So here you are, some kinda non-gendered big-time Charlie Cheesecake, cutting big deals, reaching for the top, living your best life, every day FTW, a gracious Like for your fans, a curt Get Rekt M8 for your enemies, a swift Unfollow for the hollow husks of those who no longer have anything to offer… it’s a winner takes all world, and the politics of envy are just for the losers, and a Significant Response is all you need … Listen, JAZZ NIGHT AT THE BEE’S MOUTH doesn’t care for your overweening pride nor your shallow pomp, but when the sudden shadows fall across your endangered hardwood decking, when your Beemer falters inexplicably at the lights at a crossroads on the wrong side of town, when your well-groomed reflection in the mirror seems blurry and indistinct, the reception leaches out of your iPhone 11 and leaves it just an inert slab of blood-soaked Coltan, the chill fingers of mortality pluck your skin into gooseflesh that no Spa facility will ever soothe, the aircon in the Executive Lounge suddenly whispers a memento mori into your stupid ear…. when your senses awaken to the planet’s shift away from the sun, the wind rising over the bitter surf, the furtive scraping behind the walls in the small hours, the rot in the apple and the rust on the beam, then you can always come on down and join us as we smash out another celebration of cool grooves hot licks and good vibes thanks to the tireless ministrations of man like Luke “The General” Rattenbury (gtr) and Loz “The Ourobouros” Thomas (drms) plus me doing whatevs on bass, and Fortuna’s latest assortment of whatever guests may come in out of the turbulent night to join us… let Bozza huff and puff his duplicitous humbuggery to his desperate disciples, let the Mother of Parliaments collapse in hot flushes, let all kinds of idiocy run unchecked through the chartered streets, we’ll be there doing our thing, come and join us, hang up your hang ups and get on the good foot, let symmetry and geometry be our watchwords, nothing less will do.
Here we go again… the greasy equinoctial streets resound to the cries of freshers hungry for knowledge and 2-for-1 shots of the most diabolical tequila known to humanity, eager to discard their inhibitions, their virginity and their dignity on the threshold of Casablancas, while Labour hosts its annual trade fair of optimism and disintegration in the grotty environs of the Centre, mixing their tremulous cadences with shingle’s grating roar.. JAZZ NIGHT AT THE BEE’S MOUTH is here to offer succour to the weary, comfort to the bewildered, hope to the terminally discouraged, and welcome relief to those unhappy wretches employed as politicians or teachers, compelled to strut and fret for their allotted slots until breaktime comes, perhaps this time for ever… we’ll be riding high on a magic carpet of good vibes skilfully woven together just for you by man like Luke “On The Corner” Rattenbury (gtr) and Loz “Live/Evil” Thomas (drms) out of pure 100% uncut blues-to-bop-to-swing-to-whatever, aided in some manner by me on bass, plus non-factional interventions from whatever surprise guests may blow in on the un-nervingly warm night air, shaking their golden horns ’n stomping their brazen hooves, along with the pleading-eyed activists, placard-carrying schoolkids saving the future by playing hooky, Mercury nominees toting their severed heads, bad boys with their tasty burgers, and whoever else shakes off the shackles of the quotidian to come and join us… as our barely elected leaders slough off their skins to reveal themselves as the sinister bungling trolls we all knew they were, as the planet leans in towards the season, Len Mcluskey peels himself another grape and Porky Cameron slouches weeping through the streets of Chipping Norton clad in Savil Row sackcloth, we’ll be having ourselves a time …. don’t stay grounded like a package holiday pensioner, repatriate yourself back to the good times, good times, good times, we’ll be here and so should you.
