A Short Story from the Inner Workings of SLEEP THAT BURNS
( the ramblings of Doc Martin)
( the ramblings of Doc Martin)
WE ARE ALL CATS!
The origin of the species.
According to Keith, I have no chance and neither do you, maybe him of course that goes without saying and that guy will always be a CAT! Why, because Keith say's so, only a guy can earn that title of course but not her or her, they are Chicks or Old Ladies, terms of endearment, not to be misconstrued as patronizing or even derogatory, totally different. Both are used as generic terms of endearment, one could even refer to them as badges of honour and to have them bestowed on you by a man such as Keith, they are just that, an honour! For a man such as Keith who has an uncanny ability to live in the now whilst still being able to retain the spirit of '69 via '70 and back to '68 at the drop of a doobie, to him everyone is a Cat or a Chick, it's the law, it's his law and if you cross him, then you my friend, to him anyway, are a Mother Fucker and you cross him at your peril!
"...and your point is?"
"...and your point is?"
He may hide behind Aviator's and the swirl from a slow burning Marlboro but when those lasers turn your way and become fixed on you, some even say locked onto you, you being his target, those black pupils of his that dilate at will, in and out in the whites that have become beautiful caramel coloured pools of menace, they reach into the hearts and minds of those who are foolish enough to ask stupid questions or those who are just so naive. Eventually they will burn through to the mind deep beneath the flesh and cut through to the bone, all with just the glare of his eyes, those black lined jewels of menace. You will know when that happens, oh you will SO know that you have not made the grade, his grade, the grade that makes you a Cat or...not.
This 'circle' of his, this circle of honoured 'felines', are quite simply just that, honoured. Just to be referred to as a Cat is a pretty cool thing to carry around but being a cool Cat, well, that is something entirely different, especially if Keith say's so! If he say's so, it means, in his world anyway, you are a master of your craft.
Chuck Berry (King Cat)
Chuck Berry for example, goes without saying, I would be so bold to say is the 'King Cat' and these two have scratched and bitten each other in many well documented spats, possibly in an attempt to 'out' Cat each other, ending in, maybe a draw, maybe not, one storming off before permanent damage is inflicted, held back from doing so by a grudging respect, first generation Cat against a Cat of the next wave of Rock 'N' Rollers, the colt taking on the stallion, maybe it is the old guard keeping a firm grip on his share of the ticket money, things were much tougher for this Cat, certainly by comparison, Keith has had it so much easier! All of these disagreements the two have had have been played out in front of a pick-up band of Cat wannabees, Berry may skulk off at times, leaving Keith, the young pretender to take the temporarily vacant throne and while doing so he takes a huge gulp from the ever present bottle of 'Jack', the amber coloured liquid flowing down his throat like a flow of molten lava, forcing him to release a growl of...maybe contempt, or is it some form of admiration for his elder, after all, the older King Cat was playing the field long before Keith was!
It is without doubt that the time honoured Chicago Blues men or maybe the Blues players from the South or maybe the Texas Delta, as far as Keith is concerned, are ALL cats! However humble their origins were, whatever road they may have taken to gain recognition, most we must remember, never attained the kind of adulation that Keith has, whether it was to sell tickets and be adored throughout the planet, or to shift units and keep the MAN at the record company happy. These men justifiably, have earned the title of Cat and there are a few names that rose above the rest of the pride, those who could back in the day and indeed, some still do, command respect from their peers and in particular, the young pretenders, those blue eyed white boys who had such an insatiable hunger to learn to play the Devils music from these Cats.
Up until then, this music was 'owned' by these men, the men who had experienced it, nobody had any right, nobody could ever relate to it, nobody could 'taste' what they had tasted on their journey, 'Old Whitey don't know Jack Shit'! of course he don't, there are hard times and there are harder times but if it is all you know, nothing else 'means' Jack Shit to you anyway.
Therefore, Cat is a very fitting, collective name for any of these men, after all, they possess names suitable for a man with a life like they have had, names that seem highly appropriate for you to call out to your own pussy cat, from your own back door. Names such as Muddy, BB, John Lee, Jimmy, Freddie or even Little Willy, names that fit perfectly to your pet cat or maybe to a bunch of battle scarred alley cats, especially Cats with a story to tell. These are Cats that have pasts for sure, maybe it's the grinding poverty and the hardship that goes with it, lives seen through the bottom of a liquor bottle or a life of broken dreams and hearts, of an old lady who took another road perhaps, 'she done me wrong', who knows. These are time traveled Cats of distinction, all worthy of the admiration afforded to them but being a Cat is just another name as far as they are concerned, a term of respect from one old troubadour and his battered old guitar to another. For this is a title used by one Cat towards another, a name to use that perhaps acknowledges a shared past. "Man, I am a Cat, you are a Cat, we're all Cats ...and her? Hahahaha, she is just my old lady, as sweet as my guitar, wherever I go, she goes".
This form of raw and shameless ideology has been adopted by a seemingly endless procession of young pretenders, those who chose to sit at the feet of all of these Cats, the Cats in the hats, the Cats in the sharpest of pin stripes. There they have sat for decades, studying and learning their chops, watching the bony fingers dance up and down the fret boards of battered but true Resonator steel guitars, absorbing the words of the Cats who are forever down on their luck.
