Free Heaven's Promise by Paolo Hewitt Page B

things to tie up,’ and, agreeing to parlare with each other before the day’s sun was down and out, we parted company.
    â€˜Hey,’ shouted the man as I walked off, ‘take it easy now.
    Things will be cool.’
    I couldn’t share his optimism but I didn’t want him to check that so I signalled back my agreement with a raised hand and made tracks to Tottenham Court Tube leaving him to hustle up work and the old cashola.
    I should add here that the Brother P. could not and would not let himself be defined by the nature of his job as most numbers are, if only because his work was so varied that no single title had yet been invented to encompass all his known activities.
    The only connecting factor to all his various dealings was, I suppose, the music game. One week would find him running on errands for some record company, placing a tune of theirs with all the right people, whilst the next he would be handing out flyers for a one off club he would be setting up, always observing his golden rule by dropping off free tickets at the model agencies.
    â€˜A club full of women is the only club both men and women want to go to,’ the Brother P, explained and, indeed, on the nights I had helped out as a warm up DJ I had seen his theory work beautifully in practice. People were always bugging about when the next event would be but Brother P. knew the value of not overloading and so his sporadic events were always something special.
    He was as obsessed with music as I was and through this mutual love we had developed, over the years, our own little code. For the example, certain frames of mind were defined by the overall tone of a particular artist’s work.
    If you were feeling Stevie (Wonder) then you were happy with the world and your place in it. If a Marvin (Gaye) was approaching then it was odds on that you were moving into a reflective spiritual state usually brought about by a gal, whilst a Nina (Simone) denoted a bad one, a time of darkness that only her pain filled voice could crack open and bring in the light. You certainly needed a Curtis (Mayfield) to help you recuperate or maybe a touch of Sly (Stone) would do the trick.
    Such was the tone of our friendship whose roots stretched back to the same part of London that we inhabited although we were never as linked up in those times as we are now.
    This was back in the days, when we were both based around Kentish Town and well before my P&M decided to cash in their chips and travel around the world as a lifetime reward for hard work (dad was a printer, mum, a nurse) and raising myself in times both happy and harsh.
    Going about our separate runnings, many was the time that Brother P. and I would pass each other on the street, slyly checking out each other’s gears but never letting a word pass between us, such is our nature.
    It was, of all people, a group of striking miners that brought us together and God bless them for doing so as well as giving Mrs. T. a real run for her money.
    Now, in the matter of politics, I have to relate that I was raised on a steady and balanced diet of Socialism and although I am not au fait with all the ins and outs, the names and dates, I must state that when my father, a union rep, no less, parlared with me on the subject, I automatically thought it natural, as I do to this day, that some kind of equality amongst the people was a given necessary if you wanted a society to function in a cool and collected manner.
    Furthermore, when you checked it, some of the top guys and gals to have walked amongst us, Jesus, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Malcolm X., and all the other brave souls who put their lives on the line, were basically of the same opinion, and I am certainly not about to argue with them on the subject.
    I realise of course that in this day and age such views are held to be old fashioned, but there are some fundamentals, (and I can hear my father talking now) that you have to defend and live by.
    For my