4-13-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #101 (Brushes with Blushes -- a musical in the making)

I feel compelled to write about Blushes Winebar because that was a very memorable place.  Even though I didn’t work there, I could go there once a week and sort of sponge up the zeitgeist there and the general feeling of dissatisfaction over whatever the staff was feeling that week -- a strangely entertaining pastime.

Sometimes it was the way the management was (mis)treating them.  Sometimes it was their love lives.  Sometimes it was their general dissatisfaction with life and the desire to do something else with their lives. . .

Then I knew I had to start writing a musical about it and call it “Welshes Winebar.” Partly because Welch’s was a grape juice, and welshing was another word (“informal, sometimes offensive”) for cheating, or going back on one’s word.  A lot of that happened there, too, let me tell you!

At any rate, I wrote a bunch of songs that made sense in the context of a winebar musical, including “London Rain,” “At Long Last When I Leave,” and “Someone Else’s Girl” (from writing with Stephen).  I started work on the script or “book” and only got up to act 2 or so.  The characters were based on Roger, Kevin, Simon, Stephanie, Phyllida, Tim, Felicity and Martin. . . so in my head, they were all pretty vivid and could come to life, presto.

Alas, I have yet to finish a musical. . . because my weak links, as a dramatic writer, are plot and conflict.  Sigh.  But maybe some day, with encouragement, I’ll actually write something for a musical (my birthday’s the same as Stephen Sondheim and Andrew Lloyd Webber, oddly enough -- though in a later year, of course!). . . songwriting really is my forte (over my life so far, writing and co-writing hundreds of songs -- good ones!).

I would welcome a collaborator in creating a musical set in London in the early 1980’s. . . any takers?

4-11-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #99 (Blushes: The Other Side of the Main Squeeze, pt. 2)

I think that people “took the piss” and put me on a lot because, A. they liked me, and B. I was pretty gullible.  But I made a few friends who were very likeable and clued me in, eventually, so I didn’t carry resentment long.

Two of my favorite people (or should we say favourite?) were Felicity and Martin.  My firend, Felicity’s, nickmame was “Billie”: a dirty blonde with short wavy hair and blue eyes, tall and lanky, very confident and funny with so much energy!  She was an absolute hoot.  She had a boyfriend (later fiancé) named Stephen but while working at Blushes, the bartender, Martin, flirted with her shamelessly and of course how could she help but flirt back?  He was a very handsome and personable guy, in his early twenties, with a smart alecky, Rhett Butler sort of thing about him. And smart?! Martin was definitely clued in and almost fox-like in his ability to be cagey.  He made great tips because he was an astute judge of human nature and smart enough to draw people out and not talk too much. He made people want to talk and “unload.”  I watched him with fascination, especially when he’d try to impress and beguile Billie. 

Billie/Felicity was also smart -- smart to know she could flirt with Martin and sort of string him along (she’d have loved to be his girlfriend but for the fact she already had a boyfriend, Stephen, whose prospects were quite good PLUS he was of a better social class. ).  Her beau, Stephen, was really a good guy, and very SOLID as far as his temperament and personality. Where Martin was brilliant and mercurial, Stephen was an anchor.  He let Felicity know he cared and loved her, and promised her security in the relationship.  Martin was a loose gun or a question mark -- intriguing, but a little dangerous.  Sort of a bad boy/good guy dynamic. . .

Billie really liked both of them, liked being around them both.  She was contagiously compelling to one and all (the word “likable” keeps coming back), a very likable English girl with a good head on her shoulders and good looks.  I feel a little bad not knowing her any more. . . maybe I’ll look for her, too, online?  Don’t remember her last name, though. . . I’m sure she married Stephen and they had a family.

I do hope she’s happy. . . and I wonder what became of Martin, too?  (As for Tim, I hope he eased up on the substances, legal and illegal. . . nice guy, really.)

4-10-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #98 (Blushes: The Other Side of the Main Squeeze)

Blushes Winebar across the street -- cattycorner, actually -- was what I’d consider the Other Side of Main Squeeze.  Its address was 52 King’s Road; the Main Squeeze, #23.  Some of the staff over at Blushes (who weren’t open as late as we were) counted as even more interesting to me than the crew of seasoned misfits over at Main Squeeze.

