Something I’ve been doing ever since I first heard a taped On the beach in the squat next to Islington Town Hall on Upper Street, with Ra$ta the incontinent cat periodically tumbling from his armchair perch, suffering stoically from his compulsive consumption of any small dark lumps discovered on his quite limited travels.
Not that there’s anything wrong with what Mr Young does (though the man’s as foxed as a ferret, of course), but because he hangs possible points of departure all over the place.
The uke version of the wonderful Tumbleweed on Storytone gets one’s thoughts going, and then -o frabjous day!- there’s an orchestral version to compare them with.
Being suddenly able to play around with everything and its auntie without having to navigate the psychic wash of bass players and drummers is the blessed curse of this street organ lark.
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