Sept 12th 2008 review

'007' hears about The Floor ....

James Bond observed the Louis Quinze portico clock across the polished mahogany desk.  ‘God, another three hours before my first drink,’ he groaned inwardly.

It wasn’t his fault he had been stuck behind his desk at “Universal Export” for the past three months.  Rather it had been the concerted effort of others to put a halt to his “individualist streak”.

 It had been years since the double 0 prefix had been removed from his rank.  Age had taken its toll.  He had made some mistakes.  ‘That damn Kousnetskova woman’ he reflected ruefully.  But for a man of war this office work was torture.  He looked at his in-tray and pulled the first document towards him.  It was a thick brown folder, bound with a sash, headed  “The Floor, 12/9/08”, with the legend “Eyes only”.

 Bond lit his fifth cigarette of the morning and gazed out of the window overlooking Regent’s Park.  Traffic hummed beneath him and his head throbbed dully.  He inhaled the smoke luxuriantly and flipped open the folder.

  Jim and Andy opened the evening with ‘All the bad times’. A zesty beginning with the audience singing along, followed by a mandolin instrumental.  A jokey song came next giving a mention to Monopoly.  They closed their set with ‘You ain’t going nowhere’ (Bond smiled grimly to himself), with the audience coming in on the ‘Whew – ee, ride me high, tomorrow’s gonna be…’ chorus.

Next to take the stage were Liv, a two-piece consisting of John Bryan on electric guitar and Richard Jay on drums. They opened with a funky ‘I hear you knocking’, interpreted in a ‘70s shuffle beat, followed by the Beatles ‘You won’t see me’, with the crowd coming in on the choral ‘la-la-la-las’ and a Ringoesque flourish on the cymbals.

 ‘See you again’ was a self-penned composition about unrequited lurve, achieving quite a full sound with just drums and guitar with a phaser (‘flange’ coughed Bond who had done the research).

 Steven Roberts took to the stage with bounce and a bucketful of musical brio.  Sporting leather-jacketed cool, his quavering voice ran through several distinct musical styles. ‘Watching the clock’ was only one of these, with the chorus ‘tick tock goes the clock’ producing a masterly rhythm and the guitarist clearly enjoying himself.  ‘Leaving you behind’ followed, and then ‘See what my momma says’, cementing the impression that he is endowed with the attitude and flourish necessary to wow a crowd.

 Nerys Clark needed a lot of shush to tune her cello up.  Condensation on the inside of the hall vied with the rain falling softly outside to dampen the audience one way or another.  Spirits were running high however.  Nerys was accompanied by Jan Holloway on the piano and they opened with a piece from ‘The carnival of animals’ by Sanson, creating a sense of rolling momentum.

 An improvised piece transposed to cello that very day followed.  The notes moved back and forth vivaciously as the refrain ‘My heart will go on’ struck up.  Bach’s 3rd suite came next with the bass notes from the cello speaking eloquently across the village hall.

 Dripping wet, Bond rode the lift to the top floor.  He tucked the Walther into the waistband of his trousers.  The cool gunmetal felt somehow comforting against his naked flesh.  That fight with the hammerhead had been close, he reflected, watching the blood ooze from his trouser leg.  If it hadn’t been for Q Branch’s new fish repellent… He wondered what awaited him on the top floor.  He gritted his teeth, waiting for the lift to stop.

 Bond snapped out of his reverie.  He had been dreaming about his younger days.  Now he was just an old fool put out to seed by the service.  Impatiently he turned over another page of the brown folder in front of him.  The sound of traffic far below was starting to increase in intensity.  He continued reading.

 Martin Blake opened with ‘Carrying you away to London town – with the earthy refrain – ‘Comin’ to catch you baby.’  The jokey ‘How can I miss you when you won’t go away?’ came on its heels, followed by Woody Guthrie’s ‘Deportees’, telling a poignant tale of Mexican migrant labour desired for the fruit-picking season in the US but ignominiously ejected afterwards.

‘Goodbye Rosalita

Adios mis amigos Jesus and Maria,

You won’t have a name when you ride the big aeroplane,

All they will call you will be deportees.’

A rumbling ‘Mona’ by Bo Diddley followed, freighted with rhythmic menace.  Martin continued to show utter musical integrity in choice of material.  Whether a Steve Earle song, Ray Charles’ ‘Hallelujah I just love her so’, ‘Freaking at the Freakers’ ball’, a Jack Teagarden number or Hank Williams’ ‘Hey good lookin’ (I’m free and I’m ready, how about goin’ steady) it was all delivered in a gritty tone with a countenance that he describes himself as ‘looking like all the Rolling Stones rolled into one’. 

 Joined by a guitarist called Jilly, he took to his banjo.  'Silver dagger’, done by Joan Baez and Dolly Parton, ‘Cherokee Shuffle’ spliced with ‘It’s a goldrush’ showed sharp soloing chops on his chosen instrument.  Calls for the beloved ‘Bogie song’ briefly appeared in the audience but were thwarted.  Martin knew what he wanted to play, inviting the audience to yodel at one point (“Arkansas you hear me callin’” – you get the idea).

 Brought back for an encore after ‘Wild horses’, he gave us ‘Do ray mi’, telling us first of how oil magnates in the thirties had removed the fences and thus the top soil could be ripped away by the wind, creating the Dust Bowl phenomenon in the Western United States.  Farmers headed out to California were rejected because they didn’t have the requisite funds (the ‘Do ray mi’) to stay.  Woody Guthrie rules, but hey, so does Martin Blake.

 Bond pressed up against the girl in the train.  It wasn’t purposefully.  The train’s rocking had pushed them into each other.  She looked up at him playfully.  Her long, dark hair fell over her shoulder.  She looked into the quizzical blue-grey eyes of the spy in front of her.  Perhaps he could be kind…

 Bond came to his senses.  Dreaming again.  Another life.  He stood up from his desk, closing the brown file firmly.  Reaching into the drawer he pulled out a bottle of Haig and Haig.  He poured himself a stiff measure and let the amber liquor warm him inside.  Standing by the window of his musty brown office he surveyed the exquisite architectural ruins of his life.

 Destouches