Up Above the City, Down Beneath the Stars by Barry Adamson

Author:Barry Adamson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Omnibus Press
Published: 2021-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

On the way to Howard’s house, I play a game of ‘I would’ to distract me from the matter in hand. The new matter in hand consists of looking at women and asking myself whether I would shag them or not. Various subcategories emerge as the game goes on. As in:

‘I would.’

‘I definitely would.’

‘I probably would.’

‘Maybe I would?’ (Which is slightly different to ‘probably’.)

‘Not sure if I would.’

‘No, I would not.’

This game takes me all the way to Lower Broughton Road where, upon arrival, I take a deep breath and say to myself, ‘Sonex? I definitely would.’

Howard opens the door. I hope he doesn’t see the enormity of my gulp as I take in his alien-like hairdo and bright blue cardigan, with mismatching striped trousers. Normally, I’d liken this style of dress to Andy Pandy. However, I view him in another way altogether because, after all, he is Howard Devoto. With my overblown sense of cool put firmly in its place, I reverently bow my head before the great man and enter the front door.

We walk past the front room and stairs, and continue down a never-ending corridor that ends up at the back room, adjacent to the kitchen. He disappears and reappears with cups of tea, telling me about John McGeoch, an art student finishing his degree in London, who will be back to play lead guitar in a few months.

There is an H&H amplifier staring at me as Howard pulls out Pete Shelley’s Starway guitar, the one that was sawn in half and played at the Buzzocks gig.

As I hook up my bass to the amp, using a curly cable I bought at Johnny Roadhouse, I recall Dave Hughes saying, ‘It might not work.’ I realise that it also might not. I turn up the volume, relieved that there is a swell of low-end sound.

Howard purses his lips in an act of maximum concentration, then plays a six-note riff which hangs in outer space. I realise I’m way out of my depth, but then I see his foot bouncing slightly on the floor in a four beat. I remember how, last night, that big, beautiful bottom E-note bounced me on the bed and flew me into the motherly arms of Angela Lansbury.

I begin to play that single note over and over, on and on, as if it were a Motown beat. I also play it off the beat, bouncing off an invisible heartbeat. Howard extends the riff but I keep on going, asserting the moment. He smiles, beginning the lyric, then shows me the chords to the chorus. He sings ‘The Light Pours Out Of Me’.

Howard then plays another riff (‘Or is this one a lick?’ I ask myself). Thirteen notes played over four bars. I marvel at the complexity but realise that a single note, representing the rhythm, needs to underpin each chord. Howard now pumps out the rhythm, sure not to make a single mistake. I play the root note of each chord and throw in a lick from ‘Born To Be Wild’ at the turnaround, which slides in easily.

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