For one, owners Roger and Kevin would saunter in without rhyme or reason (why not? They owned both places), usually kind of tipsy from wine, their drink of choice. That happens to be mine now, too, but at the time I drank very few alcoholic bevs. I hadn’t developed a taste for it yet.  Besides, I was watching my girlish figure, you know!

All right, Roger would ask for a glass of Aligote, which I later thought to rhyme with “cuisines haute” in a song. . . I saw him do this countless times over at Blushes, where I’d sometimes go in the afternoons. I always chuckled to myself, hearing the English speak French.  They sound natural and at the same time, affected, so it appeals to my sense of humor.

Another thing (person!) that appealed to my sense of humor was a waitress named Phyllida. First of all, I’d never met anyone named “Phyllida.”  Secondly, she was a sort of large, frowsy woman, possibly in her thirties, who always seemed kind of blurry. No sharp edges on that one!

And then there was Tim, a really beautiful man in the mold of Bryan Ferry (tall, big shoulders, handsome like a young coal miner), with dreamy greenish eyes, lanky brown hair, and a smile like Ray Bolger, the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz. Am I making him sound strange?  Hope not!  The combination in him created, as I said, a very cute guy.  He wasn’t as sharp or smart as his looks, but charming and very appealing, nonetheless.  We had a flirtation that resulted in my going with him one weekend to Herefordshire (or was it Hertfordshire?).  Wherever: it was the cutest little town, with one pub and a post office.  His family’s home was a lovely place, very upscale English cottagy. 

I later learned that Tim called me “The American with the cute butt”. . . geez, it’s nice to be appreciated, right?!

Besides Tim and Simon, the manager (who I mentioned a while back in this blog: he was a little older than us all, very street smart and working class, excellent people skills but with a very thick working class London accent. One day I walked into Blushes and asked for a small advance against my paycheck. “Are ya skint, luv?” he kept asking.  Now I had NO IDEA what the eff he meant, but at last it dawned on me: “Are you broke?” he was saying, in the local vernacular. Nice one, Simon!).

That was just one of the many examples of people “taking the piss” out of me. . .

3-22-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #79 (“I Don’t Want to Go to Chelsea”)

After a dismal night pulling pints in a pub, I was wandering ‘round the King’s Road in an effort to find “better fit” employment under the table in 1981 (had to support myself as well as find somewhere to “belong” so I could save my sinking psyche), I walked into a winebar called Blushes.  It looked nice, the menu was good, and the ambiance was one of controlled gentility, perfect for social-climbers and arrivistes alike. 

A recent review of the place (still going in 2012!) says, “During the day, Blushes Cafe is a cool cafe bar boasting a comfortable, relaxed atmosphere and tasty cuisine of all types from around the world. However, the atmosphere changes after dark at Blushes and it transforms into a vibrant, upbeat wine bar with a fantastic selection of cocktails, champagne and wines to get you in the mood for a night out on the town.”

Ah yes, all about the nightlife!  That’s where the inhibitions recede and there’s money to be made!  Every restaurateur knows that. . . as do the waitstaff, who make much better tips on the larger checks created by booze intake.  Yeah!

So I had a feeling about the place, and they had a feeling about me, so they sent me over to their “members club” establishment, across the road and down the stairs.  Voila!  The subterranean home of Main Squeeze -- a “members club” where membership afforded better and longer hours for alcohol selling and consumption than the laws that governed pubs and publicans.  Members could bring guests, so in that way more customers were billed and the Main Squeeze remained in the black.

So, the Blushes manager sent me over to speak with one of the owners, Kevin or Roger (“Kev” and “Rog,” of course).  They were usually together.  Kevin, the taller one, had a soft, caressing voice, soft brown eyes, a full head of med-short, curly salt and pepper hair and a sweet, almost lugubrious manner.  He could have been a kindly undertaker but for his clothing -- middle-aged, upper-middle income, not flashy and casual. Roger, the shorter owner, had sharper features, a sharper voice, a brasher personality.  His electric blue eyes didn’t miss a thing; he wore dark suits, usually navy blue; and his full head of brown, curly hair was probably a vain spot.  Like Kev, Rog enjoyed a drink; the two of them -- most times I saw them -- seemed kind of blurry and woozy from drink, though I could have been mistaken. . . I was a little puritanical and down on boozers and drank very little, personally. 

At any rate, these guys were to be my bosses for the better part of a year, when I joined the Main Squeeze staff.