I see her full red, smeared lips, that reflect a violent shade of blood still moist from constant    reapplication. Her bosom before me, suspended, between two seemingly soothing arms. Ample, not from nurturing her children, but for encasing a stone-cold heart that turns against anything that does not fall into step with her view. She is the mother of this land, demanding respect while never bothering to earn it.

With those elongated seemingly soothing arms, she reaches out in a wooing manner, enticing her most recently chosen target. She feels her way through the world seeking countries that are in need and even in turmoil. She takes them in her arms offering warmth and protection. What orphaned nation could resist. I have felt that initial warmth of her embrace, enough to make me pack up my life in England and run to her. Thinking it would be she that solved my feeling of emptiness, with her sun kissed shorelines and smiling cowboys surrounded by bountiful fields of summer crops. The lure of plenty only to realize, that is the things that movies are made of. There is no land of opportunity, just hard work and a bit of luck. Still something I like the millions before me, was happy enough to settle for.

She is no longer interested in the hungry or the tired but is ever seeking her next payload from distant shores that will surrender to her desires. She zeros in with a skill honed from decades of practice. The same apathy for an individual as a nation. Junk in the trunk is the twisted metal of fallen regimes that were wooed by those soothing arms. Nations, that did not realize in time, that it is only money and riches that she wants, and all those whispered promises are but dust in the wind.

When she is not agreed with, she screams the word terrorist, like it’s a virus, once having fallen from her mouth, must be destroyed before it overtakes the planet. Shoot first, ask questions later. Her laser sharp vision fixed on even more deadly weapons she uses to control those who do not willingly comply. Not one to only attack but instead will train troops for battle on foreign soil away from prying eyes to reap the benefits, while years later having to go to war against those very soldiers she trained to do her bidding in the past. Billions of dollars spent on wars that will never be won, while her children at home go without food or education. Will future wars be fought by citizens willing to fight for food in leu of a skill that should have been taught as a birth right?

She is now a weathered Whore, no longer able to birth a healthy future. Resentful of the power that unchecked, has too quickly slipped through her fingers. Once revered by the world, as beautiful, young, nubile, coming of age after WW11. I have watched this transformation, seen up close how she desperately inhales the last faint wafts of an aromatic swirl of youth, all the while, denying the possibility of her fading strength and beauty. I too have faced the ravages of time which kept my love of her alive, thinking I could relate to her traumas. I remember her as the priceless jewel in the crown of my career, always my ultimate place to call home after having traveled the world. Back then we were both at the top of our game, free and even still a little wild. As if fraternal twins separated at birth.

How could I foresee this change in us?

Her fall from favor on the world stage has not been a gracious one. I too have stumbled under misguided intentions, only to find a more caring road by realizing the shortest distance to your end goal is not necessarily the best choice. She makes no attempt at an apology, she doesn’t care, she walks on unabashed, believing her own fake news, as she believes she is infallible. Marching on without remorse.  Where once she would preen, she now avoids all mirrors, too scared to ask that question, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall…….” She will never admit that she knows the answer only too well. I know how time weighs heavy on a soul and there will always be actions, that given the chance, would be wished undone. But that takes acceptance of the mistakes that were made. Pride is a cancer, if left untreated will ravage what was once a strong, healthy body.

Her Stiletto heels now strain to support two thick, columnlike legs, one Republican and the other Democratic, in a time where democracy is gasping its last breath along with her. Democracy, a unicorn, soon to become a myth, like all the unicorns that roamed the world before it. Only with a rebirth, one that shifts from greed to caring for her offspring, can a healing start. We are running out of time. She, no longer capable of a roar, now, just an unsustainable sneer that spreads across her almost unrecognizable face. A face now covered by a mask. But what does it hide? How can we truly see what she is thinking?

Where are those that feasted at her table in better times? Gone, all gone. Distancing themselves with retaliatory tariffs to show that they will fight back. What fate will befall those that linger too long, waiting for that one last supper. Will they also stumble on unsolid footing, to fall along with their Whore? Who could have known that all the while, Babylon was right here, in front of us? In that mirror tempting us. I must accept being complicit in her doings. I, likewise, was all too eager to pass by that screaming reflection. Avoiding stopping, to take that long, hard, look and ask the difficult questions. As a result, there now blows a cold wind, that once it gathers momentum will not be stopped.

