Control

Control.

Who has it?

Not me.

Though I could

If I chose

But I choose not to.

I choose to forfeit

My right to be myself

To determine my future

Because I am fearful of the consequences

Of doing so

Even though I know

In my heart of hearts

That I could be happier

If I did.

It’s the little things

That indicate the person who

Cannot choose to be themselves

Who almost wants to suffer

To be a prisoner

Of the one who tried to imprison him

All those years ago.

The prisoner who therapists said

Could take control

Because everyone is entitled

To be free

To be themselves.

But if I was myself

I would murder and maim

I would cut out the tongues

Of those who might disrespect me

Or remove their legs in case they might

Move close to me.

I have been let down

By my parents

By myself

By hope

By faith

But not by love.

I have not been betrayed by love

(Outside of the family)

But each morning I rise

And wonder how to fill

Another meaningless day

Until I die

In 20-30 years.

That’s less than the time since

We first met.

In less than that time

I will be dead

And I am told

That that time will be

What I make it

And if I breathe from my stomach

And focus on the positive

And connect with the unborn self

And am alive to the present

Then…

But this is the fucking present

Right now

As I type this

This is the present

Where I am centred

And want to weep

Because I will never have control

I have forfeited that

To all the other people I encounter

Who determine my life

And I let them

And I seem to be happy with that

Don’t I?

Joan Armatrading live at Bexhill's De La Warr Pavilion, England

Rock’s Charlie Pride is a born-again black artist.

I lost touch with Joan Armatrading nearly three decades ago. In 1985 she seemed firmly planted in the white musical bombast of the time. Me Myself I, the last number by her that I paid any attention to, was a brilliant piece of overproduced pop-rock stomp. Last night at Bexhill's dlwp her devotees and enthusiasts were treated to a one woman seminar on Joan as major league black performer with a rightful, but not sufficiently acknowledged, place in the international music hall of fame.

She gave us the photos to prove it.

She did raw and accomplished blues, and subtler jazz, guitar. She sat at the piano and emoted like a latter day Nina Simone.

Joan's voice is as powerful as when she started but is now possessed of a richer, maturer tone. 

There were some occasional lyrical lapses. However Joan gave a flawless performance of numbers that ranged from the very good to the quite exquisite.

If there is one complaint, it is that Joan’s self-styled “last major world tour”, and first solo one, is evidently a low-budget affair. If she had been genuinely unplugged, the rawness that worked so well on her blues and balladeer numbers would only have enhanced her performance of the now classic Love and Affection.

It was still a barnstormer, but the pre-recorded synth strings and cheesy sax could have ruined it were it not for the sheer emotional heft and powerful hook lines that inevitably made it a winner. More or less devoid of “enhancements”, Down to Zero and The Weakness in Me, two comparably powerful torch ballads, were better performances on the night.  

Joan does great dead-pan too. She joked, self-effacingly, about pics of herself with better known performers, and introduced her encore so that she could get off the stage according to her schedule.

Joan closed the concert with an early favourite, Willow, and, oddly, gave the audience the last word as she played along to the few who felt confident enough to sing it back to her.

This gig though was an object lesson by Joan in “why I matter”.

She is of course preaching to the converted. 

Let’s hope she once again gets the attention she deserves from national and international media.