It was an extraordinary event.
On Wednesday, September 23, 2009, a tall, eminently distinguished-looking gentleman climbed atop the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square in the rain. He was among 2400 persons who took part in a 100-day continuous art project entitled
One & Other. As envisioned and created by sculptor Antony Gormley, the project quite literally provided a platform from which individuals could sing, dance, rant---do whatever they wished---with a view to establishing greater contact with those around them.
As Dee Christopholus dragged his cart, containing a single chair and two sandwich boards (one that read "Wimple Winch"; the other "Freakbeat 1966"), across the plinth, a smattering of applause was heard from below. Dee chuckled at this and began to set up his stage. (Here is a link to the September portion of the event; look for
"Deemo" at 8:00 p.m. on Wednesday the 23rd)
Some moments later, the imposing 6'3" figure, with the stentorian urgency of a Scouse town cryer, launched into an unashamed declaration of love and pride for the music he had made some 43 years before.
He then proceeded to play his music and flip through the issue of
Shindig! which contains the article I wrote about him and the band. Occasionally he would sing along with himself. In those moments one caught a brief glimpse into what it must have been like to see him on stage with Wimple Winch (sadly, all we can do, since there is no known extant footage of the band).
He played
'What's Been Done',
'Save My Soul,' 'Atmosphere' and the incomparable mini-opera,
'Rumble on Mersey Square South.' All of them masterpieces of the genre.
And then he read the
Freakbeat Manifesto.
To some, the idea of a man proclaiming past glories over forty years after their occurrence may seem sad. But such was not the case here. Far from it.
It was magnificent.
The Mighty Winch, inexplicably ignored during their existence, had been cruelly denied
their moment of glory. They never had the chance to acquire the widespread exposure they so deserved. The legendary TV performance on Ed Sullivan, the #1 single, the myth-making performances at rock festivals like Monterey and the Isle of Wight---none of these things were to be. They lacked that one crucial, pivotal moment atop a pedestal from which they could impart the Freakbeat Manifesto as its very embodiment.
And so what occurred on the fourth plinth that rainy evening in September 2009 could never alter the facts as they unfolded from 1966 through 1968. But it gave a pedestal from which a man could broadcast to Trafalgar Square---and ultimately the world over, thanks to the internet---his visions and hopes for music. A small measure of redemption, perhaps, but redemption nonetheless.
Plus he got to prove to the world they got it wrong the first time around.