Do we continue to stand by like spoilt children and complain of our hardships? Hardships that can’t even come close to those endured by countries that have survived generation after generation of bloodshed. Wars fought from caves in the desert, barren and void of all the fickle things we cherish. We are too fatted for them. We waddle, where they deftly outmaneuver us at every turn. Their benefit, from growing up as warriors with a higher cause than money. A cause they put above their very own lives and the lives of their families. A cause we cannot relate to.

What has bought us to this place of impasse, where neighbor is turning against neighbor over whether-or-not to wear a mask in times of Covid. A life where color is still a reason to die while money is thrown at the wealthy as the less fortunate remain without. Now a place where we live in a shroud of uncertainty brought on by inner bickering that is tearing at her flimsy star spangled robes, once made of cotton from the farms in Southern states and across the mid-west, but now imported synthetic, highly flammable, to be set on fire against her at protests. Where is the reverie?

But still she struts, head held high on display to her remaining fans. The middle America white males the Trumpites and upper-class businessmen and women, strange bedfellows that leave their money on the dresser after she has done their bidding. How our nemeses must laugh, from their barren lands. Seeing we are incapable of saving ourselves. Sitting back, no need to take any action. Just watch and wait as she faulters. I also sit back and watch, unable to make my vote or wishes count, as I am but an Alien, not worthy after 30 years of an opinion. I’m here by a choice, that until recently I was proud of. Supportive of. But now there is true cause to be concerned. I must re-assess that choice. Decide something that I can live with. I still believe that democracy is good and fair, but can democracy survive without capitalism?

Like the Whore, capitalism has become yet another enemy that we groom, feed, and care for. If  “The Whore of Babylon”, America, has become a self-fulfilling prophecy, we need to address her before it is too late. If all of this is true, does this mean that capitalism is itself the “City of Babylon?” The cradle of the Whore? Can democracy survive without capitalism?  Is it time to seek another cradle? Possibly return to my birth cradle Australia? So much in my life rides on this November 2020 election. I am viewing the world much more clearly now as the rose-colored glasses have fallen away. Not as pretty, but at least I know where I stand with my feet firmly planted. I feel the ground shake beneath me.

Fifty years ago, today, there was a shift in how live music was presented to the world. It was the first time a music concert would affect people across the far reaches of the planet. As far away as Australia, or even South Africa. I was one of those affected. An eleven-year-old girl in a Church of England Boarding school on the edge of civilization and the edges of the outback of Australia. A young girl who had desperately tried to convince her sole guardian a single father, to let her go to see Janis Joplin play. Like so many others I did not get my wish and took up the hippie lifestyle as almost a consolation prize until I figured it wasn’t the lifestyle that was calling me, it was the music.

The attempts at recreating Woodstock after all this time, or at all were destined to fail. What made it the iconic festival that it has evolved into was really a lot of mistakes, inexperience, and the times that people were living in. None of those things can be recreated in this “day and age” as it just would not be tolerated. The breakdown of security allowing eventual free access to

thousands of attendees, the problems with the equipment, or even the woeful lack of amenities for the public could not be recreated and these were the things that blended together to create the atmosphere of “we are all in this together” that sustained the three-day event. The only aspect of Woodstock that has been successfully recreated to the extent of being a staple for the concert goer at most music festivals around the world is the mud. That’s right folks! There seems to be some unwritten law that is hidden in the “How to throw a successful Music Festival” guide that states- find a field with lots of mud and start there.

Woodstock will remain that unicorn in a field of horses that can be glimpsed from afar but never again touched. Here’s to another 50 years of music our way! And to letting unicorns run free!

This time it is different. I feel a sense of loss before its time. I lay here beside you, listening to you breathe. It’s not the reassuring steady breath of sleep that has comforted me through my own many crisis, this is different and unwelcome. It is a heavy panting coming from a body that is otherwise not responding as it should. I wait as daylight finally claws its way out from under the night to let me know that finally , soon, I can get you some help.

