Utopia Avenue by David Mitchell;

Author:David Mitchell; [Mitchell, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Random House LLC
Published: 2020-07-14T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

—

THERE’S A KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK on the changing-room door.

It’s okay, Jasper assures himself. “Hello?”

A face with a square jaw, a restless stare, and brown hair. “Jasper de Zoet, I presume.” The visitor has a deep American voice.

Jasper knows him. He’s formerly of the Byrds. “Gene Clark.”

“Hi. Mind if I disturb you?”

“You’re welcome. Just mind the roaches.”

Gene Clark peers down to examine the squashed bugs. “There but for the grace of God.” Jasper’s unsure what a normal response might be so he shrugs and hopes for the best. The visitor is dressed in a fuchsia shirt, loose mauve string tie, green trousers, and gleaming Anello and Davide boots. He pulls a chair out. “Just wanted to say, I really dig your LP. Your guitar playing’s out of this world. Did you teach yourself?”

“I had a Brazilian teacher for a while. Mostly I taught myself. In a long continuum of rooms.”

The singer looks as if Jasper’s answer was strange. “You taught yourself good. When I heard ‘Darkroom,’ I thought, How in hell did Pink Floyd get Eric Clapton to play with ’em? It’s great.”

That’s a compliment, Jasper realizes. Give one back. “Thank you. The album you made with the Gosdin Brothers is a banquet. ‘Echoes’ is remarkable. That uphill F major seventh is ingenious.”

“So that’s an F major seventh?” Gene Clark taps ash. “I call it ‘F demented.’ I liked how the album turned out. Too bad it sold shit. It came out the same time as my old band released their Younger Than Yesterday LP and it vanished down a hole…”

Jasper guesses that it’s his turn to speak. “Are you touring?”

“Just a few dates, here in Holland and Belgium. They dig me here. Enough for a promoter to fly me over, anyway.”

“I thought you quit the Byrds because of a fear of flying?”

Gene Clark stubs out his cigarette. “I quit the Byrds ’cause I was tired of flying. Tired of that life, of the screams, of the faces, of the fame. So I quit. Fame molds itself onto your face. Then it molds your face. Fame brings you immunity from the usual rules. That’s why the law doesn’t like us. If a freak with a guitar doesn’t have to abide by the rules of the great and the good, why should anyone? Problem is, if fame is a drug, it’s hard to kick.”

“But you did kick it, Mr. Clark,” says Jasper. “You walked away from the American Beatles.”

Gene Clark examines the callus on his hand. “I did. And guess what? Now it’s gone, I want it back. How do I earn a living without fame? Playing coffee houses for beer money won’t cut it. I miss being someone. When I had fame, fame was killing me. Now it’s gone, anonymity is killing me.”

Shocking Blue’s “Lucy Brown Is Back in Town” wafts down the corridor. The saxophone solo’s great. The song itself is not.

“We’ll give you a home in Utopia Avenue,” says Jasper.

Gene Clark flashes his smile as if Jasper was joking.

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