I’ve woken and found myself on a lush rug surrounded by a B3 Hammond, numerous guitars, amps, a wurlitzer piano and a drum kit….. The live room.
Maz scored the couch in other room …. Although, it’s Summer and she’s stuck to the leather. There are empty bottles of wine and 45’s all over the place.
Drawing back the curtains, I let the morning light flood in. The place looks worse than we initially thought.
Oof, what a party.
We smile at each other …. Yeeeeeeaaaaaahhhh…. What a party!!
The hangover is surprisingly minimal. Nothing a Hank Williams record, a coffee and a then beer won’t fix.
The record party continues. The boys are on tour. No recording sessions in the studio today.
No matter how far away she may be.
Maz is forever my sister.
My inspiration. My heart. My family. My confidante. My Rock ‘n’ roll.
My conspirer. My partner in crime. My crutch. My wild spirit.
Forever and a till eternity.
I heard that Maz was spinning records somewhere. An intimate club in an alley off an alley way.
I believe she’s under the guise of DJ Cholula. Damn straight she’s spicy!
At 2am, I lead a group wandering through a maze of narrow corridors. Finally, floating over cobblestones, we hear it….. Hercules.
Following the sound of Aaron Neville’s sweet voice, we open a door to the swaying of a full and sweaty dance floor. No one is in their seats. Funky Cholula in full effect.
My arms raise above my head and my hips yield to the rhythm. We slink on to the floor and Maz flashes us a wink and a smile.
In the Darkest Light, this is my favourite dance party.
Wednesday mornings are for roof lounging. A strong irish coffee in hand and a view of the most famous skyline in the world. I’m ready.
I’m waiting for Maz.
She’s riding her bike. There’s champagne on ice in her basket.
Today we will be celebrating life, love and adventure. We’ll be toasting to friendship and the thrill of being inspired by the free spirit we admire within each other.
The day is young. I’m excited to see where today will take us.
I found her out on the fire escape. Broadway is eerily quiet so early on a Saturday morning. There are almost no cars. Maybe a couple of taxis. The Soho shopping district won’t wake for another few hours.
She hasn’t slept.
'I wonder where my boots are….' She says.
'Who's apartment are we in?'.
With eyes wide, I shrug.
From the interior, someone puts on a record. Music From Big Pink.
'Coffee?', offers Adrien as he pokes his head out the window. So French. So rock 'n' roll.
A steaming french press appears. Along with a bottle of Jameson. The only way he does it.
Slowly, the crew of six join us, out high above the pavement. Our giggles echo down the street.
Last night’s adventures continue.
That is how I would describe the types of men that surround Maz.
Another word that comes to mind when I think of the common theme between her and her men.
Is the word that inspires awe and lust for a life lived alongside Maz.
I lost her for months. Maz won’t do Winter.
This time, Maz is more terrible than ever. Wild, untamed and prepared to plunge into the Summer with more than her usual reckless abandonment.
She is the embodiment of rock ‘n’ roll, and it’s impossible not to notice. We’re in for a wild ride. Maz and I.
We may get lost. Don’t come find us.
She jetés from the train to the platform… headphones on.
The music has invoked a mood.
Her straight back, head held high, long legs strut in time, the devil in her eye. Hips…. sway.
They all stare at her, wondering what makes her smile.
What divine rhythm makes her move that way?
Rubbing my eyes, I wake up to the smell of coffee and the crackle of the record player. The sweet African beats of Sunny Ade come to life and I’m up. Maz is ready to play.
The front door of the bungalow is flung open and breakfast cocktails are served on the porch. The bicycles are readied for beach and boardwalk adventures, surfboards attached.
Summer has called. Maz has arrived.