I was never really much of a clubber. Unless you bring coshing teenage thugs into the equation. And that was a long time ago. When I was a mere teenager myself.
So was this one on the legendary independent label, Beggars Banquet.
It reminds me of a brief episode in my youth when I frequented an atrocious night spot on weekends with my girlfriend and associates out in the country. On misty evenings driving out there was a little like a commando sortie in the mountainous regions of a fictional Tibet. The inside of the car reeked of whiskey and spearmint chewing gum. The stereo played horrendous synthesised drum loops ad nauseam.
The music was seldom to my taste, but that was a fitting introduction to what was to follow when we finally arrived ; already hopelessly intoxicated and disheveled from cramming too many people in for the ride.
Actually, it would be more accurate if I were to say I was never really much of a dancer. I far preferred to sit and chain-smoke in a dimly lit corner and attempt to perfect the look of a young Chet Baker. No mean feat considering we share no apparent outwardly physical resemblance.
Of those friends I remember, one of them – a guy I had known since our first day together at elementary school, or primary school as we call it here – died nine or ten years ago of a heart attack. He never smoked and was a fanatical exerciser. We lost touch somewhere down the road but for a long time we were very close. I drank myself into a stupor on the day I heard the news.
This is not the first song I would necessarily associate with my memories of him, but when I hear it played I always stop and think. Shit happens.
▼ FREEZ: SOUTHERN FREEZ from \”Southern Freez\” LP (Beggars Banquet) 1980 (UK)