Thursday 7th November

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FLASHMAN BY NAME #2:

We were there to rehearse for an album by Terri Nunn, a lady
I’d been introduced to by our publishers back in the UK.
We’d worked up some new songs for her album at the studio Underworld
had built to record ‘Change the Weather’. Terri had experienced the
full terraced- England experience, a kind’ve crash course in being an
impoverished student starting up a band, by staying in a freezing
box room in a back street Romford semi during our time writing together.
Now we were in sunny California, preparing to go into the studio to
record with legendary producer Steve Brown, whom I knew about from his
success with the Cult (a sound that was everywhere on American radio).
The band was in good humour, though we’d only met an hour before.
A young bass player, whom may have been chosen more for his
appearance than his playing, Randy Casteo from Ozzy Osborne’s band
on drums, myself on guitars & on keyboards (a close friend of the
producers) Andrew Flashman. The minute he walked in I took one look
& knew we were from different worlds. Long black wavy hair half down
his back, tight stone washed jeans, a fat belt buckle & Cuban Heeled
boots with silver tips – a true died in the wool California Boy.
“This is Andrew, Andrew Flashman. He’ll be playing keys on the session”
Said Steve.

“He-lo” Said the embodiment of soft rock LA, in the clearest, bell-like
plumb English I had ever heard. The room tilted, the picture didn’t
add up, all my preconceptions scuttled out under the door & I stood
open mouthed at an image that didn’t match the sound. He must have
clocked my derogatory expression as it was instantaneously evident,
by the look in his eye, we were not going to get along.

(K)

Thursday 27th June

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HIDDEN GURU:

Every Saturday, through the summer of ’69, me & the two
invisible boys cycled six miles to visit our Guru.
He’d appeared to us first as a travelling salesman but
now that his true identity was revealed we were drawn
to his flame, enthralled by his stories of a secret life
in the Emerald City. Was it a moment of weakness or an act
of charity that inspired him to reveal his address?
Either way we took it as a green light to drop in whenever
we needed & we needed weekly.
He lived in a modest semi on the new Oaklands Estate, built
on ripped up tennis courts in the grounds of a grande pile
where Mom & Dad used to play back in the day. That’s when I
lost any interest in the game, unable to lift a racket with
even two hands, but loving the sound of my parents laughter.
Me & the invisible boys
had expected a more esoteric dwelling,
but guessed he must’ve chosen it as a cover. The dust green Ford
was always parked round the back, but strangely disappeared soon
after we knocked the front door. It was a big deal to find him gone,
our hopes of stretching out on his orange leather sofas,
listening to music brought back from the great city in the South,
the latest releases from Islands Records & stories of recording
sessions with legends – it was all crushed on the days his Ford
de-materialised, but we kept coming back. The Guru was our only
link to a world that existed on Thursday night TV, he was our
bridge to a ridiculous dream.

(K)