10
Drum: EDITOR’S THOUGHTS
few of us have been going down to the Jazz Festival
for years. This is my husband, Travis. Travis, say ‘hello’.
What’s your name again? Are you a musician? We’ve
been doing Saint Lucia Jazz Festival every year for ten years. We
just love our jazz, don’t we, Trav? There’s fourteen of us on this
flight from England. We call ourselves The Black Pack. We’ve
been coming here every year for years.
A
“
“Where are you staying again? Are you a musician? Oh, my
God, you’re not! Travis, you’ll never believe it. He’s the editor
of that Drum magazine. Why don’t you shake his hand? I
actually found a copy of your magazine once on the train,
some idiot must have left it behind. I thought, I’m having that!
I couldn’t believe it, there it was. Can I get it in W.H. Smiths?
This is such a coincidence. Are you here covering the jazz?
That must be so glamorous!”
He stifled a yawn and turned towards the window. It might
have been a glamorous trip for him, he thought; if I hadn’t just
slept the worst night’s sleep in years.
“So who you most looking forward to seeing then? Fantasia,
ennit? That’s my girl. You know my girl can sing. I nearly voted
for her, as well, didn’t I babes, on that American Idol
programme. It’s just ‘cos we live in England I couldn’t get
through.” That’s when he started to close his eyes. “I hear they
got UB40 on the bill, huh, might be all right for the Saint
Lucians.” The wings of the plane prepared for landing. The
woman beside him was still babbling on. The dream came to
him slowly.
The interview was booked, the press pass obtained; he arrived
at the Gaiety, Rodney Bay, on time. With a photographer in
tow, and armed with a dozen questions, he took a seat on the
balcony overlooking the stage and prepared to meet one of the
so-called jazz greats.
Lights, cameras, sound, ac tion; and in sloped super-sized Kevin
Mahogany with the rest of his quintet who proceeded to charm
with his unique style of easy-listening jazz, down home blues,
and a back catalogue of all familiar timeless songs from Nature
Boy to Happy Home. And how they clapped and stomped and
clicked their fingers and this was only the ‘warm-up’ act but
the crowd loved it.
EDITOR’S THOUGHTS:
DRY LAND