Andy Gill ... That essence rare ... 1 2 2020

I remember beaming at you on the balcony of the velvet black jewellery box of Irving Plaza, Tim, looking down at that joyous, one mass, all dancing and moving together, arms, waving, like phantastic ants that were somehow carrying Irving Plaza somewhere else, the balcony reached by vinyl red staircases tunneling down and up and around and the stage black curtain pulled apart. Hugo Burnham suspended in air, cymbals hanging from the ceiling it seemed, drum kit lit front and central, like he was managing a Star Trek desk and the whole place lifted off, just lifted off, just joyfully lifted off, didnt it? 

We knew the songs - love will get you like a case of anthrax. At home he's a tourist. They knew what we all want. I love a man in a uniform. Unburdened. And you've just reminded me we found out about the secret after-show at that hotel downtown. I think we got a taxi. Was that the day I met you, Delphine Blue? Wasn't it taped off but we ducked around. I remember we were on the grey flat floor with them just alive again just amazed again adoration. Magi, not just three wise men -- a gang of four with their gold, sense and Andy Gill, and Andy Gill gone now, gone beyond the velvet rope. Leaving star dust.
What a gift, what treasure. THAT red album with the men shaking hands that we swept into the record shop to scoop up and become acquainted with, to grip on the bus, to put diamond to the groove, and if I close my eyes with it spinning, be with that heavenly memory.