Book Review #2. Dan Stuart. Barcelona Blues. Padre Lindo Press.

Barcelona Blues

Dan Stuart wears an alter ego, Marlowe Billings, in his “false memoir” The Deliverance of Marlowe Billings that relates his formative years and rock’n’roll life before his eventual deliverance to a psychiatric institution. Barcelona Blues, a book of poems by Stuart, ditches this conceit and nakedly opens with an introduction that details his Spanish wife’s infidelity in 2010 which led to another short spell in care before he headed to Barcelona for a prearranged gig in the midst of what he calls “a severe depressive episode.” So far, so fun. In Barcelona Stuart is supposed to play at a testimonial show arranged for a sick member of his wife’s cousin’s band. Paranoid and wasted he describes it as the worst night of his life. He stays on in Barcelona for a time, seeking refuge among Andalusian immigrants and in the red light district while falling for a local femme with whom he has “a short but intense affair.” His introduction ends “these poems are really for her.”

Stuart has written candidly about his marital problems in the sleeve notes for the magisterial reissue album, Arizona: 1993-95. Barcelona Blues catches him with the wounds raw and weeping, seeking solace and anonymity in a Barcelona tourists wouldn’t recognise. The cover features an ugly blackened pig foot that resembles a deformed penis strung on a wire found hanging outside a garage in a gypsy quarter. The poems feature Stuart for the most part in cafes and bars observing life around him, police assaulting suspects, young mothers with push up bras pushing baby strollers, sullen teenagers on the cusp of sensuality, oafish men whose primary pleasure is “futbol.” Odours of food and tobacco are vividly captured and there’s an overall sense of menace with Stuart, the outsider, having to tread carefully amongst these bruised people while frequent use of Spanish colloquialisms reinforce the sense of alienism. When he gets personal he tells us that his anti depressants cause impotence leading him to rely on a “blue pill” while overdoses and domestic violence cloud those he gets close to.

The book is a visceral rush urging the reader to pursue it to the end where Stuart seems to accept the scuzziness around him as preferable to the frigid Catholicism and brutality of the Franco regime While the title recalls Kerouac’s Mexico City Blues Stuart’s poems are not set out in verse form and there is none of Kerouac’s Zen mysticisms here. Instead Stuart captures the documentary style of a Kerouac poem such as Bowery Bums while Hemingway’s poems such as Montparnasse may be another influence. Another Hemingway piece, his recollection of his Paris days in A Moveable Feast might be more apposite to reference while Stuart’s current domicile in Oaxaca, Mexico inevitably leads one to recall Malcolm Lowry’s Under The Volcano. Stuart sets the poems in sections which appear to be named after geographical districts in and around Barcelona although each one can stand separately from the others. As with Beat poetry there is a sense that the words were written to be read aloud and fortunately Stuart has provided an example which you can hear below.

Barcelona Blues is just another piece of the jigsaw puzzle that is Dan Stuart these days. His Green On Red days are well documented, thereafter he seems to have had periods of calm and some very turbulent times. His recent reappearances, on record, live and by written word hopefully signal that he is coming to terms with the past and looking to the future.

Sean Taylor. Love Against Death.

We reviewed Sean Taylor’s last album, Walk With Me two years ago and marked him out as a fine evocative singer/songwriter in the J.J. Cale/Tim Buckley mode. Love Against Death, released yesterday confirms this to some extent with others comparing him to the late John Martyn. It’s fair to say that his fine guitar picking and dry voice does bare comparison with numerous predecessors but here he transcends any influences and the best that one can say is that this sounds like a superb Sean Taylor album.
With a fuller sound than that of Walk With Me there’s less introspection and the guitar is less pronounced. This may be due to the album being recorded in Austin, Texas with producer Mark Hallman but more likely is the fact that Taylor has packed the album with, for want of a better word, “protest “ songs, or at least politically influenced pieces that reflect his views on various injustices in the world today. This is immediately apparent on the powerful opening song, Stand Up and on Western Intervention. Both songs are polemics, the first celebrating the recent wellspring of popular protest, the latter a driving bluesy diatribe against the imposition of free market western imperialism and the impact it has on all of us. Aside from the politics both are fine driving songs that manage to make their point and sound great at the same time. Coal Not Dole revisits the miners’ strike of the early eighties and employs the well-worn refrain which side were you on? With a fine spidery guitar solo present there’s a true sense of anger here. Taylor also delivers more individual testaments on the plight of the working man with a fine reworking of Sixteen Tons and the jaunty Cajun influenced Ballad of a Happy Man where the musical delivery reflects the solace found by those down on their luck in song and dance. Heaven, an addiction song in the tradition of Needle of Death and The Needle and the Damage Done is a dreamy reverie and is probably the song that does sound most like Martyn circa Solid Air.
Away from the politics Taylor provides tributes to some of his literary heroes. Cassady is a gentle reminder of the force of nature that inspired Kerouac and Kesey but which ended up in a solitary death on a Mexican railroad. Les Fleurs Du Mal is an evil sounding slouch which recalls Kerouac’s vision of ‘The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.’ Taylor’s guitar work here is down and dirty, scrubbing against organ on a song that sounds as if it came from the swamps around New Orleans and is somewhat reminiscent of the recent work of Gurf Morlix.

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Les Fleurs Du Mal