Just Deserts

No.

I didn't mean desserts.

BBC Radio 4 has a program that has run for many years, called Desert Island Discs. A guest - celebrity, politician, musician, author, whatever - is invited to list the 8 records they would take with them if stranded on a desert island, and why, what they mean to them. At the end, they have to select just one to keep, along with a book (the island already has the Complete Works of Shakespeare and the Bible - don't they all?) and a single luxury.

As a format for an interview, it's unique, insightful and very entertaining. As a way of documenting your life and giving an insight into what makes you who you are, it's very powerful.

I often muse on my 8 desert island discs, which I find change with regularity, depending on mood, circumstances, bank balance. Yet for all this, there are certain constants, so I have decided to try to list them here, to give myself a touchstone of my changing inner self. I don't intend to post them all now, but will do them as they occur to me and it will be interesting to see if my opinion changes. However, I will leave them to stand and won't cheat.

1) Streetlife - The Crusaders with Randy Crawford

In 1981, I went to the Capital Radio Jazz Festival, an open air concert at Knebworth House, a stately home north of London. Some 20,000 people sat in a field, watching acts like Dizzy Gillespie, Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames, Spyrogyra, Shakatak, A Trad New Orleans Jazz Band and others. It started at noon and finished at 10pm.

Top of the bill were the Crusaders.

It was one of those rare English Summer days, when the heat is comfortable, but not oppressive. A heat that warms your bones and your soul in equal measure. Warm enough to sleep, cool enough to not worry about burning. One of those days that erases thoughts of leaving. A picnic, friends, sunshine, music, nice people and the lack of pressure that comes from being young enough to be free of responsibility.

As the penultimate band finished, everyone prepared for the Crusaders. Roadies scuttled across the stage like manic crabs, and the crowd shuffled and moved like grains of sand on a dune, expectantly, positioning for a view.

Finally, to a roar of approbation, they came on.

Most of the set has faded into the cotton wool of my memory, a vague recollection of dancing, grinning, clapping, cheering and finally, all too soon, it was nearly 10pm and darkness begins to envelope the bowl, creeping up like a sea mist, a comfort blanket to settle the day to sleep.

The song ended, and Wilton Felder came up to the mike.

"We have to finish at 10pm" he said (Boos)
"Sorry, but we're not allowed to go on beyond 10" (Louder Boos)
A pause

"But we're not going to finish ONE SECOND before" (Huge Cheers)

With this, he steps back and, raising his sax to his mouth, begins to play. Gentle, emotional notes, so clear it's almost as if you feel rather than hear them. A soft improvisation, variation, unclear what it is. Yet.

Finally, the theme becomes clear and expectation builds. The vocals come in, soft, personal, directed to me alone.

If you know the song, the full version rather than the sugar-free one often played on the radio, you will know that this is the precursor to the opening bars, the four loud, vibrant, exciting chords rising up the scale, that herald the start of Street Life proper http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_ZvDI7XGFU.

As those four notes rang out, everyone cheered and, on the fifth, as the full band came in, EVERY light on the stage, which had been dark until then, came on.

Every time I hear the song, the hairs go up on my arms, the back of my neck.

Every time I hear it, I'm 19 again and happy.

Even as I write this, without even hearing it, my body reacts and my eyes fill with tears.

My life has had many happy moments - hopefully will have many more. Yet this sits in my soul as one of the best days, one of the best moments in my life, when everything was good and there was an air of innocence and simplicity that can't be recovered.

So when I listen to Street Life, when I hear the sax solo, my heart lifts and I remember that sometimes, life can be perfect.

It gives me hope. The link above is not the right version, does not have that gentle build, that sweet tension, but I hope you enjoy it and that it gives you hope too.