He is not Jesus though he has the same Initials
Monday night we stood stomping our feet on the cobbles in an attempt to stay warm outside Rough Trade East waiting for Jarvis Cocker to present his book Mother, Brother, Lover published recently by Faber and Faber. It was decided straight from the start that the very worst thing we could do on meeting him would be to crack a joke, (it would be the faux pas music equivalent of daring to high-five the Queen).
The unlikely indie girls heart-throb took to stage with slides to accompany his reading of selected lyrics and words. (I say words because despite the cadence and flow similar to poetry I heard Jarvis correct someone ahead of me at the signing taking place afterwards when she said she enjoyed his poetry. “It’s not poetry. They’re words” he firmly stated). He read from his school days, Pulp, Relaxed Muscle, (I was the sole person that whooped at the mere mention of his not so secret project with Jason Buckle. Anyone else there remember Darren Spooner?). Slides were littered with grainy Sheffield car parks, Space, Newcastle Brown Ale and sunbeams streaming in through net curtains. All used to litter his “words” with nostalgia, irony and wit. This is the stuff geeks could only dream about on a full moon.
I always live under the happy illusion that I would exude a calm, “do this every day” persona when it comes to meeting people I admire. Not for me the comical swooning and knee knocking. The mere fact that I am writing about this makes me painfully tragic, of this I am all too aware.
The sound of my patella’s meeting like a clacker toy was possibly audible.
He made me eat some grapes, I told him I felt like he was forcing me to eat my 5-a-day (I broke the joke rule but the trapdoor did not open below my feet thankfully). He then told me this meant I had to eat 5 grapes. I dutifully popped 5 in my mouth just to stop me saying anything else idiotic. My mere minutes in his presence, *chatting while he signed my book, has to be the most memorable Monday I’ve ever encountered. ♥
* For the record, we didn’t just talk about grapes.