Behold, a mighty Resonator Steel Guitar!
This tale could not unfold without a nod to their old ladies that were on hand throughout these journey's, the ladies who were on hand to light their reefers, top up their glasses with more Bourbon and of course, break open their charred hearts along the way, the thumping heart of real Cats.... just ask Keith!
A - Boom - Boom - Boom - Boom!
(Is that the beating of a heart... or just a '45 in the heat of the night?)
"Excuse me sir, never interrupt the guitar Man...he may be a Cat!" ***************************
This 'circle' of his, this circle of honoured 'felines', are quite simply just that, honoured. Just to be referred to as a Cat is a pretty cool thing to carry around but being a cool Cat, well, that is something entirely different, especially if Keith say's so! If he say's so, it means, in his world anyway, you are a master of your craft.
Chuck Berry (King Cat)
Chuck Berry for example, goes without saying, I would be so bold to say is the 'King Cat' and these two have scratched and bitten each other in many well documented spats, possibly in an attempt to 'out' Cat each other, ending in, maybe a draw, maybe not, one storming off before permanent damage is inflicted, held back from doing so by a grudging respect, first generation Cat against a Cat of the next wave of Rock 'N' Rollers, the colt taking on the stallion, maybe it is the old guard keeping a firm grip on his share of the ticket money, things were much tougher for this Cat, certainly by comparison, Keith has had it so much easier! All of these disagreements the two have had have been played out in front of a pick-up band of Cat wannabees, Berry may skulk off at times, leaving Keith, the young pretender to take the temporarily vacant throne and while doing so he takes a huge gulp from the ever present bottle of 'Jack', the amber coloured liquid flowing down his throat like a flow of molten lava, forcing him to release a growl of...maybe contempt, or is it some form of admiration for his elder, after all, the older King Cat was playing the field long before Keith was!
It is without doubt that the time honoured Chicago Blues men or maybe the Blues players from the South or maybe the Texas Delta, as far as Keith is concerned, are ALL cats! However humble their origins were, whatever road they may have taken to gain recognition, most we must remember, never attained the kind of adulation that Keith has, whether it was to sell tickets and be adored throughout the planet, or to shift units and keep the MAN at the record company happy. These men justifiably, have earned the title of Cat and there are a few names that rose above the rest of the pride, those who could back in the day and indeed, some still do, command respect from their peers and in particular, the young pretenders, those blue eyed white boys who had such an insatiable hunger to learn to play the Devils music from these Cats.
Up until then, this music was 'owned' by these men, the men who had experienced it, nobody had any right, nobody could ever relate to it, nobody could 'taste' what they had tasted on their journey, 'Old Whitey don't know Jack Shit'! of course he don't, there are hard times and there are harder times but if it is all you know, nothing else 'means' Jack Shit to you anyway.
Therefore, Cat is a very fitting, collective name for any of these men, after all, they possess names suitable for a man with a life like they have had, names that seem highly appropriate for you to call out to your own pussy cat, from your own back door. Names such as Muddy, BB, John Lee, Jimmy, Freddie or even Little Willy, names that fit perfectly to your pet cat or maybe to a bunch of battle scarred alley cats, especially Cats with a story to tell. These are Cats that have pasts for sure, maybe it's the grinding poverty and the hardship that goes with it, lives seen through the bottom of a liquor bottle or a life of broken dreams and hearts, of an old lady who took another road perhaps, 'she done me wrong', who knows. These are time traveled Cats of distinction, all worthy of the admiration afforded to them but being a Cat is just another name as far as they are concerned, a term of respect from one old troubadour and his battered old guitar to another. For this is a title used by one Cat towards another, a name to use that perhaps acknowledges a shared past. "Man, I am a Cat, you are a Cat, we're all Cats ...and her? Hahahaha, she is just my old lady, as sweet as my guitar, wherever I go, she goes".
This form of raw and shameless ideology has been adopted by a seemingly endless procession of young pretenders, those who chose to sit at the feet of all of these Cats, the Cats in the hats, the Cats in the sharpest of pin stripes. There they have sat for decades, studying and learning their chops, watching the bony fingers dance up and down the fret boards of battered but true Resonator steel guitars, absorbing the words of the Cats who are forever down on their luck.
Behold, a mighty Resonator Steel Guitar!
This tale could not unfold without a nod to their old ladies that were on hand throughout these journey's, the ladies who were on hand to light their reefers, top up their glasses with more Bourbon and of course, break open their charred hearts along the way, the thumping heart of real Cats.... just ask Keith!
A - Boom - Boom - Boom - Boom!
(Is that the beating of a heart... or just a '45 in the heat of the night?)
"Excuse me sir, never interrupt the guitar Man...he may be a Cat!" ***************************
Great analysis of The use of Cat to describe a cool dude, commanding, powerful. We saw BB King in an auditorium. We were way up in the bleachers. I swear to you he made eye contact with me all night. He in one Cool Cat. Don't forget Little Sammy Davis and Rosetta Tharpe. Les Paul and wife Mary Ford. Cool Cats...I miss beatnik talk.
ReplyDeleteMy husband still often refers to certain "studio cats", not in the least derogatively -- those unsung heroes that played on otherwise well known recordings -- few might remember their names but without them, those albums might never have seen daylight!
ReplyDelete