So much summer! Just time to pop your vassal kippers in the post (not long now, little kippers!), then off to the Love Island Experience on the beach for some windswept, pebbly encounters with a handful of insta-crazed shut-ins agog at the presence of assorted scheming muscular nincompoops called things like Eyal… Don’t mug yourself off, turn right around and Naruto run your way to JAZZ NIGHT AT THE BEE’S MOUTH where you can truly Upgrade your Experience courtesy of those gurus of groove Luke “Too Hot” Rattenbury (gtr) and special guest, polyrhythmic marauder Tristan “Bucañero” Banks (drms) as they lift off towards the planet Saturn riding on waves of sonic delight, aided in some fashion by me on bass, and the assorted jam enthusiasts contributing in an orderly fashion, while the ageless sylphs and naiads of the Bee’s team wait in the fragrant shadows behind the well-stocked bar… don’t waste your time gawping at the Cats trailer that looks like Faceapp got crossed with the Island Of Doctor Moreau, or being sceptical about festivals, or reposting that thing about fb permissions so all the bots can laugh at your pitiful monkey-brain naivety, or however else you were listlessly planning to idle away some more of your precious allotment of minutes… Jupiter is burning overhead, the swifts are screaming in the limitless empyrean, the salty sea is swelling, the dust blows forward and the dust blows back so pump up the jam, thats where that party’s at and you find out if you do that.
Here you are, dazed with summer, all pumped with vicariously acquired sporting success, flexing with your German whip, your minds’ eye still roaming in the sundrenched musical wonderland of Love Supreme or whatever other outdoor beano of self affirmation you’ve signed up for … but wait? Even as you head for shitty Stansted with your online check-in all done, do the chilly fingers of doubt curl around your swimwear regions? Let JAZZ NIGHT AT THE BEE’S MOUTH banish those cruel intimations of mortality and get you back on the good foot, cos we have those dons of downtime, the eternally beach body ready Luke ‘Too Hot’ Rattenbury (gtr) and Loz “The Real Don Dadda” Thomas (drms), both pumped and primed to show that summer is a state of mind as, aided in some manner by me on bass, they weave a web of hot licks and cool grooves for you to wrap around your frontal lobes against whatever downers may be waiting behind the burnished cerulean overhead, intimated in the shrill rapid keening of the swifts, hinted at in the patterns of the green glassy waves, in the sudden chill of the breeze at dusk blowing down off the empty hills to gooseflesh your barbecue vibe… in the corridors of power the black silt of bullsh*t is mounting, the president’s busy little fingers are tweeting, Bojo is tying off ready to get high on his own supply of duplicity, Jezza stares at the vacant screen with a puzzled frown, but tonight we will be triumphant, tonight is a night when kings in golden suits ride elephants over the mountains.
How you feeling now you’ve felt some sun on your poor soggy skin? Summer’s back like Andy Ruiz so dig out yer flip flops and get back into the flow, time to re-engage, time to move forward, not backward, upward, not forward, and always twirling, twirling, twirling towards freedom.. how better to show the machine elves who’s boss than tell Alexa, Siri and the rest of those spying creeps to get stuffed and get your bad summer self down to JAZZ NIGHT AT THE BEE’S MOUTH where we’ll be celebrating the bittersweet equinoctial decline with the limitless talents of Luke “Heliocentric Worlds” Rattenbury (gtr) and Loz “The Outer Spaceways” Thomas (drms) as they smash out another jubilant melee of swing-to-beats-to-blues-to-bop-to-whatever, assisted in some manner by me on bass, as the peerless ascended beings of the Bee’s team wait in the velvet shadows behind the well-stocked bar …now that the flood of fb Glasto critiques has dried to a trickle and there’s no chance of you ever actually watching the rest of it on iPlayer, time to get out and up again.. elsewhere Bojo may lurk among the rotting sun loungers at the bottom of the garden, waiting to slouch towards W1 to be born, Hunt may huff and Hunt may puff, Jezza may scamper all over his climbing wall flicking his vertical eyelids, and the Eurocrats may grumble, gesticulate and throw cheese at each other like the excitable continentals they are, but here outside the perimeter we’re doing our thing, it’s going to be a fine night tonight, it’s going to be a fine day tomorrow, Jupiter is burning bright as the globe swings towards it’s equinoctial decline but all is well, come join us, join us