1996.
Starting off with an instrumental
Blazen in a fragmented fury;
Their first song stumbled along
In a bass heavy nervourness
as the band looked at each other worried
Like they were throwing
accidential thunder at the crowd
With a mellifluous speed
Until the words ‘I am coming out of the toilet’
Could be heard going through the crowd
Ricochetting eventually onto the stage
Where he sang two songs
Then fell through the drummers kit
And collapsed backstage drunk.
1991.
Popping into the Duchess for a quick pint
After missing a train home
turned into three
when Pat bumped into his brother
who worked for the NME
and was interviewing Mark
who had already gone through
four and a half pints already
and insisted he added us to his tad before adding
‘I can’t stick musicians
Like journalists you know’
And sat there pissing Pat’s brother off
With as many anti journalist jokes
As he could remember for the rest of the interview.
2010.
Clearly ruffled,
lost in the wilderness of memory
he stood there at the other side
of the bus station
his hands fluttered
with his paper
like a paper clown
lost in the upswing of a sigh
before looking at his watch
and me
and walking off
scraping insults in the wind
almost like it was
the only person left
who was listening.
(Mark Edward Smith (5 March 1957 – 24 January 2018) was an English singer, songwriter and musician. He was best known as the lead singer, lyricist and only constant member of the post-punk group The Fall, which he led from 1976 until his death.
Smith formed the group after attending a Sex Pistols gig at the Manchester Free Trade Hall in June 1976. During their 42-year existence, the Fall's line-up consisted of some 60 musicians who, with Smith, released 32 studio albums and many singles and EPs.
The three above short poems are memories of the three times I met him over a 19 year period)
