"It's a popularity contestYou've just Gotta put it in context" Chilly Gonzales, AKA FuckEye, The One Eyed Jew
Phil told me Trash had a new website, so I had a look. Trash is this club in London I used to go to every Monday. It was like school. For a year or so, me and my peoples went every week, and had a ball, like children. It seems an awful long time ago now.
Anyway. In the video section, they've got this performance by Chilly Gonzales and Feist. It's pretty amazing. I remember it, even though we were pretty fucked up that night. It was Gonzo. Gonzo was very important to me.
I first heard the magic of Chilly Gonzo round my boy Erol, who run's Trash's house one night, after some party or other. He'd been running around with an ice bucket on his head, I'd been falling down stairs with crates of stolen booze, and we'd been hassling Norman Cook for drugs. I was so young then! I had all these different priorities.
But that night, lying on Erol's sofa, listening to The Entertainist on repeat, was when I knew for the first time I could make music, properly. I don't really know what the difference was between that and all the other records I ever heard. But that one said, loudly: You go and make songs, lad. Shit will be fine.
And, so, it was.
So it goes.
So thank you Erol Alkan, and thank you Chilly Gonzales - from the very bottom of my warm pink heartmuscle. Without you, I am nothing. As with all of you. I don't think I can have a thank you list on my album, because I can't remember the name of the girl who kept me warm that night at the end of the last century, when I might have fallen under some wheels, and who played me that Lamb song, and I can't remeber the name of the boy who gave me that beating in '96 and played me the first Metallica album.
You know what I mean? I am the sum of all these parts, and to try and suss which were more important is to miss the point of this whole thing, this us, this humanity, because it's all as important. Every drop of rain...
Here's a song by Gonzales that's online for you to listen to. And here's another. Maybe you'll like it, and it will speak to you like it did me. Maybe you already do, and it already did. Maybe it was Bob Dylan for you, or Cohen, or Shakira, or any one of those wonderful people that held up a mirror to the world so the light didn't burn our retinas, like the telly, but just so we could see. I wonder if Charles Clarke ever heard Leonard Cohen. Could he be so willing to sell us all into bondage if that were the case?
Well, some people are cheap, I guess. Some are bought more easily than battery-farmed eggs. If you have not heard much about Operation Mockingbird, maybe now is the time to learn.