginning...but when does a story begin n when does it end?...here's another beginning...I was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, grew up in Bathgate, smallish town, halfway between the capital and Glasgow...got a guitar when I was 14, taught myself, slowly and painfully to play, to accompany my singing, played in various schoolboy bands, folk clubs solo, gave up for a few years about the time I first got married, 21 years old, took it up again when I was about 26, inspired n encouraged by Rita, the first beautiful person I was married to...started making a full time living when I was 30 and haven't really stopped since...daft, really...the music you can hear on this space now is stuff I wrote recently and recorded very simply with my oldest friend here in Gothenburg, Pelle Bolander...the two of us played everything on the recordings, with some sweet harmonies from Emily, my stepdaughter...cd finally released (2007), 12 songs altogether...disappointments, divorces, deaths, double-dealings, devilment...rock'n roll...n ah'm still rockin', still rollin'...no end in sight...