Well, here we all are still, despite everything - as you edge ever closer to the event horizon sketched out by that nice Dr Cox with his laser pointer, ready to hurtle over towards the personalised singularity that’s waiting for each one of us, like the Door to The Law guarded by your own private security solutions operative, what will go through your about-to-be-spaghettified mind? “Should have gone to JAZZ NIGHT AT THE BEE’S MOUTH”, before your timespace matrix warps beyond the comprehension of your distantly remembered physics lessons, before the glimpse of the radiance glowing inextinguishably from the Door shuts off as the doorman gently closes it, before your bad self goes supernova and rejoins the subatomic boogie? If that’s the case, then rejoice, cos it’s Monday and it’s something you can actually fix, right out here in meatspace where things still happen… just slurp down a nourishing beaker of Huel, put on your facial-ID-shunning facewear and this season’s creps and hit the pavements, where the hushed expectant stillness of summer’s end lies behind the city’s grotty soundscape, cos we’ll be here, kicking out the jams with man like Luke “Cyborg” Rattenbury (gtr) and Loz “I’ll be Back” Thomas (drms), spinning another musical web to dazzle and delight with the customary mix of bop-to-blues-to-swing-to-whatever to make you forget and make you remember … forget The Incredible Sulk’s gibbering bluster as the Queen licks her eyeballs with a foot-long tongue, the dreariest of nazis gets out of jail disguised as a hipster, Labour still tries to pick up the bag of marbles they dropped all over the floor in 2015, the Lib Dems go too far as usual like the try-hards they are, the spiders get busy in Westminster and everyone bends their energies to throwing shade as the temperature rises and all manner of indignities are heaped upon every aspect our human realm, but remember the warm wind blowing in from the surf, the voice of the nightingale hidden in the dusky glade, the voices calling from across the park, from the end of the path, from home.. it ain’t over til it’s over, and it’s not over, so what are you waiting for?
What an absolute shower,eh? Parliament packs its toothbrush and Bozza crouches gasping against the toilet door as the cold sweat trickles down his soggy collar, Bolsonaro lights another Players No 6 with a fistful of $100 notes, Dominic Cummings cracks his knuckles and chitters like a cartoon goblin, the Trumpkin puffs and blows like a grampus in a bath of melting ice cubes and scribbles marker pen over his own face… screw those guys, right? JAZZ NIGHT AT THE BEE’S MOUTH is here once again as the earth’s axis shifts, the mackerel swarm in the greasy sea, the Ace cafe bikers’ rotund leather-clad figures recede into the petrol smelling distance, the swifts crowd the lines on their way back to distant climes, and we have the consolations of symmetry and geometry on offer thanks to the talents of special guest Al “Crazy Eyes Killa” Scott on the keyboards and regular maverick gunslinger Loz “True Grit” Thomas (drms), both of em primed and ready to run all traces of negativity out of town with their sureshooting hot licks and cool grooves, and to totally drown out the frantic hooting and gibbering of our elected and unelected leaders with their brave torrent of blues-to-bop-to-groove-to-whatever, aided in some fashion by me on bass, and whatever guests we may discover poised in the velvet twilight with their golden horns gleaming and their teeth shining like garnets … don’t be sad for Johnny Bercow, he’s all right, don’t sit at home trying to believe in Strictly, or panic buying on Amazon with your Bitcoin, don’t let em grind you down, we’ll be out here doing our thing so come join us, make like Tay Tay and shake it out, that’ll show em.
Hey! How’s it going? How was Boomtown/Cornwall/Ko Phi Le/Your Tantric retreat? Kids back in school yet? Or are you just feeling, a bit, y’know, like the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned, like tiny sad kittens in a rusty Brexit bucket? Does the return of Naked Attraction to the terrestrial networks seem the herald the End Times, are you waiting for Bozza’s skanky cabinet to announce the Rapture? JAZZ NIGHT AT THE BEE’S MOUTH is here to steady your hand and stiffen your resolve by putting you back in touch with the eternal verities of hot licks and cool grooves, supplied by those inexhaustible fountainheads of bop-to-blues-to-swing-to-whatever known on this octave as Luke “Hidden Dragon” Rattenbury (gtr) and Loz “Crouching Tiger” Thomas (drms) as they lay out enough of the good stuff to build a wall against despair and a redoubt against ill counsels, aided by me on bass, and joined by a smiling host of special guests ready to adorn the gilded halls of their musical creation… if the sudden cultural diversity upon Hove Lawns stretches your self-esteem, if you can’t tell your elephant traps from your pigs in pokes in the melee of metaphorical fauna encumbering our public sphere, if the world seems divided between Gemma Collins and Dom 'Laughing Boy' Cummings with no room for the squeezed middle, if autumn’s sere breath seems to lurk beneath the quickening zephyrs of summer’s end, if you suddenly feel old and alone, if it really appears as though the world, which seemed to lie before us like a land of dreams, really hath neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain, then get on the good foot and come and join us, join us, time’s getting on, they haven’t got us yet.