Farewell, 2008. Good morning, 2009.
I begin the New Year by recalling a mid-November 2008 rendezvous with Dave Lawes and his ever-dashing wife Alex, who shanghaied her unsuspecting rhythm guitar-playing husband on a surprise London-to-San Francisco long-weekend mini-break.
To pull off the caper, it helps that Alex works (and occasionally flies) for a major UK-based carrier. Let's call it Trans Love Airways, to quote E. Burdon.
Yes, a Rapier inside the city limits of my hometown, a first.
Top of the to-do list for the couple, plus two of their friends, also in on the jetaway getaway: touring Alcatraz Island in San Francisco Bay, site of the notorious former federal prison, which housed a gangland hot list during its 1934-1963 heyday. The Rock lures out-of-towners to its preserved cellblocks, especially US crime drama-crazed Brits. "Yes, I would love to see Alcatraz," says Colin Pryce-Jones whenever I try to entice him to San Francisco (sourdough bread, fog, cable cars climbing half way to the stars, hot-hot-hot Hunan Chinese cuisine and roly-poly hills just ain't attractions in his book).
After their Alcatraz outing, the Lawes and I met at the Daily Grill off San Francisco's Union Square for drinks and chat. Rants, raves and quotes I remember:
- Admiring Colin's utterly relentless musical perfectionism year after year. Dave: "I've never met anyone as professional, so dedicated to his craft."
- Short-sighted, pence-pinching promoters.
- The ease of sharing rhythm with Neil Ainsby.
- Never appearing at Shadowmania—"I'm still waiting for an invitation!"
- Early Rapier days abroad in the '80s ("wild times") when crowds on the Continent "went nuts beyond measure... we couldn't believe the effect we had..."
Fashion Sense and Sensibility: Erm, that's a 100% cotton shirt I'm wearing above with Alex and Dave, not dead-grotty spandex, in case you're wondering (or not).
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