The World's First Rock n Roll Star

Jack Kerouac – the name is a perfect union of the real and the romantic; earthy everyman honesty coupled to a distinctly European sense of the exotic. It’s a name you can roll around like a mouthful of deep red wine – Jack Kerouac. He sounds like your old drinking buddy down the bar. He sounds like an existentialist philosopher. He was both of these things and more, but, more importantly, Jack Kerouac was the world’s first rock n roll star.

The history books will tell you that rock n roll properly exploded into the public consciousness when Elvis first swivelled his pelvis on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1956. The nation’s youth heard the wake up call and responded in kind, adopting the same outsider rebel stance that had beamed into their living rooms. A self-conscious sense of image had suddenly flowered in the hearts and minds of American youth. Before rock n roll, the sons and daughters of Uncle Sam all looked like miniature versions of their parents; pipes, side-partings and sensible cardies for the boys, twin set and pearls for the girls. After Elvis and his electrifying wake-up call blasted a canyon-sized gap in the generations, these model citizens in waiting were replaced overnight with a tribe of slick and sneering aliens who had seemingly crash landed from the Planet Bebop.

A year later, with impeccable timing, Kerouac’s “On The Road” was published – the bible of the self styled Beat Generation. Although seemingly riding on the back of the current adolescent obsessions for fast cars, sexual abandon and wild music, the lifestyle described in On The Road was a memoir of a life Kerouac had lived some ten years previously. By the time America had woken up to the idea of a nation’s white youth bopping to a back-beat born of black culture, Kerouac had already trail-blazed the width and length of the country several times over in search of personal epiphany, strung out on Charlie Parker jazz and Benzedrine.

The early Beats were in many ways the first punks; buzzing off cheap amphetamines, forming their own communities, rejecting the conformity of their fathers and the conservatism of post-war America. Like the punks, the Beats celebrated the marginalised and the disaffected and imbued them with an heroic sense of style.

After celebrating the rock n roll lifestyle ten years in advance, Kerouac’s next book predicted the hippy movement. Instead of serving up more juvenile delinquent high jinks, “Dharma Bums” gazed into the crystal ball of the zeitgeist and offered a meditation on anti-materialism and Eastern Mysticism, visualising thousands of young Americans leaving behind the 1950’s consumer capitalist dream in favour of a simple life of self sufficient spirituality; that which the children of Timothy Leary later called “turning on, tuning in and dropping out”. A decade later it all came true, the term “hippy” being interchangeable with “beatnik”. Twelve months after that, the King of The Beats was dead, choking to death on a can of beer at the age of 47 whilst watching The Galloping Gourmet on his mother’s TV.

There have been over 250 songs that mention Kerouac, from artists as diverse as Tom Waits, Dexy’s Midnight Runners and The Beastie Boys. His freewheeling persona and romantic spiritual hobo image has wandered like a tattered ghost throughout the last forty years of rock n roll, influencing everyone from Bob Dylan to Pete Doherty. In the States, his brooding matinee idol looks are used to sell everything from postage stamps to jeans. Every year a new generation of artists setting out on the road of self-expression and self awareness picks up his pages and finds their blood stirred for ever by the transcendental power evoked through his writing. Jack Kerouac – visionary, mystic, proto-punk, madman, angel, romantic drunk; a weaver of dreams and imagination, an inspiration for a generation.

A WASTED JOURNEY

FADE IN:

FULL SHOT. ROADSIDE - DAY

A young HITCHER in his mid twenties stands at the side of

the road with his thumb stuck out. He holds a sign in

the other hand - a piece torn from a cardboard box that

has LONDON written on it in black marker.

Cars swish past him without stopping.

A battered old Toyota Corrolla stops. The passenger window

comes down. We hear music thudding from the car. The

young HITCHER leans in and exchanges words. He opens the

passenger door and gets in. The car moves off.

INT. TOYOTA CORROLLA - MOMENTS LATER

The driver is a rough looking scally in his mid thirties.

