[COPY] Flat Earth

Now with additional notes and locations

In the long ago 1970s I would take my Steve Stills/Neil Young and original tunes to unappreciative we-don't-do-blues or Americana Folk Clubs around Wath upon Dearne and Rotherham . For this poem, I pictured the snow in Victoria Rosehill Park in Rawmarsh. I think the actual folk club was the White Bear in Wath, but as I wrote, I pictured the Ferry Boat at Mexborough - an interior I was more familiar with… And it went something like this:

Additional notes:

I had at this time acquired my first Eko Ranger six-string acoustic. I don’t recall how, which is odd for me as I can usually map my guitar history via even the twistiest swapped an organ for a violin swapped that for a Manuel Segura Classical… But no, the thing just appeared.

Neither do I recall letting go of it, but by the time I got to Greece I was on the MkII. Meanwhile the first one got played with friends like Lynne Smallman (now Padfield), Mick Padfield, Jim Oldfield and a guy called Wayne who played slide with a wedding ring. It was this guitar that got adorned with 09 gauge strings - normally used on electric guitars. The reason being that I was used to electrics which had bendy strings. So the transition to acoustic - which a lot of my contemporaries found - was almost impossible.

The Eko in Corfu, 1977. L-R: funny Thompsons rep whose name escapes me; pretty ditto; same-same but she was my boss’s (Peter Calogridis) girlfriend. Angie, another rep from Londonish. We invented words like ‘counterbat’, which were portmanteaux. In this case counter act and combat - very effective. She was rep for Benitses I think. And me in my first ever and favourite Wrangler shirt. The event pictured was a regular bouzouki, with Greek band - which featured me after the Greek floor show (see Tha spassos coupe etc). We did stuff like Honky Tonk Women that just got faster and faster. I wasn’t paid, but got free accommodation and all I could eat/drink at the bouzouki - which was a decent amount in those days. I also collected rents from inbetween lets, which waas split three ways: the manager, the cleaning staff and myself. To continue…

So, we put light strings on - but some players were too heavy on acoustics and broke strings. I’m one of the gentle touch types - I prefer nuance to volume. After decades of experiment, and various acoustics, I came up with a light/heavy set that I had to buy individually. This was pricey even before things went mad post-covid. These days, firms like Ernie Ball - whose strings I’d never used since the first one I ever fitted broke before it would tune up - do a set that not only bend, but drop back in tune. Even the wound strings return to tune, which usually stick and play sharp or flat.

Speaking of collections (of guitars), here’s an admix of mine and a friend’s - Ged Lunt. L-R, my 72 Strat, Ged’s Avon Les Paul, his Kasuga I think or another Eko of mine, Ged’s Tele and a mystery Strat (or copy). I’ll have to stop messing with the flow nd do a guitar article sometime. Where were we?

Why did I say all that? Well, guitarists like to blether on about what they’ve had and their opinions on those instruments. It shows how rich the passing discourse of music is. Tell you what I miss - the two Hofners that disappeared along with my entire house in Birmingham (UK); and most painfully, the dreadnought I’d been loaned by a lovely bloke - only for that to vanish with the Hofners. And I never got to explain to him. That hurts in the heart, you know what I mean? He had a broken mandolin which I said I’d fix for him. He said if you fix it, you can have it. He was so impressed with the repair, he lent me the guitar. The idea was to use it busking, pay for a guitar for myself and take it back.

Birmingham UK was a sh*t place to busk in a 1970s winter. Neither of those objectives came to pass. Desperate for money and something more secure than a squat populated by some dodgy people, I moved away and worked in Beaconsfield, Bucks. On my return, the squat had been demolished. I took the key off my keyring and chucked it onto the pile. Sometimes, it can be hard on the road…