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Chapter 289
The Anarchists In Love

You may have gathered by now that we were good starters but not great finishers. My memory banks are littered with projects we enthusiastically started but never quite saw through to fruition. Something happened along the way, plans changed, time was against us, or as is more than likely we were just distracted by something else. One of these abandoned schemes was a film script, which I’d started working on. This was supposed to be a very loose adaptation of the early ‘60s Colin Spencer novel, Anarchists in Love. A book that it has to be said did not quite live up to the wonderful promise of its title. And this may have had something to do with me not seeing things through. Well, that’s as convenient an excuse as any I guess.

What had happened was that our friend Taj, the man with a million dreams that used to waste as much time as anyone in the reference library in the name of learning, had a brother Patrick. And Patrick was dabbling in video and film studies at the London College of Printing or something. Taj, knowing my delusions about being a writer, decided to introduce me to Patrick, with a suggestion we work together on something. Well, at that time I had something of a weakness for the post-beat/angry young thing pop writings which were produced on our shores. Iris Murdoch’s Under The Net, Shena Mackay’s Music Upstairs. That sort of thing. Now I wouldn’t say Anarchists In Love was quite in that league, but it had a certain charm, and belonged there. You know, jazz scores, awful in-laws, art students, sexual complications and uncertainties, and more jazz. And it was set mainly in Brighton. So I thought there was something there to use.

Patrick was very much like his brother. Talking twenty to the dozen. Yeah, yeah, yeah, sounds good, let’s do it. You start in on the script, he said, but before you get too carried away pick me out a scene and we’ll look at what we can do with it. Well, ok I thought. I went away and did just that. Started in on the script, but picked out this special scene that I had in my head, which admittedly did not stick too faithfully to the book, but it worked for me. Anyway, the scene I created probably owed much more to the Madison sequence with Anna Karina in Bande a Part though I doubt I’d even seen it then. Jazz, romance, intrigue, coffee bar, rhythm and blues, jukebox, heartache and joy, and the sea air. It worked for me. It couldn’t lose I thought. And Patrick liked it. Yeah, yeah, yeah, sounds good, let’s do it, and worst comes to the worst we can use it for a video no doubt. I’m not sure Patrick’s words filled me with confidence, but it sounded like fun. And the actors and whatever for your scene, he asked? Ah I knew the answer to that one, I said.

The setting was easy. The Escape Club, I think it was called. An old place just set back from the sea front near one of the piers in Brighton. During the day it wasn’t used, so that would work. And as for the actors? Well, my plan was to get a few people in from the mod scene, the real faces, and turn them into stars. We’d find them in one of the clubs just off Oxford Street, some basement behind Selfridges, dancing to jazz and soul. It wasn’t really our scene. These stylists were a little too erm stylised for us to feel comfortable with, but it would work. So we went along for a few weeks, made a few connections, found the right faces. In particular there was one we called The Little Latin Lupe Lu who we knew would be our star. Her and some of her crowd. They would be perfect for the scene.

We left it to The Fair One and Patrick to do the negotiations, but it was wasn’t hard to persuade around a dozen real faces to forsake the Capital for a day out on the coast in late August, all expenses paid just so long as they would do their special little dances to a soundtrack of Julie London and Nancy Wilson, or Jimmy McGriff and Jimmy Smith, or Ray Charles and Oscar Brown. Everyone was up for that. Why wouldn’t you be? The people at The Escape Club were very obliging which helped enormously, and we were all set for some fun. We went down with Patrick in a transit with all the gear, while the faces came down by train nice and early.

It was one of those days where everything went right. The faces did their thing. The Little Latin Lupe Lu stole the show. Before we knew it, Patrick said it’s a wrap. The scene was in the bag. And the rest of the day was ours. We started to go our separate ways. The sun was out, sort of, but it was blustery in a very Brighton way. Patrick was heading back to the big black smoke. A couple of the faces were off for something to eat. The rest of us thought we’d head up along the beach to where they were building the marina, and where the naturist beach was, which was always good for a giggle. It was only when we were on our way, debating whether to take the model train or not, that we realised that our Fair One and The Little Latin Lupe Lu had gone missing. We tried our hardest to look surprised. It was only later we learned what had happened.

