Unfinished Symphonies: Voices From The Beyond

No word from the Captain about our date tonight which is just rude. On the plus side, the Swedish RockStarBanker is on his way, if running 15 minutes late. Am, of course, early.
So far there have been a series of minor inconveniences disrupting the day. The bus was diverted so had to catch it at a different stop, having waited at the usual stop for ten minutes. Then the restaurant we’re meant to be going to was closed. At last am settled at a different venue and there are handmade painted guitars on the wall! “Steve Marlow has handmade custom guitars for Brian May, Stereophonics etc for over 20 years. Here he has collaborated with well-known and emerging cutting-edge artists. Each guitar is one-off, stage-ready and a unique work of art. All guitars are for sale”.
Exciting! Hope RockStarBanker likes them. They are beautiful.

“Hello,” he says.
“Hello,” I say, standing up to greet him. He bends down to kiss me on the cheek. His hands are enormous.
Folding his long frame into a chair, he peruses the menu.
“I’ll have a flat white please,” he says to the waitress.
“Me too,” I say. “So, you’re a rock musician and a banker?”
He smiles. His eyes are huge and green and he has a mop of shaggy brown hair. “I write the music, I don’t play it. I work as a trader, just took a bit of time off, but I’ve just got another job starting Monday. The money ran out. Oh, I work at a rug shop too and I have an internet business selling baby clothes and…”
He talks, frenetically. He seems to do lots of things and his conversation alights on one topic for a bit and then veers off in another direction. It’s exhausting just listening to him, but fun. Takes my mind of other things.
“You’re clever aren’t you?” I say.
“Maybe. It’s exhausting: my mind is always working, always,” he says. “The music comes to me in my dreams. I hear it in my dreams and then I try to write it down when I wake up and…”
“Oh, when I was little, I read about this woman, Rosemary something, the great composers turned up in her dreams and dictated music to her, I know Brahms was one of them, Liszt as well…I don’t think she had any musical training.” I say.
“Interesting. So she wrote in their styles?” He says.
“I think so. It was in this book…Rosemary Brown, that’s her name,” I say.
“It’s important to keep moving, to keep having new experiences to keep the brain plastic,” he says, looking at me with an intense green-eyed stare. “Otherwise you fossilise. So, what do you do when you’re writing?”
“Um, I see my trainer at the gym in the morning and then I write a bit before lunch, I was doing a bit of writing before you arrived actually, on my phone,” I say. This is true.
“You write on your phone, not on the computer?” He sounds surprised.
“Mainly, it’s just easier,” I say.
He tells me other stories and then it’s time to go. He walks me to my bus stop and the bus arrives, almost immediately.
“Take care,” he says.

A pleasant interlude, I think as the bus pulls away. A fascinating chap, but I can’t imagine us meeting again…


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