Quite Certain

Yesterday saw me deliberating as to whether the recently deceased John Ashbury was a fine enough poet (for me, that is - he obviously is for a lot of other people) to make it worth my while making another attempt to read him at length. I'm still deliberating. Another interesting article in the on-line edition of The Guardian certainly pushed me in a direction favourable to a positive decision, but I couldn't help but notice the poet's own seeming uncertainty therein as to the ultimate value of his work. Certainly seemed to be a decent sort of bloke, though, and the sort of teacher poetry deserves.

Not sure that the recently deceased composer, guitarist and partner in crime with Donald Fagen as half of Steely Dan, the brilliant Walter Becker, might fairly be described as a decent sort of chap. I don't think he would have thought so himself, or aspired to such a reputation. But who cares? The music speaks for itself and himself: a certified genius.

The albums from Can't Buy A Thrill though to Gaucho constituted a sound track of sorts to my years at university, and added immeasurably to that experience. Singing an off-key Bad Sneakers with old chum Stevie Cannon, prancing down the main road to the arts tower, is the sort of memory you either seek earnestly to repress or find a strange and doubtful joy in. It says little for me that the latter applies, but much for the compositional talents of WB & DF.