Looking for Fingal…

Playing on the Broken Record Inn jukebox tonight…for all the music and speech click here for the Mixcloud stream

The Lost Soul Band — The Last Train

Scotch Mist — Pamela

Van De Graaf Generator — Refugees

John Cale —  Big White Cloud

Matching Mole — O’Caroline

Justin Townes Earle — Someday I’ll be Forgiven For This

Miike Snow — San Soleil

Gene Clark — Silver Raven

Roy Harper — One of these Days in England

David Ackles — Down River

Richard and Linda Thompson — When I Get to the Border

Family — My Friend the Sun

Fairport Convention — A Sailor’s Life

The Lost Soul Band — You Can’t Win Them All Mum

Parchment — Lovely Touching

The Lost Soul Band — The Last Train

They entered in a sparse flurry of snowflakes and languid giggles, all upmarket Gore-tex and expensive knitwear. One of those Peaky Blinders caps for him, a too-tall woolly ski hat for her. Thin, moneyed and curious. Hunting for something. Or somebody

A late Tuesday afternoon, March, no other customers at the Broken Record Inn. Light fading, snow showing worse was on the way, probably. A dangerous time of year to be on this road, unless you had serious business. A dangerous time of day. I was at the 12-inch jukebox, giving it a bit of a hip-thump to move the stuck needle on. The track was the strange and blunt God on The Lost Soul Band’s extraordinary album The Land of Do As You Please. The woman in the bunnet gave a strange wee squeal:

“Gordon Grahame! The great lost Scottish superstar. Imagine stumbling on him here.”

“Now some sort of Jesus freak down in Brighton, apparently,” drawled her partner. “After being exorcised, for God’s sake. What a loss. Married Ronnie Corbett’s daughter.” Both accents were Scottish, his upmarket Edinburgh, hers that sort of built-in-sarcasm Glaswegian that always made my hackles rise.

“Loss to whom?” That was Adelaide, behind the bar, all unwelcoming Teutonic stare and intimidating curls. No reply. “What can I get you?” 

“Ah well, perhaps just some coffee,” said the woman. “Maybe a large gin, no ice no tonic.” Which was all she was going to get. We don’t do bubbly drinks or mixers at the Broken Record. “Love the real flames! Living flames!” She was talking from the fireplace, which was stoked on seasoned pine and crackling out fearsome waves of heat. “Hell’s teeth that’s warm.” 

Scotch Mist — Pamela

Van De Graaf Generator — Refugees

She was unwinding her Fair Isle scarf. “Can you bring them over? Plain black coffee, no milk, no sugar.” She plunked herself down in one of the Børge Mogensen chairs I’d salvaged from the Burrell Collection café refurbishment down in Glasgow. Idiots didn’t realise what they were until half of them had been sold.

I couldn’t get the record to stop jumping, so I switched off the jukebox at the wall with an electronic thud and the whine of slowing vinyl.“You’ll have to fetch them yourself,” I said. “Rules of the house.”

“Crisps? Flavours?” The guy had satd down too, taken his hat off. Not the expected shaven head. Grey brushcut. They were both in their 40s. Fit but worn.

“I’m afraid not,” I said. “Quiet day, otherwise we’d have some local bakery products for the teatime…rush.” Rush? More like a stumble. “Mutton pies, maybe some cheese. But we’re all out.” We weren’t, but I wasn’t feeling like the hospitable Highland host. And I had a bad feeling about these two.

“No worries,” said Merchiston Castle Man. “We’re booked into the Bridge Inn in Helmsdale for tonight. And dinner. I presume they’ll have discovered table service.” 

John Cale —  Big White Cloud

Matching Mole — O’Caroline

He unwound himself from the chair and headed to the bar, where Adleiade had the a V60 filtering on a tray along  with a double measure of legal Slanachan gin, overstrength at 52 per cent. Also a jug..

“You might need to add a bit of water to the gin,” I said. “Don’t worry about the colour. Think of it as pink.”

“Ah, the peat. I should maybe have had a whisky,” said sarky Glaswegian. “Might have been more in tune with local vibes, eh? Nice watercolours.” She looked around at the dozen or so pictures on the old oak-panelled walls. “Are they signed? Local scenes. Kind of…runny, aren’t’ they?”

“Local fellow,” I replied. Suddenly wary. All the paintings were signed with a single letter ‘J’ for Jingle. “Music fans? That how you know about the Lost Soul Band?”

“Fans. You could say that,” said the man. “My name’s Philip Creighton, and this is Mandy, the other half.” Which provoked a guffaw from the table. He stopped at the LP jukebox, peered at the titles. “Nick Lowe’s Cowboy Outfit. James Edwyn and the Borrowed Band. Bill Fay. Nothing if not eclectic. Cry Town Management. I’m Creighton, we’re Cry Town – get it? Heard of us? You used to be in the business, so I hear. We used to manage Glamour Ghost. We’re looking for Fingal. Fin. Or Jingle as he calls himself nowadays.”

Justin Townes Earle — Someday I’ll be Forgiven For This

Miike Snow — San Soleil

“I’m not sure…”

“Oh come on. No-one can disappear forever. Especially not if they’re flogging paintings that look exactly like early Glamour Ghost record covers. Art School will out, you know. One turning up for auction on eBay might have been a co-incidence. Some fan copying his style. But three? All in the last month? Presume he’s short of cash after Christmas. Royalties drying up. Anyway” – he took a slug of coffee – “not bad. Bit too much Robusta for my taste, but OK. We need to talk to him. Business stuff.”

