We did a Sunday morning dawn dash up to Edinburgh to catch Nile Rodgers who was reading from his auto-biography at the Edinburgh Festival. It was many years ago I was last there, performing in a play at the Festival. The air was crisp and bright and clean, while the sky seemed much bigger than it does in London where it is broken up with towers and spires and con trails. With the newly invigorated touring schedule that Nile has embarked upon with Chic and the promotion for his book, it's been hard to find him in one place for more than five minutes but he was here for a whole three days. We presented him with what we hoped was indeed his finished suit. He put it on and emerged to pronounce it a fit. YOWZER YOWZER YOWZER!
Nile wasn't just in town to read from his book but had also, unbeknownst to us, been invited to compose a suite in F, along with other composers similarly assigned a key each to create a scale as listeners moved from shed to shed in the courtyard of the Summerhall Arts Centre. His suit, I told him, was our tribute to Duke Ellington. And guess who Nile's composition invoked? Strange is it not, or not, how separate intentions and inventions weave together to make harmony.
|An extract from the text in the musical hut hosting Nile's Suite in F|
|Conclusion of the accompanying text|
This reminded me that I have put an ounce of gold in a very safe place and now can't find it, accordingly unable to do anything with it.
|oops forgot skirt|
|Mr Wesley with Mr Welch|
|Mr Wesley and Mr Tucker|
|Messrs. Wesley & Tucker flanked by Maxim the Russian jeweller and his wife|
|My favourite dress of the night, on the right|
|Oneself in Stephen Jones hat with Simon Salter|
|You are familiar with hisshelf on the left. Josh works on the mag and is a neighbour of Bedlam, indeed shared the knifing outside the shop experience with me|
|Doing the hokey-kokey - putting it in, shaking it about: Reggie, editor of the magazine, in the white suit with his angels inc. Simone in the white shimmy dress, Phil's missus|