I want to write this while you are here with me, by my side, while I can have my hand on your chest feeling that laboring breath that tells me you are still here. Is it too soon you may ask? No. I want you to hear what you mean to me while you can. For 17 years you have been a part of me. I love you for that. You came into my life uninvited, too soon after the loss of your predecessor I thought. But you knew better. In your own rambunctious manner, you charged into my life filling those larger than life shoes that were left behind. We are kindred spirits and we take what life throws at us, rise above it, then get on with it. You never complained, maybe a little lippy at times, but I put that down to your ancestry, coming from German descent, which also showed in your physique. A physique that was always so strong and healthy. With age comes such a heavy toll.

I am trying to focus on the times that we have had that should be bringing a smile to me and some comfort, but it is just too sad. I don’t want you to see me crying as I don’t want to scare you. I want you to be as comfortable as you can be and know whatever you do it is alright with me because I love you.

We got to hang out just the two of us, yesterday in the courtyard that you love so much. I’m glad as only moments later your world came crashing down. I cannot be selfish and keep you here. I must let you go. But know this: With you goes another piece of my heart. I am not sure what will be left.

Good-bye my friend. I love you.

Britannia Row, (Britrow), Pink Floyd’s Production Company in London in the mid-seventies, was a cool place to be. With all of the band’s sound. lighting special effects, sets and props all in one place. One such piece was the now famous, Algie. It had been 18 months since Algie, “The Pig”, was first launched on the world from the Battersea Power Plant, located on the banks of the Thames river. which was a clue to the scale that these guys went to, for their Productions. I was to spend a week learning how to operate one of Pink Floyd’s Zenon projectors that I would be using for the SOLD OUT Australian tour “Rocking All Over The World”, with Status Quo that started in a couple of weeks. Being back at Britrow bought on the memories of the day Algie made a break for it and there briefly was, such a thing, as a pink flying pig.

What a day that was. It was set up as a dual-purpose exercise. Primarily a photo shoot for the cover of Floyd’s Animals Album, and secondly, a test drive for the pig, for the feasibility of including it in their upcoming tour. The pig was affectionately called Algie by Roger Waters and in theme with the political undercurrent of the Album, was to be photographed that day by the creative team at Hipgnosis Design collaborative, that did all of Floyd’s Album covers. In all there were twelve photographers hired for the day to try to get the “Golden Shot”. One of those photographers was Robert Ellis who contributed photos to my book LOUD.

The bit that wasn’t planned for on that day was that Algie really would turn out to be a bit of a Pig! In more ways than one. Algie, once in full flight, was 30’ in length, and filled with a mix of Helium and Oxygen that seemed to make him take on a life of his own. He had been moved and adjusted several times throughout the day, in an attempt to get the best angle for the album cover, but this just seemed to make him more restless and wanting to “break free”, to explore what lay beyond the confines of Battersea. He sensed a whole world awaited him and he was not going to let the ties that bind hold him back. He would explore it! During the one final repositioning of the rigging that held him moored to the giant structure he saw his chance and took it.

Yes, he was off! Slipping from the crew’s grasp on a gust of wind to be carried down the course of the Thames by that very wind.

And yes! he was reported as a sighting by a commercial aircraft pilot at a height of reportedly 30,000’ altitude.

And yes! There was talk of scrambling fighter jets to shoot him down, as he was heading towards Heathrow International Airport.

But, before that could be executed, he landed under his own steam in a farmers’ field, somewhere in Kent.

This is where the story gets a little bit blurry. Some swear he landed in a Pig farm, while others say it was a cow paddock. I personally prefer the Pig farm version.

After all of this, the Hipgnosis director Powell, did not get the shot he wanted for the Album cover, as the skys had changed, by the time Elgie was recaptured and presented for a second day of shooting. After the two-day escapade, the cover ended up being a cut and paste job of Elgie, onto a still shot of the Power Station.

