Flesh Guitar Read Online Free PDF

a minimalist.’
    Kate considers this proposition and finds some truth in it.
    â€˜The other element in all this is the amp,’ says Bob. ‘The guitar and the pickup and the effects units create and modify the signal, and then the amplifier messes it all up some more in its own special way, and cranks it out at skull-crushing volume.’
    â€˜And people like that even more?’ Kate asks.
    â€˜Yes, Kate, some people really like that a lot, believe me.’
    â€˜Yes, I’ll buy that,’ says Kate. ‘Jenny Slade’s performance wouldn’t have been the same if it had been quiet.’
    â€˜Look, Kate, here’s the true juice,’ Bob announces. ‘You can quote me on this. Life is like a guitar solo. It’s loud, shapeless and it goes on too long. Sometimes it’s tuneless, sometimes it’s cliched, either way it’s damned difficult to get it right, and even if you’ve done your best and you’re pleased with what you’ve achieved, you can be sure a lot of people are going to hate it and dump all over you and tell you you’re a loser.’
    â€˜Aren’t
you
the philosopher?’ Kate says, not unkindly. ‘Do I really need to know all this background just to be able to appreciate Jenny Slade’s music?’
    â€˜Yes, Kate, you do. Because once you know and understand the background you’ll see that the whole of history,of invention, of technical and artistic development, has existed for one reason and one reason only; to bring Jenny Slade to us.’
    â€˜Whew,’ says Kate, ‘that’s heavy.’ And she reaches for a drink.
    â€˜Heavy is the word,’ Bob agrees, and he holds out his empty glass so that Kate can refill it.

THE JENNY SLADE INTERVIEW
    Bob Arnold chews the fat with Jenny Slade
    Jenny Slade was looking especiallygood when I caught up with her in LA’s favourite watering hole, the Giant Anaconda Room. Her look was fearlessly eclectic: the bondage pants, the boob tube, the bolero jacket, the leopardskin pork pie hat, all creating a striking, provocatively sexual image that few could carry off. And yet why did I feel that these fine feathers were hiding a deep hurt? She might have looked like a major babe, but it seemed to me that she was blubbing inside.
    I started with a lively and provocative question. ‘What happened to all your money, Jenny?’
    â€˜Did I ever have any?’ she replied wearily. ‘Well, maybe I did. I don’t know where it went. I guess I spent it all on cheap boys and expensive guitars. Or perhaps it was the other way round; cheap guitars and expensive boys. I forget. Either way, I was never in it for the money, which I agree is perhaps just as well.’
    â€˜And how long have you been playing the guitar?’
    â€˜For about the same amount of time that the guitar’s been playing me,’ she quipped gaily, and I got the sense that here was one lady who wasn’t going to betray her age.
    â€˜I think of you as a true radical,’ I said, getting bolder now. ‘Always out of step but never out of touch.’
    â€˜Are you trying to say that I do not grow old as thosewho are left grow old?’ she intoned.
    â€˜I think I’m trying to say that you have a different relationship to the space/time continuum than the rest of us poor mortals.’
    â€˜Hmm,’ said Jenny, more seriously. ‘I will say this: as I get older the appetite for drink and drugs and untrustworthy boys recedes, but the urge to pick up an electric guitar and make a godawful noise just won’t go away.’
    â€˜And would you say the guitar is a hard instrument to play?’ I quizzed provocatively.
    She looked at me glancingly, and I knew there was going to be iron
and
irony in her reply.
    â€˜Of course it is,’ she said. ‘If it was easy people like you would be doing it.’
    I knew she meant it kindly and we laughed together like old