Hungry Years (1974 - 1993) continuation

3 - From 'Clever Fool' to 'So Low'…
Although I felt no longer depressed, life in general still wasn't like I wanted it to be. The money was mostly bad, I suddenly missed the comfort of the 'old home', and as a consequence wouldn't give my new girlfriend J. the protection and trust she was legitimately asking for… We argued a lot! There was this mythical, mean old lady called the Past who kept pushing me backward and making all the wrong decisions for me. "Your present love J., this witty, tall, sexy tomboy surely can't be the right stuff", she kept whispering in my dreams, "why don't you go back to sweet old Harbor Road and marry the simple girl next door!" (Oh, if you could read my mind, love…)

So I finished the song Harbor Road for the So Low mini album (1984), although most of it dates all the way back to the early Tortilla years. "Marina in the kitchen, spicing up reality  - The roses on the table, shining proud and free - And then the sound of a distant radio - Comes floating through the open window - Oh how good it is to be back on Harbor Road!" In spite of its rather dubious origin, the song surprisingly turned out to be a great, 'pastoral' rock ballad, actually quite innovating at the time…
Meanwhile, guitarist Michiel Jansen had retaken his place on the team. On So Low, I also introduced a fine, talented new drummer: Christan Muiser. He would be going to stay for many years to come.

4 - A Quiet Street In Paris
When J. finally left me in the beginning of 1985 I was completely shattered. We were still playing together - our band, Private Life, was in good shape and our live gigs were remarkably successful. Obviously, more than just love had been driving us as a couple…  So after the two of us broke up we initially tried to continue doing gigs together. Yet emotionally that would soon prove to be too difficult for us.

Eventually I snapped, I had to put an end to our musical cooperation: it was once again a painful decision, which, however, I had to make. For me, the only valuable healing treatment under these circumstances was (and still is!) to write a song about it. The result in this case: A Quiet Street In Paris, preceded by its haunting introduction The Lonely One:a moody tune filled with anger, jealousy, resentment and guilt. 

That same year 1985 life's infinite irony put me and the rest of the band in a travelling, summer road show called 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams…! But, at least musically, 1985 became a very fruitful and rewarding year. We had great background singers in Lia Sijberden and Jolanda Markus. And very young and gifted Ulco Bed moved us to tears on lead guitar, listen to his beautiful guitar solo on A Quiet Street In Paris. Through him I also got in touch
with his father Gérard Bed, whose invaluable friendship and support is still important for me today.

5 - Les Gueux, After Hours, The Zeppos Years
After promoting 'A Quiet Street In Paris' I didn't feel like continuing life on the road with the band anymore. I was emotionally exhausted and needed a break. I felt like trying to write some prose, work on some short stories. Lead a quiet, healthy life, get some sleep!

But what happened was that I met this outrageous gypsy type called C… I'd just had dinner in town with former engineer, now filmmaker Maarten Treurniet (he produced the 'Quiet Street' album for us). My 'gypsy girl', accompanied by a somewhat older woman I happened to know quite well, was having a brandy at the bar of Café 'De Prins' in downtown Amsterdam, as Maarten and I were leaving the premises. The ladies were about to go to the movies together, and we were about to go home, work a little overtime. The four of us entered into a casual conversation, and 'oops, there went my restless heart again'!

To cut a long story short: the girls never went to the movies and I never went back to work, for C. and I clung together for the rest of the night. We paid a visit to almost every low down bar in the neighborhood and ended up right on my doorstep, in the wee small hours of the morning.
There I told her jokingly I'd very much like to have breakfast with her: she answered she actually had a lover of five years who would throw her complete wardrobe in the canal, if she ever had the guts to betray him again. My reaction was: "Don't take chances, what's a girl without a wardrobe?" And this was probably the main reason why she never went back to the guy in the first place. But so much for whimsicality…

I started working at the office of my former management, now a theatre agency, writing publicity material for some of their groups. I was happy not to be 'as good as my latest album' for a while: it really felt terrific. C. and I were very much in love and I had time in abundance to really enjoy the benefits now. She started studying Italian and, as a byproduct, I learned a bit of Italian too. Interesting times… One day we passed a dark, spacious bar called Kapitein Zeppos, situated close to the Red Light District where we lived at the time. She vaguely knew the owner Bob and so we walked in for a chat… The guy said he would very much like to stage a French-style, musical vaudeville show in his place on the Sunday afternoons. After a day or two I felt we should somehow try to give him a little hand. It might even prove to be a lot of fun…

Later that same week I called an elegant and skilled, 'old-school' piano player I 'd been acquainted with for some time (Jan Robijns). He immediately liked the idea, and already the next Sunday we kicked of for what would very soon become the now rather famous Zeppos Café Chantant. Not much later we expanded the formula a little, and formed an eclectic, extremely well-educated, 'camp' ensemble, consisting of the above mentioned Jan Robijns, bass player Bart de Ruiter, Private Life drummer Christan Muiser, my favourite accordion player Kees Maat and me.

Outside Zeppos we'd call ourselves 'Les Gueux': we'd play virtually everything, from existentialist Leo Ferré's music ('Paris Canaille' in Los Lobos style!) or Dr.John's moody bar room observations('Dance The Night Away'), to sentimental, continental evergreens and selected old JP goodies (Looking For Rosie).

From: Diary Of A Hard Luck Rocker (Mirage - Amsterdam - 2002)

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