The New Roy Harper Book – Ruminating on Roy Harper.

Posted on by Opher

I need a little help here. I have been working on a rewrite of my Roy Harper book with a view to publishing it in the next couple of weeks. I am finally approaching the end and it is coming along really well. I’m enjoying doing it.

I should be finished in the next couple of days.

I have just turned my attention to the back cover and started jotting down some thoughts. I would greatly appreciate your thoughts and suggestions. Below are four rough proposals. Do any of them work? What needs doing?

Any ideas welcomed.

Blurb

 

1967 was a momentous year for me. I was eighteen, boiling with hormones, angst, sex and rebellion. In the prefabricated world of the dedicated followers of fashion I was the rank outsider, too extreme to fit into the norms of the ‘in crowd’ with their Carnaby Street flares and neatly trimmed long hair and collections of top ten hits. With my shoulder length hair, Zen and head full of Kerouac’s crazy zest for discovery I was the acid tongued hipster more attuned to the psychedelic jungle of London backstreets, blues clubs and all night adventures than a sixth form common room.

I wanted to let rip. I was young, wild and bursting with idealistic fervour.

The world was my playground, my university, my mystical, infinite source of wonder and awe. Life was there to be burned. I had to grapple with it, wrestle it to submission and screw answers out of it.

That was the year I met and befriended Roy.

 

Blurb 2

 

This is the story of a friendship that has spanned 50 years. I first met Roy Harper in 1967 when he was first starting out. We became friends and I have been present at nearly every important landmark down the years from St Pancras Townhall, Abbey Road Studios, The Royal Albert Hall, The Rainbow, Hyde Park, the Royal Festival Hall and a hundred and fifty gigs thrown in for good measure. I’ve written books with him and travelled the country.

This is the story of that relationship. It throws light on all aspects of Roy’s life and puts it into perspective with my own. Roy’s life is one hell of a story.

 

Blurb 3

 

This is the story of a friendship that has spanned 50 years. It puts Roy’s incredible life and career alongside that of my own. From those first meeting in 1967 through to today I have described his music and life through my eyes and placed it alongside that of my own.

It’s one hell of a story.

 

Blurb 4

 

This is the story of a friendship that has spanned fifty years. It tells the tale of two lives that have connected.

It gives perspective to an incredible life, paints pictures of the times and provides personal insight.

Nobody has lived life more than Roy Harper. This book traces the highs and the lows of a colourful existence – the music, loves, tragedies and successes.

This is me looking back over my life and his and examining them in depth.

Roy Harper – A chapter from Ruminating with Roy Harper – a perfect gig.

Posted on by Opher

The book is still waiting!

Ruminating on Roy Harper – The Book.

Posted on by Opher

This is the very end post-script to the book – Ruminating on Roy Harper. It is complete, edited and ready to go! Should be out shortly.

I wrote it because there are many people who tell me that we cannot change things. We can.

Get out there and change the world!

We cannot do it alone. It takes a lot of people to bring about change. We can only plug away in our tiny arena. Our job is to dissent and suggest so that we can build a zeitgeist that will change the world.

For all the cynics out there: you are wrong. You can change the world and we did! We did not change it enough but it is better than it was. What we have to do is change it more. It can be done. We stand up and speak out. We put our head’s above that parapet and shout. We change our bit. We influence the zeitgeist.

These are not mere gestures.

Without all those positive dreamers, dissenters and activists, we are doomed. With them we have a fighting chance.

That’s why people like Roy are so precious. He may be a cantankerous, frustrating, mean old bastard, but he is our old bastard. He says it how it is and dares to challenge what is wrong!

 

 

This is hopefully not the end.

Book update.

