Dating : ‘The original global village idiot’: Mick and Keith banter, part two

Part two of the ‘Mick and Keith banter’ series, derived via a pretend secret wavelength involving no man-made fibres

Mick and Keith are sitting in a club having a mano a mano a few hours before a gig. They’ve covered the promoters, some roadie problems, future events and the possibility of making a new album, which is where they reach an impasse.

“So what do we think about about it then?” says Mick to break the silence.

“What?”

“You know — did it escape your attention none of us gets any younger?”

“You’re being a twat, Mick. Everyone’s gotta go someday. It’s okay, I just hope it’s not in the next 72 hours.”

“Why 72?”

“You really are a fuckin’ idiot — the original global village idiot. Who gives a fuck whether it’s 72 hours or 72 months? It doesn’t matter. Fact is, one of us will be the first to go. And you know what?”

Mick watches his friend closely.

“What?” he says eventually.

“Whoever goes first,” says Keith, “the one that’s left behind — that’s the motherfucker I feel sorry for, man. That’s gonna be a big bag of depositories to be carrying round. They gonna hound that blues man to his end. He gonna think Diana’s car crash look like a mercy dash.”

“Well if there’s one thing I’ve learned, Keef, it’s you know how to stick shit out.”

“Yeah, that’s cool but it’s gonna be cruel, man. Ain’t no easy way out. The other day I was talkin’ to Bob ’bout how he’s playing it he said he’s kinda doing it by degrees — onstage.”

“Yeah, next you’ll be telling me he’s got three degrees.”

“Haha — maybe as his backing singer. Man, he’s had more degrees of craziness than we’ve had…. maybe. We’re a band: you spread it out. Point being, he was pretty harsh. He said: ‘Why you guys still sing Not Fade Away beats me. Why bother? If you’re gonna fade away man, just fuckin’ fade away in plain sight. You’ve earned it!’”

“Keith, have you got a fag, I’m bored stupid now.”

“You don’t need a fag. Anyway, buy your own.”

“Alright but is this story ever gonna end?”

“You’ll be sorry when it does, Mick. Ain’t no better story…”

“Except maybe Bob’s yeah? So what does he mean by doing it in plain sight, mister fuckin’ bone doctor?”

“He says he sits behind the piano on stage, and gradually lowers the height on the piano stool.”

“You are having a laugh.” Mick looked suddenly stern. “Then what?”

“Well it’s all part of the act, man. He’s sorta disappearing onstage, just without the dry ice. He says the audience know he’s there but he’s becoming sort of a half-step removed. He’s participating in the action, he’s shaping it, but he’s not contributing any more than he has to — which is less and less. Seems to believe he’s doing a conjuring trick onstage… The way he put it, he’s becoming more of a presence than a physical manifestation. He’s going: ‘I’m becoming a perspective’.”

“Has he been on the alphabet soup again?”

“Man, he didn’t do that shit for years. Doesn’t know the recipe any more. It’s not the same. We got a different bag. All I’m saying is think about it.”

“I do. Every time you kick into It’s Only Rock’n’Roll and I have to sing ‘suicide right on stage’ I think about it. And you know what?”

“What’s that dude?”

“Sometimes I just wanna give you a good ole kick in the teeth.”

“Won’t make any difference man. They’re embedded like tombstones in my head now.”

“Stop talking about tombstones.”

“Hey!”

“Yeah?”

“That’s the best thing you’ve said for years. Get yer harmonica out. There’s a song there. Stop Talkin’ ’Bout Tombstones. A walking blues.”

“It’ll be a staggering blues where you’re going.”

“It’ll be staggering because I’m a fuckin’ legend mate, that’s why.”

“What key’s it in motherfucker?”