The Ballade of Nixon Tyme Chapter Twenty Two

In the weeks following his mother's death, Tanner's persistent doubts about Erica had become more of a worry. Ever since they'd begun their relationship, they'd never lived together. That suited Tanner, but for Erica, it was more a case of pragmatism. She was astute, and knew well enough that as long as Minnie was still on the scene, any attempt to lure Tanner away into domestic union, may set off the warning bells that could compromise her position. Now, the path was clear. Tanner would need her more than ever. She was sure, she'd be all he'd ever need.

Erica was nearing thirty five, and her biological clock was ticking ever louder. Tanner never spoke of children, so Erica remained silent, but recently she'd noticed mothers with babies passing by, and it had begun to tug. The streets seemed full of them, everywhere she looked, women, usually younger than herself, pushing their armoured buggies full of joy. She'd not thought of it much before. For so long there had seemed just one obstacle between herself, and finally getting her man. Now that Minnie had gone, it wasn't so clear cut.

The first step, would be to cross the Rubicon, and start living in the family home. Tanner was alone now, but Erica sensed the ghost of his mother would still be lingering unless she took the lead and showed him the way forward. She'd done it with his business, now she could do it with his life. Tanner was, indeed alone, and for a time Erica's company did help fill the gap. She started to stay over more, and after a month, had practically moved in. This was how things happened, imperceptibly, bit by bit, until one no longer noticed that anything had changed at all.

Tanner recognised the signs, though. The problem was that he was in no position to get out, without causing an unbearable upheaval. By now, Erica practically ran his life. He knew that with an empty house he had no reason to oppose her moving in. Erica was good to him. She was almost everything he needed....but almost wasn't good enough. Then, just as he was weighing up his options for the umpteenth time, and still unable to see a way out, Erica herself, unwittingly provided a solution.

It was a Saturday afternoon. Erica had suggested that they spend the day clearing out the downstairs area, that until now, had remained untouched since his mother's death.

“You can't keep it like this forever, can you ? …...She's gone, darlin'......Don't you want this to be our place now ?”

Tanner knew she had a point. He didn't want to live in a shrine, but he still hadn't been able to confront what he was going to do. He felt guilty too. Since seeing the profile of Cecile on the dating site, he'd done nothing, but the thought of her had not gone away.

“I'm sorry, you know it's difficult at the moment to make any plans. I'm not even sure if I should keep the house. Perhaps a complete new start would be better ?”

It was true, and deliberately ambiguous, and.......................... he needed to stall.

“Perhaps, if that's what you want.....It's your decision. Shall we just tidy up a bit, until you're ready to think about it ?”

Tanner nodded as Erica began to pick up some of the album sleeves lying near the ancient turntable.

“Is that Jacky ? I didn't know you had one of his records.......”

Erica was holding up a copy of The Belleville Riders' album, and smiling at the blurred, yet distinct features of what she took to be the lead singer of their most notorious, Stones tribute band. In all the time that they'd represented Stoned Again, Tanner had never seen them. Erica handled all their business. Tanner looked at the sleeve.

“That's years old ...............He'd be in his forties now........”

“Well yeah, but it is him, isn't it ?”

And there it was. Even before she showed him the promo shots she'd recently made, he realised she'd spotted an almost uncanny likeness between Marrat and Jack Renard. Later, the video clip on the computer confirmed it. It was a strange thing to see. Despite the Jagger wig and catsuit, it was clear to see that this guy could be his double, and nobody could know that more than Tanner. He'd never previously talked to Erica of his dealings with The Riders. Now, having explained his connection with the band, he showed her the letter from Franck Blanchard.

“If he's doing a book on The Riders, then it might be a good reason to get the album re released. I'm thinking of going over to Paris to see him.....What do you think ?”

Erica liked the idea. She knew that Tanner needed a distraction from his malaise, and if things went well, he may be more inclined to make a decision on their future. For exactly the same reasons, Tanner knew he had to go too. His idea about the record was indeed worth looking into, but also, at the back of his mind, he wondered if he could pull off something more ambitious.

Within a couple of days, Tanner retrieved his discarded letter, contacted Franck Blanchard, and arranged to meet him. The meeting was scheduled for the following week in Paris, which conveniently, was exactly when Cecile Labat would be taking a few days off at home.

Franck Blanchard was in his late thirties, and lived in a cramped ground floor apartment, just off the Boulevard de la Villette, in Belleville, Paris. As Tanner ascended out of the Metro station, he imagined how different this place may have looked twenty five years before, when quite possibly Marrat himself, would have walked these very streets. It probably wasn't that different now, and not such a coincidence, that here he was, all these years later to discuss Marrat and the band. Belleville still had the air of a bohemian enclave, and sure enough, when he finally entered Blanchard's home, the ambiance of a seventies student bedsit was all too apparent.