Posted on by Opher

thirty of my books are now available on Amazon. You might like to check out my Author page:

I have four others in the pipeline:

  1. Nick Harper – The Wilderness Years.  This is a book I have written with Nick’s collaboration. It is complete and away with a designer to be properly laid out. It is a companion book to the LPs the Wilderness Years – which is an introduction to an amazing singer/songwriter. If you haven’t heard him then check out his albums on Harperspace  http://www.harperspace.com/
  2. Roy Harper – Ruminating on Roy Harper. This book tells the story of Roy from the 1960s through my eyes. It is an interlocking story that reveals a lot about the man. The book is complete and fully edited. Roy has told me that he will write an introduction when he has finished his tour. Then it will be out!
  3. Zero to Infinity – A Sci-fi epic. I have just completed rewriting this 400 page novel. It was my second book written back in 1976 and it took a bit of rewriting. I like what has come out. I will leave it to ferment and then distill it into a second rewrite. It should be out before Christmas
  4. My 8th Poetry Book –They are not so much poems as diatribes against anything that takes my fancy in poetic disguise. Very far ranging. I am about a third of the way into this one.
  5. I have the skeleton of another Sci-fi book and am awaiting the time and energy to write it. I imagine I’ll get round to that in the new year

Happy days – KEEP ON WRITING!!!

If you would like to purchase all my books – check them out here:

Ruminating on Roy Harper – Book now edited – Thank you Andrew Percy!

Posted on by Opher

Image (45)

I have now thoroughly edited the book thank you to some superb work carried out by Andrew Percy.

He has the eye – no other grammar police could have done it better.

I am going to go back and add in some Roy Harper quotes and a few more anecdotes and it will be ready for publication. Hopefully Roy will find the time to do me a short foreword and we will be away. That won’t take me more than a day or two!

I’m excited by this book. It flowed out of me like the Zambesi over Victoria Falls. I think it encapsulates a relationship that sheds light on one of Britain’s greatest talents. Roy is one of the best songwriters in the world, one of the most intriguing men, the most outspoken of dissidents and he’s lived a life like no other.

I cannot wait to hold it in my hands!

Ruminating on Roy Harper – Rewrite complete – help needed!

Posted on by Opher

I have just completed the rewrite of Ruminating on Roy Harper.

It is an interesting vehicle to produce a memoir of my life and his as we slip through time and our paths interconnect. I suppose, in many ways it has a similar feel to that of In Search of Captain Beefheart.

I am printing it off at this minute – all 160 pages of it – and will begin the process of editing and doing a further rewrite. This is the point of evaluation; to see what it really is that I’ve produced.

So if there is anybody out there who fancies reading the manuscript, helping me edit it, and expressing their opinion, I would be very grateful for your assistance. (Always a bit worrying!)

Ruminating on Roy Harper – Chapter 19 – an extract

Posted on by Opher

Image (40)

I am currently rewriting this book and have worked my way through to Chapter 19 – all 80 pages in. I’m enjoying the rewrite.

It tells the story of my life as it interweaves with that of Roy’s. You see Roy from my perspective alongside what I am going through and the times we lived in. I think it works well but I certainly would be grateful for any criticism/feedback. At this point all I want is to get it right. Speak your mind. I can take it!

Chapter 19 – voyages, transitions, fireworks and possibilities

When I got back from America in 1980 I re-established contact with Roy. His life had gone through a bit of turmoil – his marriage to Verna was on the rocks and she was in America. The Vauld farm was mortgaged to the hilt and going under. Roy’s contract with EMI was terminated. It did not look good. He was skint and had no means of producing the next album.

It was time to rebuild.

Jacqui was from Lincolnshire and they’d come to stay a couple of times. She was a vivacious young lady and obviously good for Roy. It had given him a boost. She was very capable and they quickly formed a partnership that encompassed every aspect of his life including recording, life on the road as well as romance.

I had a car now and so life was a bit easier. It was an old beat-up Morris Minor that the kids at school at school used to take the piss of. I had mobility though. I could get to more distant concerts. Horizons opened up. We could go off camping with the kids. In my view if a car got you safely from A to B with a modicum of comfort and was economical to run it had served its purpose.

That car came in handy when my Dad became ill. He’d developed liver cancer and I was back and forth down the M1 to visit and help out. Those were difficult days culminating in his death six months later.

Those were sombre, dark days.

I found myself driving up and down the M1 motorway deep in thought. My Dad’s rapid decline and death at the age of just fifty eight was numbing, especially as it came hard on the heels of Liz’s father’s death.

