Maximo park, market tavern, hove 19 july 2005
In a torrent of tumult smith side-parted the waves.
He was on the crest and the cusp.
We looked into the future.
Heads held aloft and looking left field.
Keyboardist extolling us to play our cards right.
Always “higher!”, “higher!”
He was jumped up.
We were too.
Hairstyles picked with a fine toothcomb.
But we waded through mud.
Shame! I hollered at the soundist.
Smith’s prose deserved better than this.
The horrors of a hometown.
No place to have your heart rent asunder.
But we went halfers on the billingham.
He had to leave somehow before they ran him out of town.
We felt the pain, felt the shame, apportioned no blame.
Smith played in the bemusement arcade.
Black suit, red shoes, blue heart.
A bitter shanty and two sea shandies were the order of the night.
Don’t. Ask. Me. Ask me. Ask me.
The toppermost beckoned.
A minor seventh seduced us.
We lost our heeds, we were all over the shop.
For a b-side encore?
Provincial sophistry still won hands down though but.
We were up.
Extolling the virtues of the outsider.
Smith left his mark...
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