Hundreds of vinyl records lined the walls, and the few uncovered areas were decorated with posters of obscure bands and singers. Blanchard himself, was a tall, wiry man. He sported extremely small, circular, wire frame glasses which enhanced his serious, studious manner. He spoke good English, but with a heavy accent which Tanner found quite difficult to understand.

“Zo, ze situation izzat Iy ave been in discussion wiz a publisher ere in Pari, about ze story of ze group........It is my idea to promote ze idea zat Punk Rock 'ad its origin 'ere.........”

Blanchard had already had some success with a previous biography of a French band from the era, and now the publisher wanted him to cover a band that would have a more international appeal. He had already done substantial background research concerning Marrat and Michel LeNoir, covering their early lives. He went on tell Tanner, how he'd interviewed some of Marrat's fellow students from his days at university. He knew about the links with The Chains of Slavery book, and the Situationists, and had made many connections from the lyrics on the album to the works of Rimbaud. Tanner knew nothing of this, except for Marrat's real name.

“Did you know ee got ze look from ere ?......It was le look on ze streets ov Belleville in 74.....”

“Didn't his cousin do that ?”

“...Ah yes …...is cousin, Michel. You know ee does not want to talk to me about ze group, and zat is a problem Mister Francis. You see ee as is own fame now, so ee wants to forget zat it ever appened. I think maybe ee feels some guilt zat ee didn't protect is cousin more.”

“Isn't that a problem ?”

“It depend on you, and ze uzzer two eenglish, you see, for it to be credible, zen we would need at least alf ze group, and yourself to speak”

It had been a long time since Tanner had thought of either Clifford or Damon. He had an idea that Clifford still ran the pub in Islington. His mind wandered back to The Queens Head, all those years ago. It was where it all began for him. As for Damon, he had no idea.

“Well I don't mind telling you what I know. I thought it may be a reason to re release the record, but for the others, I don't know. What would be in it for them ?”

“Well yes, I understand. If only we could find Marrat imself. My God, we could reform it !”

“Reform it ?”

“Well yes, it was ze first thing zat ze publisher propose......but of course zey didn't know zat ee disappear................A reform of ze group, much more publicity, a tour.......Festival even”

“Where ?”

“In France, of course. It would be big news, even wizout LeNoir. Originally zey were ardly known ere, but now it would put French music on ze map..........Non ?”

Franck Blanchard smiled, and picked up a copy of 'The Real Deal' off his desk.

“It's a very good record, Mr Francis........”

Tanner was surprised, and not a little proud, to see another copy of the record existed. It had never been originally available in France, and was quite possibly the only one in the country. Blanchard explained that he'd picked it up on a market stall about five years ago. He'd become fascinated by it, and tried to piece together as much information on the band as he could find. And so, having pieced together the background story, and LeNoir not co operating, the trail had run cold, until he'd finally found Tanner. Luckily for Blanchard, the studio had been credited on the sleeve, and still existed.

“Nobody zere remember ze band, but zey did keep some paper records, and your name and address was listed..........Eh voila !

“Give me a little time, and I'll see if I can find the others, and see what they think.”

Back at his hotel Tanner reflected on Blanchard's words, and what possibilities his curiosity may have opened up. By virtue of some yellowing invoice, sitting forgotten in a file for nearly twenty five years, Blanchard had made the connection, which now gave them both the opportunity to resurrect The Belleville Riders. How that resurrection took place, intrigued Tanner. He would have to track down Damon and Clifford first, but what if he could offer something much more interesting than just a book and record release? His mind wandered back to the image of Marrat on the sleeve.

Nobody had ever really known Marrat. Apart from Le Noir, Blanchard hadn't been able to locate any family connections. There was a half tale about a father who'd left when he was a child, and perhaps his mother had remarried, or left the region. Either way, it was clear now from talking with Blanchard, that even here in his home town, there was very little information on a man who seemed to have an exact double back in London. Not only was Jack Renard similar in appearance and age, he was a performer, and most importantly, a singer.

His voice would be harder to match with Marrat, given the French accent and Renard's almost comical parody of Jagger's nasal whine, but after twenty five years, would anybody really spot the difference? Until he'd met him and the others, it could all be conjecture anyway. Getting them to give it a shot may give Tanner Francis a very good reason to spend a lot more time, here in France.

Blanchard had impressed him, and he didn't doubt his sincerity concerning the possibilities for the band if there was a reunion. It made a lot of sense. He'd pointed out, that with his connections and the band's story, they could easily create a tour and festival show. It would be the twenty fifth anniversary since the break up, and if miracle of miracles, Marrat was back, then France would be able to stake a claim it had never previously had, in Rock n Roll history.

Then there was the record. Most people had never heard it. They could re release that without having to produce anything new. The cherry on the gateau, thought Tanner, was that the band never originally spoke in interviews. It was always Tanner, and he could do the same now. So long as Renard could pull it off on stage, he'd never have to answer any awkward questions.

He needed to get back to London and see if any of this made sense to the others, but first, he still had one more thing to do in Paris.