It brought mortality to the fore. Somehow, despite the loss of friends, you feel invulnerable. That was no longer the case. It felt like a breakwater had gone. Your parents were a barrier between you and death. While they were safely ensconced you were protected. There was nothing between me and the void; the seas of eternity were lapping towards me.

It was a period of re-evaluation.

I bathed him and fed him. When I was with him we chatted on inconsequential matters and avoided the real issues. We watched Botham’s Ashes together and then, shortly after, the ambulance came to take him into hospital and it was soon over on a stupor of morphine.

For years I suffered psychosomatic illness and went in for tests. I guess I’d bottled a lot of things up.

1981 was not a good year.

The only good thing that came out of it was that re-evaluation. What was it that was important in life? What did I really want to achieve? Where should I apply my efforts?

My family life was great and teaching had a lot of positives. I was content. But the writing was what I wanted to focus on. I needed a creative outlet.

Roy Harper – A chapter from Ruminating with Roy Harper – a perfect gig.

Posted on by Opher

Chapter 14 – perfection on the steps and under the stars

I often think back over the hundreds of Harper gigs I have gone to over the years and try to identify which one I have enjoyed most. St Pancras Town Hall was probably the most intimate and Les Cousins is high up there simply because of the thrill of the recording. Then there was the zaniness of the Royal Festival Hall Purcell rooms with Ron Geesin and Ralph McTell in which they kept coming on stage with white lab coats. Or the one with Al Stewart (who the Melody Maker were trying to tee off against Roy as the battle of the acoustic guitarists) when Roy turned up tripping out on acid.

There are many that stick in the mind for a variety of reasons but one always keeps resurfacing and never fails to bring a smile to my lips whenever I recall it.

It was some time back in the early seventies when Roy was playing at Ewell Technical College.

The building was a formidable brick affair of no distinction that looked to have come out of the 1930s. The hall was large and barren and not particularly well disposed for the creation of atmosphere. The audience was large and seated in rows on hard wood chairs.

At first glance it seemed an unlikely setting for a memorable night but that’s what it turned out to be.

It was one of those occasions when Roy was in the mood. He was in good form and the audience really got into and was giving it back. The flames were fanned and Roy was enjoying himself immensely.

Eleven o’ clock came all too fast, the two hours having passed like a flash. Roy was never one for going for clocks and proceeded undeterred. By half past eleven a disgruntled caretaker, who had to clear away all the chairs and lock up before he could go home, came on stage to remonstrate with Roy – to no avail.

The next thing we knew was that the lights went off. We sat in the dark as Roy continued to play in the blackness. If anything the crowd were even more with him and Roy was even happier.

In desperation the sound was turned off. Roy continued to play acoustically as loudly as he could and the crowd were right there with him.

By now it was twelve thirty and everyone was having a great time. It was real party time. Number after number with Roy gleefully performing in the gloom.

The lights went on and two burly policemen strode in grabbed Roy under the arms and bodily ejected him, guitar and all. We all followed him out and the furious caretaker locked up.

But that wasn’t the end of it. Roy had the bit between his teeth and continued to sit on the front steps under a bright starry night and play to the faithful who remained clustered around digging it.

It finally broke up at around three a.m. and we all separated zinging. It was one of those magic nights like all music should be. A session where performer and audience transcend all the barriers and experience something greater as the music is shared with mutual passion.

A great night.

Ruminating on Roy Harper – extract

Posted on by Opher

Out in hippie-ville we had Hendrix, Cream, Doors, Country Joe & the Fish, Captain Beefheart, Love, Buffalo Springfield, Traffic and Edgar Broughton to keep us going. There were all-night gigs and free festivals. It was buzzing. The venues were cheap and packed and the vibe was positive.

There was ‘2001 a Space Odyssey’ and ‘Easy Rider’ at the cinema. We went to the Electric Cinema and saw Eisenstein’s ‘Battleship Potemkin’ and a number of French movies. Liz was in to culture and introduced me to a wide range of literature and films. She took me off to see ‘Ulysses’ and I thought I was going to watch some Greek epic! That’s how uncultured I was. But I was open to anything and my mind was a sponge.

