My old mate Robb Johnson has turned up as a crossword clue in the August edition of Mojo magazine - fame indeed. I have also discovered that one of his songs is featured in the film about Jeremy Corbyn about which I wrote a couple of weeks ago. He is now proudly pointing out that he has now been censored by the BBC, the TUC and by Glastonbury. He is selling himself short, because he was once also censored by Disney. I think it was 1983 if memory serves me right. Let's hear from him:
I chose that one partly in anger at recent Israeli colonial violence in Jenin . But also partly in disgust at recent material emanating from part of the Labour Party attempting to blame anti-Zionists for growing anti-semitism. This is yet another step in the ongoing conspiracy to outlaw legitimate criticism of Israel's apartheid state.
I've been away again, this time to here amongst other places:
I may write about my experiences if the next few days are as doubleplus scorchio as we are being promised, meaning that I have to skulk indoors to keep cool.
In the meantime, here is my old mate Robb Johnson with his view of recent events:
The Yarkshire Gamer has announced the end of the golden age of wargames blogs, although I can't help noticing that he did so via a wargames blog. Rest assured that this blog will continue its proud record of publishing top-notch, wargame-related stuff every single day and often even more frequently. And that, dear readers, is an aspiration rather than a promise.
So, I haven't been here for a while; what's been happening in my life? Not wargaming, that's for sure. I think I mentioned that I had bought a pressure washer. I have been dodging the showers and trying it out. I had never done any jet/pressure/power washing before and was interested to discover that it is a metaphor for life itself: everything is a complete mess and at the end you stand back and ask yourself "Is that all I've achieved?".
On a brighter note, cultural activities have resumed. In my capacity as a man-about-town I was invited to a reception to mark the reopening of the Tetley Gallery in Leeds city centre, a very pleasant Art Deco building which was formerly the offices for the brewery. The current exhibition is by Mel Brimfield and is entitled "From This World, To That Which Is To Come", a quote from "The Pilgrim's Progress". The artist gave a talk, but as she did so whilst wearing a mask I am unable to tell you what she said. The piece above was singing to me whilst I was taking the photo (N.B. this is very different to the idea of it 'speaking to me', which it most certainly did not) and is, I believe, about the concept that our mental and emotional health would be better if we would only all help one another; amen to that. The best piece was a cartoon which suggested that the Adventures of Tintin were the delusions of a psychiatric in-patient, that Professor Calculus was his doctor, and that Snowy was in fact his pillow rather than his dog. All of which makes more sense than the books.
I have also been to my first gig in over a year, the great Martin Simpson. I have of course seen him many times before, which I think helped to bridge that gap and make it seem like just another concert. Not so for him, I think. It was his first appearance in a long time and he said that it was impossible for him to express what it meant for him to be on stage again, "reminding myself of who I am" as he put it. He played the usual mix of originals, traditional songs and covers, including songs by: John Prine - sadly lost to Covid last year; Dylan - eighty in a couple of days; and this one from Robb Johnson - my old comrade from days gone by.
Hello again compadres. I trust you have all been as hard at it as me. Not that any of Epictetus' activities have involved wargaming as such. Indeed the only remotely exciting thing to happen in the annexe has been that I have solved the long-standing problem of how to get the dehumidifier to work in the low temperatures experienced in this part of the world during the winter. I did this by buying a dehumdifier specifically designed to work in the low temperatures experienced in this part of the world during the winter. As so often, your bloggist can't help thinking that there is some sort of learning point arising, if only one could tease it out.
A chap with a beard
There has been one of those occasional wargaming/real life cross overs when my companion for the evening and I bumped into Peter (and Mrs Peter) at Settle, out in the Dales. We were all at the Victoria Hall, oldest music hall in the world still in use, to see Martin Taylor and Martin Simpson. I have mentioned the latter a number of times (most recently here), but didn't know much about the former beyond his being some sort of jazz guitarist. It transpired that he spent some years in Stephane Grapelli's band in the position once held by Django Reinhardt; so a bit more than just another jazz guitarist then. It was an excellent concert and it was a real pleasure to watch people so absolutely on top of their craft. Simpson has recently lost his father-in-law, the political folk singer Roy Bailey, and sang a couple of emotional songs in tribute including one by Robb Johnson. I knew Robb quite well back in the day (the story of the occasion when I was the cause of him not visiting Palestine hereby officially joins the long list of those for which the world must wait a little longer), a fact which I suppose places me a step closer to various of my musical heroes. Taylor's contribution to the name-dropping involved conversations with Scotty Moore, which with all due respect to Robb, is a bit better than mine.
A lot of name-dropping (and the associated game of how many handshakes one is from the greats) is one of the connections with another gig I went to in the unlikely surroundings of a room above a pub in Ilkley, that by veteran bluesman Kent DuChaine; a man who played with, amongst others, Johnny Shines; who was in turn a man who knew and played with Robert Johnson. Another link was that Duchaine played 'St James Infirmary Blues' on his National Steel Guitar 'Leadbessie' and Martin Simpson didn't, but usually does (which is sufficient for me). The great Catfish Keith also plays such a guitar and the similarities were often apparent, especially when DuChaine played in a Bukka White stylie (it's something to do with the tuning, but beyond that I can't help you). White was (sort of) the cousin of B.B. King and there was an implausible anecdote about King and a golf cart, along with others about Howlin' Wolf and Muddy Waters. It's implausibility which gives us the last crossover between the two gigs. DuChaine claimed, with a straight face, that his most recent wife (of five?) was an exotic dancer from Settle. All I can say is that if she ever performed in Yorkshire in November then she did it indoors.
I have been to another gig in aid of the local food bank. This time Little Rach and the Gerry McNeice Band were the entertainment. The latter is well known in Otley, but it was the first time that I had seen the former, who had come across from Manchester to support the cause. She was excellent - albeit tiny - and you should see her if you get the chance.
And if you wondered why no US political leaders bothered to attend last Sunday's march in Paris, well Robb Johnson's song from 2001 has a suggestion.