Being the inveterate charmer that he was, our Fair One had been whispering sweet nothings into the enchanting ear of the lovely Lupe Lu all morning, and had persuaded Lupe to lie about heading up to the marina. Their plan was a rather more intimate stroll down towards Hove, a bag of chips by the lagoon, and then leave the rest to ... As they were strolling along the prom they happened across some of the London ‘zine scene shuffling along in their horrible shoes. What ho lads, said our Fair One. What brings you boys down to breezy Brighton? It’s a little off your beaten track. Having a bit of an awayday are we? It turns out, our Fair One learned, that there was to be a bit of a shindig on the seafront. Sonic Youth were playing on the seafront later that afternoon, by the Zap Club. Hmm, said our Fair One, I’ll go fetch my earplugs. Friends of yours, asked the lovely Lupe Lu? Certainly not, replied our offended Fair One, they’re just public schoolboys out on a beano.

So down to Hove they strolled. Had their chips. Held hands. Wandered back. Just as they passed the forlorn West Pier, with its distant echoes of Patrick Hamilton, the sound of freeform feedback fluttered on the breeze. Aha, said our Fair One, clutching the arm of our goddess, Brighton is about to rock. Great, let’s go and watch for a while, said the ill-advised goddess. The Fair One felt the earth cave in under his feet. He’d seen Sonic Youth only recently. They weren’t his cup of tea. He wanted jazz. He wanted soul. He didn’t need noise. But he tried to put a brave face on it. So there they were, milling around a makeshift stage. Leather jacketed oafs loafed around. The Fair One was distinctly uncomfortable, and strongly considered doing a bunk when the lovely Lupe went off to powder her nose. Instead he had an idea while watching a couple of local pint-sized pranksters skirting the crowd obviously up to no good. Oi, Pinkie, he called out to one of them. Come ‘ere, I’ve got a job for you. So, a few instructions were whispered in wee Pinkie’s ear, a few pounds passed on, and all of a sudden the world seemed a brighter place to our Fair One.

The Little Latin Lupe Lu returned, refreshed and radiant, and Sonic Youth appeared. Guitars squalled, drums pounded, Thurston bounced up and down. The London ‘zine scene guys danced round their plastic carrier bags. Our Fair One put his arm round his lady. The wind blew. The aspiring Pinkies prowled round the outskirts of the crowd. Presently they were chanting and heckling and calling out requests. Students go home! That sort of thing. They made positive nuisances of themselves. The Fair One smiled secretly. The Little Latin Lupe Lu however tsked tsked tsked. Bit heavy metal isn’t it, said The Fair One. Well, yes, said the lovely lady, but I love the singer. Beg pardon, said The Fair One. The singer, said Lupe Lu, she’s great, with her raven hair. Really cool, really passionate. She’s really got something. The Fair One looked askance at his beloved, and said really? Yeah, really, said his beloved. And she doesn’t deserve to have these little brats calling out abuse. That’s just horrible. Oh absolutely, said The Fair One. Not on, at all. Look, leave it to me. Someone’s got to do something. Kids today eh? And according to our Fair One, he disappeared into the small if seething crowd, caught up with the aspiring Pinkies, had a few words in their shell likes, and parted with a few more pounds. Sorted, he said, reappearing at the side of The Little Latin Lupe Lu. She gave his arm a reassuring and appreciative squeeze.

Well, what with one thing and another, we didn’t make much progress with the film, the script or anything. The Fair One didn’t make much progress with his Little Latin Lupe Lu either. As for Sonic Youth? They did make progress. Even if it took me many years before I became a big fan. In time I realised The Little Latin Lupe Lu was very right and we were very wrong. Oh well. Here’s to all the renegade princesses. Jet black hair, tangled stare...

© 2008 John Carney
Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett