The man in the van
Nov. 30th, 2025 12:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
baroque_mongooseMy ex-husband was a folk musician. A pretty good one, at that; recently out of curiosity I tracked him down on Spotify. He's still got a good singing voice; it's just that he's been pickling it in alcohol all these years, so he's gone from being a reasonably clear young tenor to someone who sounds more like Barney McKenna. This isn't just vocal fry. This is vocal deep-fry, in batter. Fortunately, that works pretty well for folk and folk rock, which is what he does.
Folk musicians are wont to pick up characters along the way. Often, these characters are other folk musicians. My ex was no exception, and for a few memorable months he picked up Rumy.
I can't even remember what Rumy played; all I recall is that he didn't play it especially well. He did play by ear, so he could jam after a fashion, but the main thing about him wasn't his musicianship but his very in-your-face individuality. He claimed to be Italian, specifically from Naples, but I was fairly sure he wasn't; he may have been Eastern European of some kind. He travelled all over Europe in a van, in which he lived. There was no mistaking that van, as he had painted it himself in a riotous style. He also made all his own clothes, which were loose, comfortable, and brightly coloured (he mostly favoured red), and he almost always sported a silk scarf round his neck.
Actually, now I think about it, I do remember at least one thing he played. It was the field. I really don't like the phrase "Latin lover" because it's such a stereotype, but I have to say that Rumy was it. I was never abreast of the full details of his varied and chaotic love life, but I do know that he had several girlfriends while he was in Sheffield, not a few of them overlapped, and he antagonised quite a number of husbands, boyfriends, and assorted relatives.
I liked him anyway. He was good company. At least, until he had to leave Sheffield very abruptly, no doubt because one or more of the husbands, boyfriends, or assorted relatives got really upset.
Before that happened, however, there was a jam session, to which, for some reason, I got dragged along. (I usually went to my ex's performances if they weren't likely to go on too late, which was fine as he did plenty in pubs during the day; but I didn't normally go to anything that wasn't a public performance.) Rumy was involved, and, honestly, he was awful. I don't know how the other musicians could cope with it. But then he made a beeline for me and asked how I thought he'd done, and of course I thought... oh dear.
There was, however, one very positive thing I was able to say. "Rumy," I told him, "you have amazing stage presence."
He beamed from ear to ear. "Oh. Senk you. Senk you! You give me big boots."
I knew what he meant. I was used to his English; it wasn't exactly broken, but it was definitely a little cracked.
It wasn't long after that that he disappeared, no doubt rather to the relief of the coterie of folk musicians centred around the Dog & Partridge in the city centre. I was a little sad, but still, no doubt he was happily generating trails of anecdotes wherever he'd gone.
I still occasionally wonder what happened to him.
Folk musicians are wont to pick up characters along the way. Often, these characters are other folk musicians. My ex was no exception, and for a few memorable months he picked up Rumy.
I can't even remember what Rumy played; all I recall is that he didn't play it especially well. He did play by ear, so he could jam after a fashion, but the main thing about him wasn't his musicianship but his very in-your-face individuality. He claimed to be Italian, specifically from Naples, but I was fairly sure he wasn't; he may have been Eastern European of some kind. He travelled all over Europe in a van, in which he lived. There was no mistaking that van, as he had painted it himself in a riotous style. He also made all his own clothes, which were loose, comfortable, and brightly coloured (he mostly favoured red), and he almost always sported a silk scarf round his neck.
Actually, now I think about it, I do remember at least one thing he played. It was the field. I really don't like the phrase "Latin lover" because it's such a stereotype, but I have to say that Rumy was it. I was never abreast of the full details of his varied and chaotic love life, but I do know that he had several girlfriends while he was in Sheffield, not a few of them overlapped, and he antagonised quite a number of husbands, boyfriends, and assorted relatives.
I liked him anyway. He was good company. At least, until he had to leave Sheffield very abruptly, no doubt because one or more of the husbands, boyfriends, or assorted relatives got really upset.
Before that happened, however, there was a jam session, to which, for some reason, I got dragged along. (I usually went to my ex's performances if they weren't likely to go on too late, which was fine as he did plenty in pubs during the day; but I didn't normally go to anything that wasn't a public performance.) Rumy was involved, and, honestly, he was awful. I don't know how the other musicians could cope with it. But then he made a beeline for me and asked how I thought he'd done, and of course I thought... oh dear.
There was, however, one very positive thing I was able to say. "Rumy," I told him, "you have amazing stage presence."
He beamed from ear to ear. "Oh. Senk you. Senk you! You give me big boots."
I knew what he meant. I was used to his English; it wasn't exactly broken, but it was definitely a little cracked.
It wasn't long after that that he disappeared, no doubt rather to the relief of the coterie of folk musicians centred around the Dog & Partridge in the city centre. I was a little sad, but still, no doubt he was happily generating trails of anecdotes wherever he'd gone.
I still occasionally wonder what happened to him.
no subject
Date: 2025-12-01 01:55 pm (UTC)No seriously, they are. But as said, well.
no subject
Date: 2025-12-01 02:02 pm (UTC)