People grow old, bits are dropping off
See them clutter hospital and stage
They sniff and splutter, croak and cough
It's annoying. It sends me into a rage
Beauty and youth are glorified
Aren’t they embarrassed at their age?
Surely, silence
would be more dignified
But Jimi still
looks good in his flares
His gnarled
fingers grope for the whammy bar
He twisted his
knee on the narrow stairs
Of the club. I
helped him out of his car
Couldn’t stop
him. He had to go on
His Strat
soared, the old magic wasn’t gone
Jimi would have been 70 this year. I went to a club in Earl's Court that he played in, probably in ’66, only four years before he died and I walked down the same staircase. I imagined him then – the amazing presence that he must have had, then I imagined him as he might be now. His favoured weapon from which he wrung magic - left-handed – was the Fender Stratocaster guitar, preferably played through a Marshall amplifier and stack. Pedals were invented to create the sounds that were in his head – phase, flange, wah-wah, it all started with him. He could play with titanic power and delicate beauty. He was 27 when he breathed his last. But he will never die. He is trapped in time. Peter Pan.
Jimi would have been 70 this year. I went to a club in Earl's Court that he played in, probably in ’66, only four years before he died and I walked down the same staircase. I imagined him then – the amazing presence that he must have had, then I imagined him as he might be now. His favoured weapon from which he wrung magic - left-handed – was the Fender Stratocaster guitar, preferably played through a Marshall amplifier and stack. Pedals were invented to create the sounds that were in his head – phase, flange, wah-wah, it all started with him. He could play with titanic power and delicate beauty. He was 27 when he breathed his last. But he will never die. He is trapped in time. Peter Pan.
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