Summer In The City

Time Loops

No sun will shine in my day today 

The high yellow moon won't come out to play

I said darkness has covered my light

 And has changed my day into night, yeah

Where is the love to be found?

Won't someone tell me? 'Cause life 

Must be somewhere to be found 

Instead of concrete jungle 

Where the living is hardest 

Concrete jungle

Man, you've got to do your best, oh, yeah

Bob Marley

Concrete Jungle

Am at the Photographers' Gallery, where there is an exhibition of photographs by Dennis Morris entitled Music + Life which highlights Morris’ early documentary work in the multicultural neighbourhoods of post-war London but also captures the spirit of some of the most pivotal moments in 20th-century culture, from the soulful vibrancy of reggae to the rebellious energy of punk..... His candid photographs of Bob Marley, both on stage and off, along with the raw, chaotic world of the Sex Pistols, illustrate his unique ability to capture the personalities behind the music, (from the Photographers' Gallery website).

It's only a tenuous connection - a coincidence perhaps, but when Dennis Morris first hooked up with Bob Marley I also met the great man. On April 28, 1973, Bob Marley and the Wailers came to play in the Great Hall at Lancaster University on their Catch a Fire tour.  I was helping my friend Terry with his band, who were the support act that night, and we spent quite some time in the dressing room, with Bob and Bunny and Peter Tosh and their record playing and a lot of strangely pungent smoke.  Although they had yet to reach the heights of international stardom that was to come, they had a buzz about them, a confidence that they knew where they were going, and they were enjoying themselves.

Trouble was, that, although I was then a very keen amateur photographer, I didn't have my camera with me at the time [A minor oversight, no?  Ed].  I wonder now whether or not Dennis Morris could have been there?  He, like me, would have been a hanger-on, although he was already an accomplished photographer..... 

Here are some photos I took that year:

Brother and sister, Moss Side, Manchester

Moss Side, Manchester

Hattersley County Comprehensive School

Hattersley County Comprehensive School

Hattersley County Comprehensive School

And here is one Dennis Morris took of Bob in Jamaica a year or so later.....

Strange how time loops back and forth, with memory and coincidence entwined.....  

But:

It's all in the something or other.....

I emerge into the stupor of the London streets.  It is hot,  It's the city.  I need a loving spoonful:

Hot town, summer in the city

Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty

Been down, isn't it a pity?

Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city

All around, people looking half dead

Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head

There is indeed a stifled listlessness on the air:

Pollock's Toy Museum, once a colourful and entertaining spot in Fitzrovia (founded in 1956 in Covent Garden, it moved here to take over what had been an Italian cafe in 1969) is now fading into history, since it closed in 2023 (though still exists in pop-ups in Croydon and Leadenhall market) (Never mind the Pollocks?  Ed)

Even the mural in Whitfield Gardens (off Tottenham Court Road) seems exhausted.....

And Edward Burra's ladies waiting for a bus to Tate Britain are decidedly drained:

But at night it's a different world

Go out and find a girl

Come on, come on and dance all night

Despite the heat it'll be all right

Yes, well.... Maybe not? Better to keep cool with a little water feature:

Or take a pew  and relax with friends in a street cafe:

Cool town, evening in the city

Dressing so fine and looking so pretty

And babe, don't you know it's a pity

That the days can't be like the nights

In the summer, in the city

In the summer, in the city

The Lovin' Spoonful

Summer In The City

I wander back down past the now closed Photographer's Gallery, and then up Argyll Street, where only a couple of weeks ago Eva Perón entreated me not to cry for her silver (Not sure you quite understand?  Ed).  Apart from a bare handful of similarly dissolute campesinos or barrienses that night was mine.  Now the crowds are etched into a platinum frieze and gawp in silent homage:

Yes, the city has melted and been moulded into eternity. There is no where to escape to, but, wait a minute, sweet Cynthia (the moon goddess) Erivo calls me from above the rooftops (with Herbie Hancock on piano at the 2025 Grammy Awards):

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

And let me see what spring (summer?) is like

On Jupiter and Mars

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me.....

Etcetera

Bart Howard

Fly Me to the Moon

Man, you've got to do your best, oh, yeah

Dublin c1973

London 2025