[Chris O'Carroll]

No 4252
Set by Adair R Fyn
The musician Nick Cave has written a couple of worthwhile novels, “And the Ass Saw the Angel” and “The Death of Bunny Munro”. We asked for extracts from the fiction of other notable figures from the music world.

This week’s winners
Well done. Hon menshes to: Brian Allgar and G M Davis. Each of the winning entries get £20. The best was by Bill Greenwell, who also gets the Tesco vouchers.

Bad Hair Day by Edward Grimes
This guy was like, really, really cool. But basically under his blond quiff, he was kind of living in fear. Yeah, guys, he was, like, haunted by this ghost – his alto eager . . . whatever. He was, like, totally scared of this thing. So he put his green cape on, lipstick, too, and ran off down O’Connell Street to get away. But guess what, guys, just behind him he heard footsteps, then this awful voice: “Here I come, da-da-dum . . .” It sounded horrible; he was so scared his hair literally stood on end and he was, like: “Oh, my God!” He was totally freaking out and then, like, the worst thing, ever, happened. He turned round and came face to face with what was, like, totally awesome, this thing, his worst nightmare . . . his alto eager.
Sylvia Fairley

Mirage by Noel Gallagher
She had a dark, she had a light, she didn’t know her left from her right. Going down the up escalator, she said, “Catch you later,” and the man in the ocean suitcase said, “We know you’re in there and you’re dead.” So fading away like a summer’s day, they went out and went in, all the same because it was so different, all so different it was all the same, a shame, no blame. Their souls were whole, they were whole rock’n’roll souls, and the party had started before it had ended, because it had never begun all night, it was shite. They were scattered, they were torn, they were flattered they were born and in their minds, they were off their heads. So they said, this is a loss, this is a finding, this is a long and winding road, you know the code.
Bill Greenwell

For No Man by Tom Waits
With God out back taking a leak and the Devil buying a round, Frank’s life was about to get interesting. Frank was a one-eyed dwarf in smoke damaged clothes, the luck he’d had all bad. Born on Coney Island to a “bearded lady” and his showgirl bride, Frank was bright, cutting school before he knew it was there. He learned how figures didn’t add up from the welfare line, that words are all lies from talk-show religionists and the facts of life from a Mexican whore with hair the colour of bourbon and a matching wooden leg erotic as any flesh. He’d loved and lost; smarting from the memory of the blind piano player who couldn’t stand even the description of him. Frank was lighting out for the territory, sleeping under grain elevators, seeking the place where the trickle-down they’d promised had actually tricked down to.
Adrian Fry

Just Like the Second Mother (Approximately) by Bob Dylan
When I was a boy and played with toy guns in the schoolyard, my mother disapproved and asked me how much longer I would be playing. “Mom,” I said, “come with me,” and I led her by the hand up a trail that sloped through the endless forest at the edge of town. We walked and walked for hours until we reached the top of a peak overlooking our tiny, peaceful hamlet. My mother was confused but, before she could say a word, I put a finger to her lips and told her to hush and listen. The rustling leaves grew louder as a mounting breeze passed through them and a loud wind made a whooshing sound as it whipped by our helpless ears. “There is your answer, mother,” I said.
Robert Schechter

The Grieg Murder by André Previn
There were two of them. Garry could see, from behind the curtain, that they were discussing something, their heads close together. Because of the difference in their heights, the taller one with spectacles was leaning into the conversation.
Garry removed a small piece of technology from his pocket. It was a microphone that could pick up distant voices. He put on the pair of headphones he had stolen from backstage and held out his device. He could hear clearly now.
“So when he comes in, you can get his name wrong. That’ll rile him. Then I’ll sit down at the piano and play, like we said.” The taller one stretched up and laughed. “Yeah, and then while he’s conducting the orchestra we can get him.”
Garry shuddered. He knew his client was in grave danger. He’d better get him a bulletproof vest.
Katie Mallett

Bill Greenwell wins the Tesco vouchers this week. Adrian Fry and Robert Schechter are also winners, and Brian Allgar gets an hon mensh.