In my free time I’d browse round the 2nd hand record stores, flicking through the stacks of albums looking for West Coast Acid, British Psychedelic or Blues, Chicago Blues, Country Blues or old Folkways albums with the cardboard sleeves. You’d strike up conversations with fellow freaks concerning bands, artists and must-haves. I still do it occasionally but the vibe is not the same, the albums are no longer a £1 and everything is either overpriced or crap. Even the car boot sales and charity shops fail to throw up anything interesting – or perhaps that’s because I have so much it’s hard to plug the gaps?

Ruminating on Roy Harper – Chapter 4 extract

Posted on by Opher

Image (41)

Chapter 4 – quarks in the strings of time

Things were moving fast in 68. The Underground had blossomed and we had our own scene. We lived in a parallel universe with different rules. I was no longer an adolescent. I felt old and worldly beyond my years. The streets were mine. I drifted through the backstreets where the druggies, whores and down and outs lived – and they were just ordinary people like me. I shared the apartment block with a motley crew and they were all great with tales and stories that filled you with empathetic grief.

When you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose. I felt safe on the streets. I could blag my way out of trouble. I was hip, cool, young and though poor in financial terms I was rich in friendships, ideas and experience. The desperate left me alone. There was no point in robbing me. They could see I had nothing.

I shared a bedsit with Pete, who was on my course, in a house run by two lesbians, one of whom was very feminine and one extremely macho. The macho one dressed like a man in a suit and trilby. One of the lesbians got pregnant which made for an interesting few weeks of intrigue as the tensions built between them. We thought it strange that it was the macho one that got pregnant. Life is strange.

This was a million miles away from the flower beds of suburbia with its twee chintz. These were the dingy streets of Ilford and the reality of urban life.

There were four of us living there, two of whom were called Pete and three of us were called Smith, and the nights were spent knocking the spots off cards and rapping or picking the gigs. There was a lot of laughter. The Welsh Pete had a series of lines that he’d exclaim when he occasionally won a hand – ‘Drop ‘em Blossom – you’re on next’, ‘A red hot tip’ and ‘Suck mine for one and nine’ were some that come to mind. It was all very sexist and alien but rather amusing in a school boyish manner.

There was IT and OZ to peruse, events, happenings, and festivals.

College was a part-time side issue of little importance. Life was too full to fit in studying. I did enough to get by.

All of this was carried out to a backdrop of music – not as a bland background but right up there, upfront, to be listened too and cherished, discussed and argued over, and loved.

Like electrons we could exist in two places at once. We were connected by a cosmic telepathy. That’s all bollocks but it was how we felt. We were Freaks. Our minds were freaked out. Our eyes were open. We saw what was going on. The straight world, with its politics, social inequality, aspirations, careers, wars, greed and selfishness existed in another plane. I felt sorry for them all trapped in their drabness of experience and shackled with such narrow horizons. My own limits were the extent of my own imagination. Life was a smorgasbord. It was richer than the most opulent meal in the most lavish restaurant. I walked through the streets with straight society but felt that I was walking on a different planet.

Besides I was in love. I was floating anyway.

Liz was a dancer at a college the other side of London. When she came to stay I’d clean the place up so that I didn’t come across as a complete slob and pick the bits off the carpet. We didn’t have luxuries like a Hoover but we had something much better than that.

Pete and I moved to a squat and then another bedsit in Ilford. Pete was a genius who had come back from Africa with full blown culture shock. He made no sense of the packed streets and concrete jungle. The distance of strangers was disconcerting. The structure of this huge morass of society was daunting.

I felt the same and I’d never lived in the African outback. We were strangers in our own strange land. But we were happy voyagers who chortled our way through an endless time where years were decades.

Pete, in his spare time, collected and built musical instruments. The tiny bedsit was full of harmoniums, mando-ukes and guitars. Pete plucked and we rapped and thrashed around like demons as we attempted to make sense of the crazy journey our society was heading down. The walls were adorned with posters we’d made on social and political themes. Pete made light-shows out of polarised sheets that flicked and changed when you moved them. Music filled the seconds. Everything imbued with intensity.

My pet rat Lipher sat on top of her cage and listened in to our mad rapping like a serene Buddha. She knew best of all – but was not saying.