“Aye, he’s a hard man to get hold of,” said Mandy. “Still got private banking in Edinburgh though. They wouldn’t hand out his address.” She looked balefully at me, all plucked eyebrows and  cheekbones too geometric for comfort or nature. “Had to buy one of those watercolours off eBay. £400 plus pstage. No return address. Postmark for Sandvoe. And that’s where we heard about this exhibition. Nobody there would say a word about where he lived.”

“So here we are,” said Creighton. 

Gene Clark — Silver Raven

Roy Harper — One of these Days in England

“You’re at the Bridge in Helmsdale?” Adelaide’s voice was beautiful, I always thought she sounded like Nico if she came from Thurso, Germanic with a touch of Caithness.

“Aye” They spoke in unison. Stereo privilege. And desperation.

“We’ll get him to contact you there. But you should leave now. It’s going to snow. You might get stuck.”

“Oh, we’ve got a Range Rover,” said Creighton. “ Three months old. Four-wheel-drive. Petrol hybrid. And it’s only a few flakes out there.”

“Really?” said Adelaide. Well, I’d get a move on if I were you. There’s a short cut. Good road, save you half an hour to Helmsdale. Head over the Swipe to Kildonan, then east.”

“No,” I said, “I don’t think…”

“The New Range Rover,” said Creighton, loftily, “Fully cpmputerised gradient sensors, all-weather tyres. Variable ground clearance, anti-slip diffs. Besides, what’s few wee flurries of snow out there. It’s not lying. We’re almost in April, for God’s sake.”

“Head back down the Clave towards Slanachan,” said Adelaide. “First turning on the left marked Torrish and Kilphedir. Save you a good lump of the A9. they’ve mended a lot of the Berriedale Braes, but it’s still one of the most dangerous roads in Britain.”

“Maybe we should just go back to Slanachan and then north” said Mandy, her voice suddenly sounding less edgy. More SouthSide than West End. Merrylee. Giffnock. Creighton drained his cup and stood up.

“Come on, beloved.” He looked at me. “Tell Fin we have an offer for him he…well. He can;t refuse. Shouldn’t. And we’ll be back tomorrow if we don’t hear from him. Won’t take no for an answer. All that stuff.” There was a desperation in his eyes.

David Ackles — Down River

Richard and Linda Thompson — When I Get to the Border

Family — My Friend the Sun

As they left, the weather looked less threatening than earlier. No snow was lying and the darkening sky even had a glint of dying sunlight. I went to the door and watched the big grey car head off. I went back inside and switched the album jukebox on at the wall. Gordon Grahame’s  Julian Cope-via-Van-Morrison-and-Dylan voice started up again. Desperate. Pleading.

“Adelaide?” She was picking up the tray from their table. “What did you mean ‘whose loss’? When they were talking about Gordon Grahame moving to Brighton and becoming a Bible basher?”

“You’ve listened to those records,” she said. “Lucky Jim and all that.You know what he was about from the very start. It’s the rawest, most brutal, dirtiest spirituality you’ll ever hear. I mean, ‘Hung Like Jesus’? As an album title. He’s no-one’s loss. What right does some asshole rock entrepreneur have to say that?  if he’s found some sort of peace? Some kind of redemption? If means giving up the music, so what?”

“Why’d you send them over the Swipe? It starts off OK but in the end it’s just a muddy track before it hits the A897. And if it snows properly…”

“Oh, it will,” she said. “I’ve seen the forecast. Blizzard conditions. Imminent. And the Swipe goes a lot higher than this before that drop into Kildonan. But they’ll be all right.” she smiled. “They’ve got computerised gradient sensors.”

Later that night, just around midnight, I telephoned the Bridge in Helmsdale, and asked to speak to Mr Creighton. 

“We have a booking for a Mr Creighton and a Ms Woodford,” said the harried-sounding woman on receptions. But they haven’t checked in.”

“I’m sure they’ll be along shortly,” I replied. 

Fairport Convention — A Sailor’s Life

Then I went downstairs to the dark and empty pub, only a peaty glow from the fire, tamped up for the morning. I put on The Land of Do As you Please again. Found the bleak self-delusion of Everything’s Gong to Be Fine. And thought, well…maybe. 

Maybe not. We’ll have to wait and see.

The Lost Soul Band — You Can’t Win Them All Mum

Parchment — Lovely Touching

To be continued…

On the Broken Record Inn jukebox tonight…click here for all the music and speech on Mixcloud

The Lost Soul Band — The Last Train

Scotch Mist — Pamela

Van De Graaf Generator — Refugees

John Cale —  Big White Cloud

Matching Mole — O’Caroline

Justin Townes Earle — Someday I’ll be Forgiven For This

Miike Snow — San Soleil

Gene Clark — Silver Raven

Roy Harper — One of these Days in England

David Ackles — Down River

Richard and Linda Thompson — When I Get to the Border

Family — My Friend the Sun

Fairport Convention — A Sailor’s Life

The Lost Soul Band — You Can’t Win Them All Mum

Parchment — Lovely Touching