by Paul Davey
As the band swept into the middle eight the pounding riff shook the air around the audience. Like a single frenzied organism it pulsed with every rock heartbeat.
Having whipped up the crowd Jeff held his pose at the mic stand and caught his breath. His larynx still shrieked, in a silent echo of his high pitched vocals. He gazed out at the seething blend of hair, leather and denim.
At the next chord change he turned away and strode to the Jack Daniels bottle that stood between the two bass drums. Necking on full view it he gulped down mouthfuls of Evian before striding back to centre stage for the last verse.
This gig at Cambourne Miners Club and this song were special, a tribute to the lineage that had had inspired it and set them on their path. He gave it his soul, not only a public performance but a personal pilgrimage as well. Three hundred heads nodded in unison as Jeff’s voice cut through the hall.
Your hands, on mine, so weak, but so fine. Hard sweat, down mine,
Metal ore to refine, Tin man, granite drill, hard work, high skill
On cue the lead guitar dropped away leaving only the overdriven bass guitar and stuttering snare drum buzzing its high speed staccato as he followed the vein of emotion home.
Ten years of litigation – not a sign of compensation – damaged hands – drills vibration
But even while lawyers linger, miners suffer white finger
© Paul Davey