Sunday, April 16, 2006
Meeting your heros
Last time White Sunday ventured up to our rehearsal studio in London we were munching some food in the canteen and in walked Lewis Taylor. It was only years and years of formal education and training that prevented me from spitting my food out across the table in surprise/shock. I didn't say anything, and he wandered out again fairly shortly afterwards, but I saw him in the reception area later on and stopped him to ask if he was indeed his bad self. He was. I told him I was a big fan of his, shook his hand and walked off - leaving him grinning.
There were several ways this meeting could have gone: I could have hugged him and sobbed gently onto his shoulder that I thought his music contained some of the most beautiful, soulful and moving songs ever written, that they had seen me through some difficult times (as well as figuring largely in some of my best times, too) and that I thought he was the greatest guitarist I'd ever seen/heard play live. I could have dropped to my knees and thanked him, or buried him under an avalanche of questions regarding his thoughts, his plans for the future or just his opinions on life in general. I could - and probably should - have held a gun to his head and forced him to promise to play more gigs, write/record more material or I'll-blow-you-away-you-teasing-sum'bitch!
But I didn't, mostly because my brain froze but a little because I knew that LT likes nothing more than to be treated like an average Joe, a regular nobody - which is exactly how he sees himself. Well, OK - maybe not a "nobody", but certainly not someone who is famous, a star, a celebrity or suchlike. His real name is Andrew, he used his middle name - Lewis - as his nom du stave (it has been pointed out that, as a white man playing what can conveniently be pigeonholed as "black music", the "Lewis" cap fits the wearer more marketably than "Andrew") and I saw him make the momentary adjustment to being called "Lewis" when I spoke to him. Whatever, my point is that I left him smiling because I didn't weird him out, or make him feel uncomfortable. I suspect he was double-chuffed that I had taken up no more than five seconds of his time, and hadn't asked for an autograph or photo. As I walked away he was grinning, and I think that deep down that is what anyone wants from a meeting with their idols, heros, whatever: the chance to say thanks and to try and make them feel good in the way that their whatever-they-do makes you feel good.
Damn, I wish I had taken a photo of the two of us. Everyone knows that short-of-stature, shaven-headed guitar heros are the pinnacle of coolness, and that sightings of two of them next to each other are rare. Still, next time I see him at the studio I will be assuming that I can address him as "Andy" and will be looking for some high-fives from him as well. Don't leave me hanging, brother!
There were several ways this meeting could have gone: I could have hugged him and sobbed gently onto his shoulder that I thought his music contained some of the most beautiful, soulful and moving songs ever written, that they had seen me through some difficult times (as well as figuring largely in some of my best times, too) and that I thought he was the greatest guitarist I'd ever seen/heard play live. I could have dropped to my knees and thanked him, or buried him under an avalanche of questions regarding his thoughts, his plans for the future or just his opinions on life in general. I could - and probably should - have held a gun to his head and forced him to promise to play more gigs, write/record more material or I'll-blow-you-away-you-teasing-sum'bitch!
But I didn't, mostly because my brain froze but a little because I knew that LT likes nothing more than to be treated like an average Joe, a regular nobody - which is exactly how he sees himself. Well, OK - maybe not a "nobody", but certainly not someone who is famous, a star, a celebrity or suchlike. His real name is Andrew, he used his middle name - Lewis - as his nom du stave (it has been pointed out that, as a white man playing what can conveniently be pigeonholed as "black music", the "Lewis" cap fits the wearer more marketably than "Andrew") and I saw him make the momentary adjustment to being called "Lewis" when I spoke to him. Whatever, my point is that I left him smiling because I didn't weird him out, or make him feel uncomfortable. I suspect he was double-chuffed that I had taken up no more than five seconds of his time, and hadn't asked for an autograph or photo. As I walked away he was grinning, and I think that deep down that is what anyone wants from a meeting with their idols, heros, whatever: the chance to say thanks and to try and make them feel good in the way that their whatever-they-do makes you feel good.
Damn, I wish I had taken a photo of the two of us. Everyone knows that short-of-stature, shaven-headed guitar heros are the pinnacle of coolness, and that sightings of two of them next to each other are rare. Still, next time I see him at the studio I will be assuming that I can address him as "Andy" and will be looking for some high-fives from him as well. Don't leave me hanging, brother!
# posted by AK @ 17:16 
