Bluesbunny is not having a good day. The side effects of cold cure medicine - how much of that can you have in a day anyway? - and lack of sleep had led to a state of confusion and 'Nam flashbacks. Never actually been to Vietnam but when the last thing you can actually remember is watching a DVD of The Deer Hunter then those false memories start to seem real. Way too real.
In the real world this would be a normal Free Candy Session at the Liquid Ship in Glasgow but in fantasy land Bluesbunny is back in Saigon. Don't know why a boy called Tommy Reilly with his oddly affected voice - quite similar to fellow Glasgow combatant Ross Clark - would be there but he is. Armed only with an acoustic guitar that he handles really well showing a remarkably deft touch along with a truly anal attention to detail in matters of tuning. Songs in the key of E or D notwithstanding, he deserves a medal for his lyrics - "… if I dropped my words on the floor, would you pick them up?" I think a lot of people would.
The Marines are in town and they are here to party. At least that is the thought that crosses the disturbed Bluesbunny mind as the Unstoppable Flying Raincoats take to the stage. There are five of them all seated neatly and their songs are also very tidy. Humorous too as "Spanish Girl" manages to name check Helensburgh and that fun town does not normally get that kind of attention. There was that hint of late period Doors in their sound with hints of madness and darkness to offset their wit. Settling rapidly into a devilishly solid groove, they give the appearance of being able to play all the way through the night. There are surreal moments too especially when political correctness got hit by mortar fire during "Lesbian Blues". Just the very band to take with you on an attack chopper. No, they don't have radio/cassette players in helicopters so you have to take the actual band if you want music in the sky. Think about it, it's logical.
Damn, I'm back in Madame Sins in downtown Saigon. They have a folk rock house band there called The Helms. Apparently they are actually from Ayr which is nowhere near Cambodia. As "Come Back Home" wafts across the room to our ears, thoughts of better times, of home and family flowed over us. They have a clean wholesome sound with Paul McConnell sounding like he belongs on all those LPs we used to listen to as we looked out over the Arizona desert. Even though there are only 3 of them tonight - the fourth guy having gone AWOL - they sounded polished and complete. It would also be interesting to hear them as a four piece (if the military police track down their missing member). Anyway I've got dollars to spend…
Reality intrudes with The Sweetheart Revue. No way that this band would last long in the jungle. They start off a little bit country but quickly head back to urban civilisation and the good life. There is even a bit of cello to give things a bit of class and "How Deep It Goes" is so easy on these tired ears. Intelligent and carefully considered, this is white wine music rather than beer and watered down bourbon music. Positively urbane, there is no way you could have blood on your hands and listen to this. Having said that, they do make just the kind of music that would go so well over the closing credits to this current fantasy.
The barmaid (blonde, beautiful, of course) is talking about pet shops that sell ostriches and the camp commandant is trying to sell me budgie grit, whatever that is. My mind is slipping away from me. Only one thing to do - make a run for it. Hopefully the guards won't notice before Bluesbunny reaches the sanctuary of Morello's and gets some chicken pakora. They can shoot me after that but there is no way that I am dying on an empty stomach. And I'm taking the Unstoppable Flying Raincoats with me on my bid for freedom.