The pint bubbled. The glass struggled to contain it. And we watched it intently and the words that described it danced on top of the bubbles. And then we went back to mine. And I sat in front of The Beatles chord book that taught me how to play guitar. I opened the book and it fell on Tomorrow Never Knows. Serendipitous events innit.
And whilst I played the guitar and sang along doing Lennon, Tom went about his business, first on the guitar and then the bass guitar putting that bass line together. And in cycles we marvelled and then his head went down again.
Every now and again he’d look up for approval, but he knew. The zone had opened up. The universe was feeding him and he had his mouth ajar.
We had another can of beer and talked about what had happened. He had this knack. He doesn’t brag, he can’t explain it, it just goes through him. And it doesn’t appear to talk to his influences, cos what he creates is a little more fucked up and beautiful and elegant and desperate.
And then he says goodbye to everyone at my house, politely, smiles respectfully and knowingly and walks off to the station.
