Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Last Party/Wild Night

March 30th, 1979


Why not- a new one every weekend, maybe even two or three. A mix of people: friends, stoners, even a neighbor or two. Hi-Fi phono in the corner, when they played Junior Walker and the All Stars everybody danced. It didn't take much to prime the pump, a case of beer was plenty enough to get things rolling. And when they got out the papers and the baggies things started really "rolling." It could take a turn to the bizarre.

The last party got too weird. Crazy Mike got a furlough from the hospital, he was allowed out as sort of a test. When he saw the beer, he started pounding it down as if there was no tomorrow. A friend took him straight back to treatment. He never came out again. Peter, the dealer, showed up. What was once novel and exciting years ago- all his stories, potions and paraphernalia- was just creepy now, too many people had overdosed on his junk. Gene, Gene, the smokin' machine, would lose everything a few months later, lost in his pursuit of oblivion.

But one was always had a chance to get lucky; there were usually couples in the kitchen, exchanging words and glances, and only with each other. More than one hook-up turned permanent in that party house. And the troubles of the world were gone, if only for a few hours.

There were parties after that, of course, but they were dinner parties, or kids' parties. The Belfast cowboy's Wild Nights were over:
As you brush your shoes
And stand before the mirror
And you comb your hair
Grab your coat and hat
And you walk, wet streets
Tryin' to remember
All the wild nights breezes
In your mem'ry ever.

And ev'rything looks so complete
When you're walkin' out on the street
And the wind catches your feet
Sends you flyin', cryin'
The wild night is calling, alright
Wild night is calling.

All the girls walk by
Dressed up for each other
And the boys do the boogie-woogie
On the corner of the street
And the people passin' by
Stare in wild wonder
And the inside jukebox
Roars out just like thunder.

And everything looks so complete
When you're walking out on the street
And the wind catches your feet
Sends you flying, crying
Oooh, oo-ooh wee
The wild night is calling, alright
Oooh, oo-ooh wee
The wild night is calling

The wild night is calling
The wild night is calling
Come on out and dance Woah!
Come on out and make romance
Come on out and dance
Come on out; make romance

~Van Morrison

By Professor Batty


Blogger Darien Fisher-Duke said...

It's odd, the first verse never registered with me. It's like I never heard it, but it defines the whole "story." STrange.

Blogger lab munkay said...

Were you partying with Charlie Manson in the middle picture?

Blogger Professor Batty said...

Rose ~ Van's diction always left something to be desired. I've fixed the lyrics a bit- the first version I put up wasn't 100% accurate. I would estimate that I've mixed that song live over 300 times, I never tire of it.

Lab Munkay ~ All the guys looked like that then!

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