Meeting With Music Makers

I first met Bruce Haack while I was loudly complaining in Nero’s to a member of staff about the lack of ice in the Peach Gold Frappe I’d just stolen off a table outside Ben Hwar’s Menagerie (purveyors of fine cigars and crepes) that some schmuck had left unattended while they chased a pigeon for gossip on where to find the freshest Guada in West Yorkshire. 

Bruce was next in the queue and asked politely if he could just quickly order a babyccino and get on his way. 

Sure, I said. Why not? I knew I was going to be there for at least 45 minutes, which is the amount of time Nero’s staff legally have to wait before calling the police on an unruly customer. I let him slip past me and as he did a small synthesiser lodged in his pocket knocked at the rim of my knee. Of course, being an electronic music enthusiast, I asked him about it.

Let me just order this babyccino, he said.

Sure, I said.  I’m a patient man. 

He ordered, paid, and then said, Well? What do you want to know?

Where’d you get it? I asked. 

Made it myself, was his reply. 

Look, just give me more ice and I’ll be out of here, I said to the member of staff behind the counter.

We don’t sell that here, she said. 

That must have taken a while to make, I said to Bruce.

About half an hour, he said. Want me to play you my latest composition?

Of course, I said. I’m always eager to hear new music in the midst of a fruitless search for ice on a hot Summer afternoon.  Just a second though, I said as Bruce lit up his pocket-sized machine.  Just put some ice in a cup and I’ll add it myself, I said. 

I can do that, said the woman behind the counter.  She passed me a disposable cup full of ice.  I added the ice to my pilfered Peach Gold Frappe.  Bruce played National Anthem to the Moon from his album Electric Lucifer(1970).  He finished and the small crowd that had gathered broke into spontaneous applause.

That was amazing, I said. 

I’m Bruce, he said, holding out his hand, and we’ve been friends ever since.