It’s all about the hereandnow

‘I’M Irish too.’ ‘Are ye?’ ‘Yeah my Mom is from Cork.’ Bemusement crossed my mind, and I presume it reached my expression. Even though I had been living in New York for nearly a decade, I still hadn’t adjusted to the idea that last names could be deceptive or that no one was really from America. But Pete was English, as English as Churchill!

His band – The Who – even used the Union Jack in their logo. Now he was telling me that his mammy was from Cork, it brought new meaning to their song ‘Baba O’Reilly.’

Television monitors were all around us, this was the age of video, if a song didn’t have a video, it didn’t get played.

When Joy Division came on singing ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’, Pete’s eyes lit up, and he recited the phenomenal statistics on the number of singles it moved in the first week.

This surprised me as much as his mom being from Cork, he saw it as a business, and took note of the sales figures. I didn’t think that way at all, and I never have, wisely or not. I pointed out that the lead singer, Ian Curtis, had committed suicide before it was even released. Pete put his hand on my shoulder like an older brother. ‘Yeah well none of us want to do that, do we?’

I went to the Peppermint Lounge that night on 45th Street, to see Talking Heads perform. It was 1982, about 15 years after I first heard The Who’s debut album in our record shop on the Wexford Quay.

Back then, they were some kind of mysterious Gods to me, untouchable purveyors of maximum R&B, and Pete Townshend was the genius behind their innovation. But that night at The Peppermint Lounge I was a completely different person, and so was he.

It was a time of minimalist clothes and music, and it seemed like the only way to embrace this new period fully, was to reject the past. Larry Kirwan and I had formed a ‘New Wave’ band called The Major Thinkers, and were seeking to become peers of bands like Talking Heads, playing in the same places, and embracing the same audience. The Who, were not part of this scene, and it was clear to me that Pete Townshend wished he was, that night.

There I was, dressed in Doc Martins, austere black jeans and jacket, utilitarian to a fault. While – without me knowing it - Major Thinker’s fans were at the other side of the room convincing Pete Townshend that he had to meet me. Soon they had him by my side, and doing his best to impress it seemed.

This hugely successful musician, who had sold about 60 million albums, was trying to make an impression on someone who was struggling to get a record deal. Taller than I expected, about 6’3’’, Pete turned out to be very charming and soft-spoken. This was another irony, he and The Who were the original punks, smashing guitars and crashing motorbikes into hotel swimming pools.

Those days I insisted on dancing up front, Pete joined me, and we sang along to Talking Heads ‘Psycho Killer’. No one even noticed the tall legendary Londoner dancing by my side.

But this wasn’t his time, and for some odd reason it seemed like mine, at least to Pete, who was not used to being out of time.

Proof once more, that it doesn’t matter what we accumulate, it will eventually become irrelevant, and that the present moment, is pertinent forever, here and now.

This hugely successful musician, who had sold about 60 million albums, was trying to make an impression on someone who was struggling to get a record deal