A Bit of Dosh


That’s a word I learned from a brit who was my roommate in new orleans back in 1986 - we’d met at the youth hostel and, both fish out of water, decided to share the cost of rent in the french quarter in a little studio apartment upstairs of the parade bar. I think that he came from a comfortable background and was “roughing it” but could have wired home for “a bit of dosh” whenever he wanted, whereas there wasn’t truly that much money back home waiting for me to wire home for. I mean, mom and dad could have flown me home, perhaps... but they might not have been able to bail me out of jail. In any case, I’m reminded of this turn of phrase as a musician - all musicians are in one way or another hustling for a bit of dosh. Few of us are naive and / or stupid enough to be motivated by the idea of a lot of it, but we all need a bit of it, for rent, for food, for guitar strings or what have you. And it is because of this that we are concerned with copyright. Particularly when we get older money becomes more of an issue. 

When you’re 20 you can wing it, fly by the seat of your pants, do without, but when you’re twice that you start needing some comfort, and if you’ve got bairns they require a great deal of it. This is why you see some of the old acts hustling more now than they ever have before - they are realizing that if they don’t cash in now they’re going to have trouble picking up the tab later. And nothing says elder statesman like being able to pick up the tab. You feel as if you’re an adult if you can dial back and help out those 20-somethings who are what you were, more or less. Give them a bed and three squares, loan them a nice jacket. You can’t do this if you are scraping just like you did back then. And as far as stupid jobs are concerned, your tolerance for those decreases as the proximity of your death increases.

It is roundabout this train of thought that I recalled the fact that somebody owes me money, possibly a little, possibly a lot. Possibly a very great deal - hard to say, really. The trouble is, I do not want to talk to them about this matter or anything else. I’d kissed it all off, frankly, in exchange for that pleasurable luxury: not having to talk to them. But then again, isn’t that what nasty sharklike lawyers are for? What to do, what to do. I’m not really that sort, and water has flowed beneath this bridge all right, enough to cover the face of the earth. But as others are now dependent upon me to stock the table, I must revisit this idea of shaking the old tree for what is rightfully mine, that which I have abdicated lo these many years in order to enjoy that trade-off of not having to speak to or look in the faces of people who make me check my pockets whenever I stand within ten feet of them. What to do, what to do. what would you do? Of course if i were like most people i’d have the memory and the nose of an elephant when it comes to money. I suppose that’s a reason, if not the main reason, why I have so very little of it.

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