He wears a tracksuit and a baseball cap. Pink Floyd's

"The Wall" is playing, loud.

SCALLY

What you off down there for then?

HITCHER

See our kid.

SCALLY

Ah right. Live there does he?

HITCHER

Yeh.

SCALLY

Poor bastard.

HITCHER

Yeh. He likes it though.

SCALLY

Does he? I worked down there for

a bit. Strange set of cunts, I

thought. What part does he live

in then?

HITCHER

St Johns Wood.

SCALLY

Ah right. It's nice there though

innit.

HITCHER

Yeah, it's alright. Where were

you?

SCALLY

Hackney. Right shit hole.

2.

HITCHER

Never been there.

SCALLY

You dont fuckin wanna mate. Like

Holderness Road minus the fuckin

glamour.

HITCHER

Good as that?

SCALLY

Oh fuckin better.

(Beat)

HITCHER

Floyd. Nice one.

SCALLY

You into em?

He turns up the stereo.

SCALLY (CONT'D)

I fuckin love em me. Got

everything they ever did. Proper

fuckin head tunes.

HITCHER

Oh aye. Good for a smoke.

SCALLY

I'm glad you said that.

He points to the glove compartment.

SCALLY (CONT'D)

Old Holborn tin in there. Knock

one up man.

HITCHER

Oh nice one.

He opens the glove compartment, pulls out the tin. Opens

it up to reveal a packet of King Size Rizlas and a packet

of weed.

The SCALLY offers a cig from a packet on the dashboard.

HITCHER (CONT'D)

Ta.

He starts rolling a joint.

EXT. ROAD. - CONTINUOUS

The car rushes past a sign onto the M62. We hear Pink

Floyd banging out.

3.

INT. TOYOTA CORROLLA - LATER

The HITCHER takes a deep pull on the spliff and passes it

to the SCALLY.

SCALLY

Cheers man.

He tokes hard on it.

SCALLY (CONT'D)

Yeah, fuckin Hackney mate. Right

rough spot. Good laugh though.

Spent a few months down there.

HITCHER

What was you doing?

SCALLY

Doing an house up. Well, doing a

few houses up. Flats and that.

Belonged to this Turkish bloke.

HITCHER

Painting em?

SCALLY

Yeah, painting, bit of re-wiring

and that. They all live in right

little pokey gaffs down there

dont they? All one bedroom flats,

fuckin tiny they were.

HITCHER

Yeah thats London innit. Charge

a fuckin fortune for em an'all.

SCALLY

Fuckin fortune is right. Couldn't

believe it when he told me how

much he rented em out for. A

fuckin grand a month some of em

man.

HITCHER

Fuckin hell.

SCALLY

I know. Robbin cunt.

He takes a good toke and passes it back.

SCALLY (CONT'D)

Good bloke though. Sorted us out

with some nice smoke.

HITCHER

Yeah?

4.

SCALLY

Oh aye. Well, they get all the

best gear dont they, them Turks

and Moroccans and that.

HITCHER

Yeah I suppose they must do.

(Beat)

SCALLY

What does your kid do down there

then?

HITCHER

He's at drama school.

SCALLY

What, like an actor?

HITCHER

Yeah. Well, learning to be one.

SCALLY

Has he been on the telly?

HITCHER

Nah. He's just training like.

SCALLY

How do you train to be an actor

then?

HITCHER

I dont know.

SCALLY

Fuckin love to do that, me.

HITCHER

Would yer?

SCALLY

Oh aye. Fuckin love films me.

Oh yes, listen to that!

He turns up the stereo as a guitar solo screams.

SCALLY (CONT'D)

Have you seen The Wall?

HITCHER

The film? Yeah, seen it a couple

of times.

SCALLY

Ever watched it tripping?

5.

HITCHER

I haven't no. Bet it's fuckin

mad innit?

SCALLY

Oh aye. Right on top. I nearly

fuckin lost it one time. Thought

the room had turned into a fuckin

fish tank.

HITCHER

A fish tank?

SCALLY

Yeah, like a big fuckin aquarium.

Thought me mate had turned into

one of them fishes, what they

called, them bastards that eat

you alive.

HITCHER

Pirhana?

SCALLY

Yeah, fuckin pirhana. Thought he

was gonna fuckin gobble me up

man. Eat me alive. Big fuckin

teeth on him like razor blades.

The HITCHER laughs.

SCALLY (CONT'D)

Oh aye, but it want fuckin funny

man. His face was like a fuckin

fish, y'know big googley eyes and

that. Fins growing out the top of

his fuckin swede.

The HITCHER laughs again and passes the spliff over.

HITCHER

That's fuckin ace.

SCALLY

Not for him it want. Freaked the

fuck out of me. I wellied the

cunt over the head with a golf

club.

The HITCHER explodes with giggles, wipes his eyes.

Composes himself.

HITCHER

Oh fuckin hell. Was he alright.

SCALLY

Was he fuck. Had to go to

Infirmary.

6.

The HITCHER explodes into giggles again.

SCALLY (CONT'D)

Cut his big fishy head open.

HITCHER

Oh, jesus ... fuckin hell.

He shrieks with laughter and then composes himself again.

HITCHER (CONT'D)

Sorry.

SCALLY

No, it served him right. Fuckin

tropical man eating cunt.

They both laugh.

EXT. M62. A LAY-BY - LATER

The Corrolla pulls into the lay by and the HITCHER gets

out.

P.O.V. OPEN PASSENGER WINDOW OF CORROLLA. - CONTINUOUS

The SCALLY peers out.

SCALLY

This do you mate?

HITCHER

Yeah, nice one. Cheers mate,

fuckin brilliant.

He offers the spliff back through the window.

SCALLY

Keep it for the road mate. I'll

roll another un.

HITCHER

Aw, cheers man.

SCALLY

No bother. Have a safe un.

He moves off, tooting his horn. Pink Floyd fades into

the distance as he zooms away.

The HITCHER watches him go. He sits down on the grass

verge by the side of the lay by and smokes the rest of

the spliff.

FULL SHOT M62. A LAY-BY - LATER

The HITCHER stands with his thumb out. Cars pass.

7.

EXT. M62. A LAY-BY - LATER

A small gold Honda Civic pulls up a few feet in front of

the HITCHER. The HITCHER picks up his bag and trots over

to the window, which remains closed. He peers in. Opens

the passenger door.

A greying man in his late fifties at the wheel. Glasses

and a beard. He doesn't look round.

HITCHER

Where you headed mate?

MAN

Just up the way here.

HITCHER

I'm off to London.

MAN

Yes.

(Beat)

HITCHER

That alright? London?

MAN

Get in.

The HITCHER gets in. The car moves off and joins the

traffic.

HITCHER

Nice one, thanks very much.

(Beat)

HITCHER (CONT'D)

Been stood there ages. Well,

feels like ages.

(Beat)

HITCHER (CONT'D)

Still, least it's not raining,

eh.

The MAN just drives, doesn't answer. Doesn't glance round.

(Beat)

HITCHER (CONT'D)

Where you headed?

(Pause)

MAN

I've been on a wasted journey.

8.

HITCHER

Ey? You what? I mean ... pardon?

MAN

I've been to Wales.

HITCHER

Wales?

MAN

I went to see my Uncle. But he

wasn't there. So my journey ...

was a wasted one.

HITCHER

Oh right.

(Pause)

HITCHER (CONT'D)

Did he know you were coming?

MAN

It's very frustrating. Now I'm

afraid I dont know what I'm going

to do.

HITCHER

Well ... er ... can't you ring

him up? See where he is, like?

MAN

I trained for six years to be an

accountant.

HITCHER

Did yer?

MAN

I did. Six years. Studied hard.

Passed my exams earlier this year.

My final exams.

HITCHER

Oh, nice one. Well done.

MAN

But now my Uncle wasn't there and

so that's six years down the drain.

Six years of my life. Wasted,

you see.

(Beat)

MAN (CONT'D)

I dont know what I'm going to do.

(Pause)

9.

HITCHER

Mate, I'm sorry, I dont follow

yer. How is it wasted?

MAN

Well, you see, I borrowed some

money from the firm. Unofficially.

Inadvertantly ... borrowed some

money. Do you see?

HITCHER

Er ... alright.

MAN

I'm not a thief. Please don't

think that.

HITCHER

Oh no, I didn't, I mean, I dont.

I mean ...

MAN

I was going to put it back. All

of it. But before I got the

chance, I was discovered. My

father. He found out what I'd

done.

HITCHER

Yer Dad?

MAN

My father, yes.

HITCHER

Is it like ... the family firm?

MAN

No.

(Pause)

MAN (CONT'D)

So my father said I had to go and

see my Uncle and he would deal

with me. But when I got to Wales

he wasn't there. So ... six years

training. Wasted.

(Pause)

HITCHER

Deal with yer?

MAN

Yes.

10.

HITCHER

How do yer mean ... deal with

yer?

MAN

Unless I can prove to my father

that I have been caned across my

bottom I will lose my job.

HITCHER

You what?!?!

MAN

But my problem is I don't know

anyone well enough to ask them to

do it for me.

He turns to look at the HITCHER for the first time.

MAN (CONT'D)

Do you see my problem?

(Pause)

HITCHER

Caned?

MAN

Hard. Across my bottom. Until it

bleeds.

(Pause)

They drive on in silence.

HITCHER

You're gonna have to stop the

car.

MAN

I'm sorry?

HITCHER

Stop the car. I'm gonna be sick.

MAN

I can't just stop ...

HITCHER

I'm gonna fuckin puke. Stop the

car.

MAN

Do you want to go for a cup of

tea? I'll buy you ...

HITCHER

STOP THE FUCKIN CAR - NOW!

(MORE)

11.

HITCHER (CONT'D)

STOP THE CAR OR I'LL PUKE UP ALL

OVER YOU AND ALL OVER YOUR BASTARD

CAR.

MAN

I dont think ...

The HITCHER raises his foot and smashes it hard into the

glove compartment.

HITCHER

I SAID FUCKIN NOW!

EXT. ROADSIDE - MOMENTS LATER

The Honda Civic pulls over onto the hard shoulder. The

HITCHER tumbles out of the passenger side and kicks the

door shut. He stands up and starts kicking at the car,

battering the roof with his fists as it attempts to nose

it's way back into the traffic.

HITCHER

GO ON FUCK OFF YOU FUCKIN DIRTY

OLD CUNT! I'LL KILL YER! I'LL

FUCKIN KILL YER, YER SICK BASTARD!

The car manages to squeeze back onto the motorway. It

drives off.

HITCHER (CONT'D)

CUNT!

The sound of a HGV horn, long and loud above the roar of

the passing traffic. The HITCHER looks across to the

oher side of the motorway.

FULL SHOT - HGV LORRY PARKED UP ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE

MOTORWAY.

We see the LORRY DRIVER waving from the open window.

He's beckoning the HITCHER across.

The HITCHER waits for a gap, then runs to the central

embankment. Waits for another gap then runs to the lorry

and around to the passenger side.

He climbs up and into the lorry.

INT. HGV LORRY - CONTINUOUS

LORRY DRIVER

You alright mate.

HITCHER

Oh fuckin hell. Fuckin hell.

LORRY DRIVER

What happened?

12.

HITCHER

That bastard ...

The HITCHER is panting, in shock.

LORRY DRIVER

Who, that car?

HITCHER

Him ... fuckin pervert over there.

LORRY DRIVER

Him who's car you were leathering?

HITCHER

He wanted me to fuckin cane him.

Can't believe it.

LORRY DRIVER

CANE him?

HITCHER

He's a fuckin pervert ...

LORRY DRIVER

Alright, calm down ... give

yourself a minute ...

The LORRY DRIVER shifts the HGV into gear and moves off

onto the Motorway.

EXT. MOTORWAY - CONTINUOUS

The Lorry drives along the motorway.

INT. HGV LORRY - MOMENTS LATER

HITCHER

Fuckin hell thanks for stopping

mate.

LORRY DRIVER

You alright now?

HITCHER

Yeah. Yeah, I'm sound. Ta.

LORRY DRIVER

What happened?

HITCHER

That bloke. He wanted me to cane

him. Can't believe it. Can't

fuckin believe it.

(Beat)

LORRY DRIVER

Who is he?

13.

HITCHER

Fuck knows. He picked me up.

Just near Goole.

LORRY DRIVER

And he asked you to what? Cane

him?

HITCHER

Yeah. Across his arse. Till he

bled, he said.

(Pause)

LORRY DRIVER

Jesus.

He laughs.

HITCHER

I know. Fuckin mad innit.

LORRY DRIVER

He just asked you, outright?

HITCHER

Yeah.

LORRY DRIVER

What, out of the blue, like?

HITCHER

He said he'd been on a wasted

journey. Said he had to be

punished.

LORRY DRIVER

Punished? What for?

HITCHER

Said he'd nicked some money from

his job and got found out. Had

to prove he'd been punished.

That's what he said.

(Pause)

LORRY DRIVER

How much did he nick?

HITCHER

You what?

LORRY DRIVER

How much money did he rob?

HITCHER

Fuck knows. Why?

14.

LORRY DRIVER

You should have said gis half of

it and I'll kick fuck out of yer.

Give him a proper treat.

HITCHER

Fuckin hell.

They laugh and then drive on in silence. The HITCHER

reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cig packet. It's

empty.

HITCHER (CONT'D)

Have you got a cig please mate?

LORRY DRIVER

I dont smoke.

(Pause)

LORRY DRIVER (CONT'D)

Where was you going anyway?

HITCHER

London. To see me brother.

LORRY DRIVER

Right. Well I've just come from

there.

HITCHER

Where you going now?

LORRY DRIVER

Back to Hull.

HITCHER

Oh fucking great.

LORRY DRIVER

I can drop you off at the next

service station if you want.

HITCHER

No, thats alright, at. I'll go

home. Fuck it.

LORRY DRIVER

Whatever you want mate.

They drive on.

EXT. MOTORWAY - MOMENTS LATER

The lorry signals and moves into the middle lane.

INT. HGV LORRY - MOMENTS LATER

15.

P.O.V. PASSENGER WING MIRROR - MOMENTS LATER

The HITCHER is staring out of the window. The LORRY DRIVER

glances across and looks into the WING MIRROR.

The HITCHER notices him glancing across.

INT. HGV LORRY - CONTINUOUS

The HITCHER looks across at the LORRY DRIVER who is now

gazing straight ahead at the road.

The HITCHER turns to look out of the window again.

P.O.V. PASSENGER WING MIRROR - MOMENTS LATER

The HITCHER sees the LORRY DRIVER glancing across and

staring into the WING MIRROR again.

INT. HGV LORRY - CONTINUOUS

HITCHER

What the fuck are you looking at

mate?

LORRY DRIVER

Ey? You what?

HITCHER

You keep looking at me. Fuck are

yer looking at?!?

LORRY DRIVER

I wasn't looking at yer I was ...

HITCHER

Yes yer fuckin was. Fuckin staring

right at me.

The LORRY DRIVER laughs.

LORRY DRIVER

I wasn't, I was ...

HITCHER

Don't laugh at me you cunt.

LORRY DRIVER

Ey! Now fuckin behave yourself

or I'll ...

The HITCHER opens the passenger door and leaps out.

LORRY DRIVER (CONT'D)

JESUS FUCK! NO!

The screech of brakes and the sudden sounding of a horn.

FADE OUT:

Do You Think You'll Get To Heaven?

Remember me when you're asleep

This life will be the death of me

Lay me down and pray your soul to keep

Say goodnight and fall asleep

Push me aside when it's light and you're full awake

You can make these days all dissipate

Don't let me in try not to break

Just forget me and keep awake

And you think you make it better

But you don't

And you think you'll get to heaven

But you wont

Now I'm old and left and on my own

The car crash never happened no

Poor survivor left and all alone

You're average and you're on your own

And you think you make it better

But you don't

And you think you'll get to heaven

But you wont

Neighbourhood Watch

Wrap yourself tightly so the rain can't touch you

Pull over the covers so the wind can't get through

I remember your dark hair scraping on your neck

Don't stand out there in the cold and wet

Our average contents don't add up to much

Neighborhood

I got friends in high places but they don't stay in touch

Neighbourhood

Your smell on the t shirt sleeping there beside me

Twenty four hours still I've seen no sleep

Have you locked all your windows bolted all the doors?

Hang up your troubles with your sickness clothes

Our average contents don't add up to much

Neighbourhood

I got friends in high places but they don't stay in touch

Neighbourhood

Welcome back to the house

It's been empty without you

And I get disconnected when I'm on my own

I look beaten and rough, I've been smoking too much

And my head's on the floor cos I've run out of luck

Our average contents don't add up to much

Neighbourhood

What's The Word

What purpose served by the tongue of a snake

What good is an insect that shines

What good eyesight when left in the dark

And you're being tripped up all the time

Come on now brother

What's the word

We should not have a care

In the world

Who is it screaming in the dead of the night

And where are all the second hand stars

Who'll call you home with a kindly refrain

When you're lost and you've drifted too far

Come on now brother

What's the word

We should not have a care

In the world

Well all the birthdays they come in at once

And the money I've got is not enough

Send me a letter to say you're OK

And let's start up from where we left off

Come on now brother

What's the word

We should not have a care

In the world

Weekends

Cars are on the front way

These shoes were made for walking

And our year projected saving plan just blew

The weekend has come round once more

The horses are all set to score

And all girl groups are coming back in vogue

Turn them up, they're on the radio

Bars were packed to bursting

And our pockets they were burning

But that Billy Hill is no good friend of mine

Sixteen to one and I am doing fine

Stumbled home from door to door

Avoiding all the ale house war

And trying to keep my eyes down on the ground

I'm so glad the weekend's coming round.

No Cause For Alarm

As I sit typing this in me attic, an alarm is tearing the air to shreds outside. It sounds like a house alarm - one of those relentless WOWOWOWOWOWOWOW air-raid siren type affairs that are like a three minute warning for impending Armageddon. Except this warning has been going on for about twenty minutes now, giving Armageddon plenty of time to rumble down upon us, wreak it's merry havoc and depart for the next planet, leaving a charred and devastated wasteland in it's intergalactic wake. Obviously no-one is paying the slightest bit of attention. I've just glanced outside expecting to see a fleet of emergency vehicles and a crowd of aghast on-lookers being shepherded behind police lines, but there's no-one there except a middle aged woman walking her dog, seemingly oblivious to the cacophony raging around her. Even the dog doesn't seem alarmed. No-one gives a flying fuck about neighbourhood distress signals. Whoever invented Neighbourhood Watch obviously discounted the act of listening as any sort of aid to local security vigilance.

And still this bastard noise goes on and on. If the house is actually being burgled I imagine the intruder has had time to strip the place of valuables, pack his van up, park it safely round the corner, return to the scene of his crime and cook himself a three course meal followed by a long luxurious soak in the bath. He'll probably have time to curl up on the couch and read a couple of good novels before making good his escape. There was a time when you could leave your back door unlocked. Now you might as well leave it unlocked and left wide open. At least you wont annoy the neighbours when you get turned over.

I'm just as much to blame as anyone for this uncaring descent into wilful ignorance that's picking apart our very social fabric. But I have an excuse. I know who's house alarm has gone off. It's the bloke across the road. And I know for a fact it's not a burglar. It's his cat. It keeps setting the alarm off by going in and out the cat-flap. He is seemingly unwilling to get his alarm looked at, so I think it's down to me as a good neighbour to help solve his problem.

Now where did I put that air rifle?