A rather bland outcome for such an eventful photo shoot. Elgie, or various reincarnations of him, continued to create havoc for decades to come and is now considered a cultural icon with his own fan club.

April 19th, 2020: All Alone Together

While this blog page is directed towards the music industry and how that has played such a strong part in our lives, I feel it would be remiss of me to not acknowledge the place that we, as one world, find ourselves. Right now, in this moment of time. Battling an unseen killer, COVID-19.

The global situation we presently find ourselves in, goes to show how easily and quickly one can have the rug pulled out from under them. A situation that would be shattering for the one family to endure, while being tragic, if limited to that one family, would allow an unaffected world to carry on. The difference here is, the entire world has had its collective rug pulled out from under, with little breathing space between countries going into isolation, no time to move on unaffected. Now we get to witness in real time, the ripple effect, of such an unprecedented event in our lifetime. A lifetime that has witnessed many tragedies. A time of constant conflict between nations and so much death. A daily reading of death tolls on the evening news, from wars, plane crashes, school shootings, so many things that we are hardened to, unaffected to the point that we do nothing to fix it. All those events we are told, are going to wane by comparison.

We also get to see how individual’s psyche grapples with such a daunting task. This is where the primal instincts kick in. Fight: make a stand and resist, with the massive medical toll that presents. Or, Flight; run off to the beach, “as this does not affect me personally”. The third group that is emerging the longer this goes on is the conspiracy theorists, “it was a deliberately released virus.” “The government is just trying to control us!” I am a stand and fight person. The underdog gets my vote every time. While I might fantasize about running away from it all, it is not in my DNA. As for the conspiracy theorists, I would rather fix something and move on smarter from the situation, than waste time and energy laying blame. I do however believe negligence needs to be addressed swiftly and precisely. The “Wet Markets” that were the source of this outbreak should be closed forever. As with different religions, different dietary choices should never be allowed to endanger the rest of the world.

There are echoes back to the Spanish Flu of the 1918 that lasted just short of three years, with one fourth of the world infected 500,000,000 and 10% of those infected resulting in death. 50,000,000 deaths recorded. 50 million. Just wanted that to sink in.

The current world population as of April 2020 is 7.8 billion people. Do the math. Even at the lower projection of only 2% of 10% fatalities. As of April 15th 2020 the CDC has recorded 2 million reported cases, with 160,000 deaths. We are only four months into this.

I am quoting these numbers, not to scare anyone, but to put a realistic value to what is currently going on in the world. As a resident of California, I am finding myself in the thick of what is predicted to explode within the next 30 days as far as reported cases. I am not sure however how anyone can be expected to know when this virus will run its course. Being told to stay away and isolate is a good practice, however it hinders accurate numbers of infected individuals from coming to light. The restricted testing, although touted as everyone can get tested, when you visit the website you are told unless you are showing signs of the virus, stay home and do not come to a hospital. Another mixed message is, “wear a mask when out in public”. However, we are also being told not to purchase real N95 masks, as “those are needed for 1st responders and medical staff”. So, we can wear masks, just not ones that work. These are the mixed messages that drive me, as a literal person, crazy. I personally chose to wear a mask from early March. There is already a huge resistance to wearing a mask here in America. Is it because masks aren’t sexy? Well, death isn’t sexy either. Or is it because we are being told that wearing a mask won’t save you, just the person you may contaminate? So why bother? Hopefully this attitude will change.

So, this is the plight that each of us find ourselves in. Whether we are a believer that this is bigger and badder, than the annual flu season (which hasn’t started yet), so those numbers haven’t even been added to the mix, or, if you are standing to your right to believe it is just the flu, and you shouldn’t have to have a shot for it when one is found. As civilians, we are fed a hefty diet of bull shit over the course of any year, let alone an election year. How do any of us really know what to believe anymore when “Fake News”  is thrown around like rice at a wedding. Now more than ever we need honest reporting of facts, not opinions. Will this happen? Is it even possible with a President that vilifies any reporter that dares to question him?

The one thing we have learnt from this is, # We Are All Alone In This Together.

God help us.