Levelling my Land

13/07/2012 at 22:31 (Reviews) ()


This band has been the backbone where my own crumbled. When my mind went too blank and bland with adulthood, they’ve let me recall what I stand for, stood for, before the world crept up to reclaim from me what it thought was due.

Listening to the Levellers, I see again the barefoot kid who never brushed her hair (until Mum threatened to have it all sheared off), longed for pure gypsy blood, wore skirts to sweep the dirt and wandered long hours alone – never lonely – under dripping trees and over sunbaked clay. I smell the hot tarmac, feel how it burnt my toes. No spots, not a scrap of makeup. Only writing and travel on my mind, apart from the usual short-term fluff of staying out past sunset and reaching the top of a treasured tree.

There were also peripheral visions of the long-haired wild man I’d one day find in the middle of Nowhere, who’d catch my heart like no one else, make me trust and maybe marry him, if he could keep up with me and I him. But I was still too young a sprog for that kind of thing yet. Still, he’d carry a guitar, and know what peace there is in a still silence between comfortable friends. And he’d definately climb trees.

Well, my first real love was Swampy, after all šŸ˜‰ I was about twelve, entering the early bloom of my hippychick years. Which bordered nicely with my puberty – I held that off as long as possible, believe me. Mum despaired of ever introducing me to deodorant, or daily washes.

Still, there were the Levellers. Finally, a band singing, playing about things I believed in. They weren’t talking about clubs and bling, sweaty gym-bods. Their voices rang with a riot’s call, minus the pointless bloodbath; they were too busy drinking from the bottle to throw it. They had the idle, gratuitous politician’s nailed to the wall, spliced to pour out truth; they knew the tricks of the world, made sure everyone heard them too. They called out for justice done on the natural world’s pains at human hands, an issue very dear to my gnarly heart.

And best of all, they spoke of travel – the endless road that hardens and brightens the eye and soul, scuffs the feet and bruises the knees everytime you fall. But God it’s worth the fall. Especially with these guys to pull you back up for another round of drinks and a song.

I’m lightly mulled on the river of rum, blissed out in candlelight and closer to home than I’ve felt in a long while. Home being where the heart is, mine went wandering ages ago, reckless fiend that it is; sometimes though, I manage to call it back.

Walking on.

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