“You’re jealous of God!” That’s what the voice inside his head told him to say to me. Of course its a lie. Why would I be jealous of a sick man who is not God but is constantly being told that he is by the demons that hang out in his mind? Exactly. However the tormented still need to be fed. I made rice so that we would at least agree on something. He had two helpings of boiled hope on a plate. It doesn’t matter if my brother remembers that it was made by me. What does matter is that he survived today’s attempt on his life. If he was God i’d blame him for his insanity but that is not the case. Madness doesn’t need a disclaimer. Nor does pain. Nor does love. Nor does charity. Nor does mercy. We do what we can and sometimes what we must. And in between we eat what is cooked. Unceremoniously. Circumstance usually stays for dinner. God has a plate too.
An old friend of mine now runs the so called urban division of Island records which was once a formidable home to artists such as Bob Marley and Grace Jones. In the 90s they acquired the greatest British music talent to have come along is a generation. It seems nobody knew how to sell him to the fickle market place of shifting trends.
On the other side of the Atlantic, Columbia were faced with a similar challenge in the slow burning guise of a comet called Jeff Buckley. Though both would not go on to become household names, any musician of note, regardless of personal taste, would be remiss not to acknowledge the supreme gifts that they were endowed with. Sadly before maturation of potential, Jeff’s body tragically passed under the waters of the mississippi river to be discovered lifeless in Beale street and yet his music would be life affirming for those who found him later, like yours truly.
Lewis didn’t ‘die’ in quite the same way. Perhaps his tale of a prematurely ended career is a far kinder death of sorts because we can reassure ourselves with the hope that he might endeavour to create new music that escapes into the world again. Another North Londoner, Amy, would enjoy the commercial fruit of capitalist success that Lewis didn’t taste and the poison of that bitter fruit would enrapture her. Though thats an oversimplification. The hard facts don’t tell even half of the whole. I wonder if my old friend would have known what to do which such a gift in his tenure.
20 years ago we privileged fans of North London’s finest football club were fortunate to acquire the gifted feet and artistry of Thierry Henry. He was the revolution incarnate for the premier league. Such grace. Such power. Such beauty he brought to the field of play. This image was captured after his famous goal against Real Madrid’s galacticos (Zidane, R9….) at the Bernabeu. Watching it in real time in 2006 was such a thrilling experience. We had a young team. Fabregas was the prodigy. Our defence was really our attacking style of play though we didn’t conceed goals as cheaply as we have done in the last decade. But we were still the underdogs on route to a first Champions league final. Real Madrid on paper were Goliath but we had our David in the form of Henry. Our giant slayer.
This was the pivotal year of the Wenger era. A chance to fulfill the promise that 2004’s invincible season teased. We would lose the last piece in the core of a great team with Henry’s departure to Barcelona in the following year. We should have won it all between 2004-06. It wasn’t to be. But the solitary goal at the Bernabeu and Henry’s celebration is still a memory to cherish. It was a shot in the arm that we and our national phyche needed. On that night Arsenal became the first English club to beat Real Madrid at their home ground. It reaffirmed the idea that greatness can prevail against the odds. In the final we faced another great team. The Barcelona of Ronaldinho and Eto’o. Our team competed valiantly and tasted an inglorious defeat. Henrik Larsson was the surprising game changer, coming off the bench. That was a hard one to swallow. I suspect Henry’s decision to leave was partially the result of that defeat. He would go on to greater accomplishments along side Messi and Eto’o. It was the right decision to leave. We would sadly regress and are still in rebuild mould in 2019. But at least for a while we had the poetry of Henry.
Oh but Confucius was wrong. Life is not simple and we did not make it complicated. We as in the debtors of this world and the situation we found ourselves in on arrival. Almost everything is chance and timing. An unearned providence. The will of the free is the slave of choice. A long hope is the length of a day times the width of perspective. Some will wait untill the mouth of reason yearns to feed that stretched out and guilty hand of reality. And breathe out the future we rolled the dice to inherit, when their nose of indifference has swallowed up the fragrance of time to drown out the noise of our silent tears stretched across the canvas of our fate. Such violence was born of light returned to sender and unclaimed. Crown your eyes with the love of priceless things and count the cost backwards.