I've had a lot of fun in the USA, travelled widely, drunk deeply, listened to a lot of music. I listened to some great jazz in New York and New Orleans, punk in NY and Los Angeles, cow-punk in Texas, and some cajun/zydeco hybrid in Baton Rouge that made even me want to dance. And I haven't really scratched the surface.
You do stupid things when you're young, when you still believe you're immortal, when death is something that happens to other people, other generations, and I look back at my first visit to the States with plain unfettered horror. I was 21 when I landed in Boston and I'm amazed I lived to be 22. I got seriously fucked up in places I shouldn't have, in Hell's Kitchen, the Barrio, and the Tenderloin. And it was brilliant.
So this song isn't hip or cool, not post-punk or industrial drone, it's simply a song that kept being played in a run down dive in New Orleans a week after Mardi Gras, 1984. We walked into the bar around 10 at night and we were there for breakfast. We drank Dixie and played pool with blokes who owned guns, (we lost). And we were asked if we came from north of the Mason-Dixon line, it appeared that the proprietor, a lady in a tight Harley-Davidson top, preferred Brits to Yankees.
It was what it was. An experience. I had people with me, unlike some of the other occasions. We had eggs for breakfast and we went to bed. To this day I'm not sure whether I even like this song, I don't think of this song when I think of New Orleans, but I think of NOLA when I hear this song.
Have You Ever Seen The Rain
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