
Blog: Archives: 2012 2011 2010 2009 2008 2007 About/Contact	The Roots Of Reality Ronnie Parry toasts Don Letts, Meic Stevens and a grand weekend in Laugharne ”The strangest town in Wales” is how Dylan Thomas fondly described Laugharne. As I took the beaten track and headed towards the tiny Camarthenshire seaside town on Friday evening, the Laugharne Literature Festival was just starting. Having been to Hay on Wye’s festival last year, I was looking for an event perhaps more attached to the local spirit. Expectations were soon fulfilled as the New Mariners Inn offered a baptism of friendly fire, in the form of a darts game. A drunken man demanded I recite Ely Jenkins before I was drafted in for a game along with Paul and Neil. Perhaps we were last minute replacements for the Golden Parrot, xxxx. Local gossip; who knows who; what so and so thinks of who; rumours and sightings and a half board offer from Morse. Only in Laugharne, a face value place you could only value. The weekend turned out to be a reminisce’n’roll event with Don Letts being the highlight, together with former Clash road manager Johnny Green, speaking candidly and passionately of the teeming London culture of the 70s and 80s of which they played such a part, explaining links between punk, reggae and all the more interesting avenues of Pop culture. Positive questioning invited optimistic answers for the future. It ain’t arrived; never will. Punk is alive, something else is happening, you are alive, be happy, be yourself, explore and satisfy the urges. Letts on a sunny Sunday afternoon was a remarkably preserved looking guy thrillingly intent on imparting the ‘college of knowledge’ message. Engrossing stuff, a hooked audience, catching every word he uttered from the roots of reality. A diamond hour and a half in the New Three Mariners (with another dartboard looming in the background). The Allen brothers, Keith and Kevin were ubiquitous throughout the weekend, with the former enthusiastically holding the reins to much activity. There was a spirit, while not mass-attended, certainly an openness promising more of the same. Saturday will stand out for memories of Meic Stevens, his friendly features without those trademark specs, reading vivid extracts from his book in the Millennium House, guitar and singing repeating the passion of his written word. The man clan claim to smell the past, and rightly so. Stevens was later to be found in the New Three Mariners sorting out his head cold with red wine and good local company. He continued to entertain, knocking out tunes and also the cold, such favourites like ‘She Moves Thru’ the Fair’ and Lonnie Donnegan’s ‘Long Gone John’ filling the place with vintage wonder. Richard James had earlier followed Meic with a style, delicacy and psychedelic vision. Not sure what the other two lads contributed to his performance, but his sounds often evoked picturesque scenes. Our camping site in Broadway provided a sobering walk to and from Laugharne. Given the weather was so good we were lucky and even managed a stroll up to The Boathouse on Sunday as my cherished Davy Graham CDs were torn to shreds by Neil and Paul. Don’t judge a book by its cover boys. Substance over image. Shite album cover admittedly. Peter Hook later entertained with Keith Allen. New Order’s bassist is currently writing three books, on Joy Division, New Order and Hacienda mismanagement and door duties. As forewarned, many of his stories cannot be repeated on these pages. Hook and Sumner will not be reforming New Order however. The ‘World in Motion’ reminiscences were hilarious. You never tire of hearing about that period in time, tail end-ish of the Acid House era. E is for England, right?!? Nostalgia reigned for a brief moment as we were reminded of Gazza’s ability. He did have rhythm, could sing and dance, play, weep... drink... but could we understanding him... No!!! Understanding Laugharne could be just as interesting. A lot to listen to, a lot to understand: hidden off the beaten track, the inhabitants eagerly inviting your views. This was a fantastic little festival, for its first attempt. A combination of terrace talk, barroom alliances, seasoned poets and romantic heroics. Character with roots and no snorting with hoots. I hope Howard Marks returns next year. It’ll be even better, guaranteed. © 2007 Ronnie Parry
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Ronnie Parry toasts Don Letts, Meic Stevens and a grand weekend in Laugharne

”The strangest town in Wales” is how Dylan Thomas fondly described Laugharne. As I took the beaten track and headed towards the tiny Camarthenshire seaside town on Friday evening, the Laugharne Literature Festival was just starting. Having been to Hay on Wye’s festival last year, I was looking for an event perhaps more attached to the local spirit.

Expectations were soon fulfilled as the New Mariners Inn offered a baptism of friendly fire, in the form of a darts game. A drunken man demanded I recite Ely Jenkins before I was drafted in for a game along with Paul and Neil. Perhaps we were last minute replacements for the Golden Parrot, xxxx. Local gossip; who knows who; what so and so thinks of who; rumours and sightings and a half board offer from Morse. Only in Laugharne, a face value place you could only value.

The weekend turned out to be a reminisce’n’roll event with Don Letts being the highlight, together with former Clash road manager Johnny Green, speaking candidly and passionately of the teeming London culture of the 70s and 80s of which they played such a part, explaining links between punk, reggae and all the more interesting avenues of Pop culture. Positive questioning invited optimistic answers for the future. It ain’t arrived; never will. Punk is alive, something else is happening, you are alive, be happy, be yourself, explore and satisfy the urges. Letts on a sunny Sunday afternoon was a remarkably preserved looking guy thrillingly intent on imparting the ‘college of knowledge’ message. Engrossing stuff, a hooked audience, catching every word he uttered from the roots of reality.

A diamond hour and a half in the New Three Mariners (with another dartboard looming in the background). The Allen brothers, Keith and Kevin were ubiquitous throughout the weekend, with the former enthusiastically holding the reins to much activity. There was a spirit, while not mass-attended, certainly an openness promising more of the same.

Saturday will stand out for memories of Meic Stevens, his friendly features without those trademark specs, reading vivid extracts from his book in the Millennium House, guitar and singing repeating the passion of his written word. The man clan claim to smell the past, and rightly so. Stevens was later to be found in the New Three Mariners sorting out his head cold with red wine and good local company. He continued to entertain, knocking out tunes and also the cold, such favourites like ‘She Moves Thru’ the Fair’ and Lonnie Donnegan’s ‘Long Gone John’ filling the place with vintage wonder. Richard James had earlier followed Meic with a style, delicacy and psychedelic vision. Not sure what the other two lads contributed to his performance, but his sounds often evoked picturesque scenes.

Our camping site in Broadway provided a sobering walk to and from Laugharne. Given the weather was so good we were lucky and even managed a stroll up to The Boathouse on Sunday as my cherished Davy Graham CDs were torn to shreds by Neil and Paul. Don’t judge a book by its cover boys. Substance over image. Shite album cover admittedly.

Peter Hook later entertained with Keith Allen. New Order’s bassist is currently writing three books, on Joy Division, New Order and Hacienda mismanagement and door duties. As forewarned, many of his stories cannot be repeated on these pages. Hook and Sumner will not be reforming New Order however. The ‘World in Motion’ reminiscences were hilarious. You never tire of hearing about that period in time, tail end-ish of the Acid House era. E is for England, right?!?

Nostalgia reigned for a brief moment as we were reminded of Gazza’s ability. He did have rhythm, could sing and dance, play, weep... drink... but could we understanding him... No!!! Understanding Laugharne could be just as interesting. A lot to listen to, a lot to understand: hidden off the beaten track, the inhabitants eagerly inviting your views. This was a fantastic little festival, for its first attempt. A combination of terrace talk, barroom alliances, seasoned poets and romantic heroics. Character with roots and no snorting with hoots. I hope Howard Marks returns next year. It’ll be even better, guaranteed.