Passport to Pimlico

I had to renew my passport today and the experience left me scarred for what might be left of my life. Firstly, I needed a new photograph and I decided to do what everybody else does and take a photo of myself. We may live in the land of the selfie but it’s not something I’ve ever done, expect maybe the last time I had to take a passport photo I guess. I took maybe ten or twelve and studied them hard looking for the best one, after all, I’m going to have to live with this for the next ten years but alas, I looked old in all of them. I tried another few in better light but it didn’t help. Circles under my eyes, lines where there were none not so long ago, but being as I don’t use mirrors for much anymore, this was news to me. I decided that I should have a decent shave before I tried again in a few days.

But that was nothing compared to the punch in the mouth that was the realisation that this passport would last ten years and when it needed renewing again, I’d be 67. For some reason, that sounds even worse than 70.

Can you imagine being 67 when just a few seconds ago, you were some young gun lurking in a record store. Some of you probably can but this is news to me. I carried this around all day like I was actually 67 but the hours slipped by and I drifted back to the reality in which I am only 57 and decided it really was time I decided what I wanted to do with my life.

The day was slipping away all by itself when the news came through the wires... Hulk Hogan was dead at 71! Hellfire! That’s only four years older than me... no, that’s’ not right. 14 years. Something of a relief I suppose but it’s crazy how from 20 to 34 is a lifetime but 57 to 71 is a flash in the pan.

There’s only one thing to do when you get stuck in hole like this: take the dog to the beach.

So we got in the car, I flicked the radio on and who should turn up but Lenny Kravitz.

I haven’t listened to Kravitz properly for far too long. His new album throws all the right shapes - it sounds great and the songs are right up there... but it just doesn’t sound like Lenny Kravitz anymore. Those first two albums, Mama Said and Let Love Rule were really something different back in the early nineties. They snapped me out of a rut by showing me there was a better way to approach music from a songwriting point of view. There’s other good stuff to be found for sure: The album Strut has some great songs on board (shout out for Dirty White Boots here) and so does Black and White America (the title track especially), but the albums just don’t hang together like those early ones.

Maybe it’s a sign of the times. We have drifted into a zone where the single is king and screw the rest but I’m not interested. Give me an album that captures your moment in time because I can live without a passing handshake. I want to know what’s really going on in your head.

I plugged my phone in. Only a complete playing of Let Love Rule was going to restore my faith in what life has to offer today. The song Let Love Rule itself is a towering inferno of shock and awe. It bullet-trains along like it owns the place. It’s the perfect song for dancing with yourself when there’s nobody else around and you can earn lots of personal bonus points for really getting down in the groove when the bass kicks in by itself towards the end. If you’re a little shy, don’t forget to close the curtains lest you become a legend in your own street.

And be warned, once you’re in that zone, the rest of the album is coming for your hips as well. Freedom Train keeps the groove moving and trust me, your ass will be getting the best workout it’s had in years.

The album’s crowning glory is I Build This Garden For Us. If you ever wondered what Funk-Beatles sounded like, look no further. This album is so full of gems, stick your finger anywhere you like on the track list and you’ll find a single. While we’re here, let’s also raise the flag for Mr Cab Driver, a lament about not being able to get a taxi because you’re black. A superb message in a song so funky, you might miss the message, but really, don’t. It’s important.

Anyway, Lenny Kravitz is 61 and he looks fantastic. I mean, seriously fantastic. I looked up how this may be and discovered that 50% of it is probably good genetics but credit where it’s due, he supports his God given hand by eating plant-based organic food, doing body weight exercises with no excuses, knows how to dress and owing to a little success, appears to live a relatively stress free life. Nobody gets a free ride, but it has to be better than being a single Mum living in a bedsit in Pimlico.

I went to see Aerosmith back in the late 90s with Lenny in support and, well, Aerosmith were not great. Very, very average at best and going through the motions. I could have put it down to it being a stadium show with no atmosphere had it not been for Kravitz being absolutely on fire that afternoon and knocking me dead. I should have left and gone home with a beautiful taste in my mouth when he’d finished.

But perhaps one of the best aspects of Mr Kravitz, is that he seems in no rush at all to do anything. He’s not chasing anything anymore and I’m not sure he ever was really. He’s achieved the pinnacle of what I would ever consider success to be: doing whatever he wants, when he wants.

I’d sure like to see his passport photo.