My love affair with Rock ‘n’ Roll began with the first rebellious and thrilling kiss of sound and has never, will never end. Pouring over intoxicating black and white images, gigs that kept me alive, days by the grave of Jim Morrison, countless hours watching footage of Kurt Cobain and many great frontmen and women, head in books, soaking it up, reading about any music hero that moved me and there are many. Eyes fixed on Iggy Pop like he’s from another planet. I was once told by a man when I came off stage at ‘the 12 Bar Club’: “There’s some Iggy Pop in you.” Now that’s a compliment! My back against the wall, literally blown away the first time I saw Patti Smith  live on the day that Marlon Brando died. That was in my home town of Manchester in a room full of students...I had become one myself of everything Rock ‘n’ Roll, the attitude, the rebelliousness, image, energy, power, rawness, the beautiful  jagged art of it all.
The guitars, the blood pumping raging beat. Being alive, a purpose for existence right there in the music and the power it had to transport you out of time, out of your mind, to dream, a collective experience, a trip, a mystical ride. Those moments gave me hope for my life and always, always the words, the poetry of outsiders.