Sly Stone: hat, and indeed shirt, not pictured. Photograph: SBMG Archive
The news that Sly Stone is to tour with the Family Stone for the first time in decades stirred up a number of differing emotions in me. Firstly I felt genuinely delirious with joy at the thought of the great man treading the boards once again. Then I felt a surge of apprehension as I wondered whether Sly's return to live performance would turn out to be an embarrassing debacle that would tarnish his holy legacy. Last but not least, the news about his comeback triggered a Proustian rush of regret-soured memories as I recalled the time that I missed out on the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to purchase Sly Stone's hat.
Let me explain. I am a simple man and some years ago, I decided to simplify my life even further. Consequently my mind was made up that, apart from a roof over the head and the occasional sandwich, all a man truly needed to be happy in this life was a kettle, a spaniel and a book to read. Quickly I realised that this made for too spartan an existence and, if my life was to feel complete, it needed to contain things of wondrous beauty to cheer me up when I got bored playing with my dog and boiling my kettle. I settled on three. A signed copy of the greatest album ever made, Van Morrison's Astral Weeks; Louis Armstrong's trumpet; and an article of clothing once worn by Sly Stone. If only I could possess these artefacts, then I would never want for anything ever again.
The autographed Astral Weeks I acquired two years ago when interviewing Van for Uncut Magazine. Armstrong's trumpet is still proving beyond my reach for the simple reason that it is stored in the US National Archives time capsule and won't be opened until the year 2100. As for the Sly Stone garment, I came so close, so agonisingly close.
Last year, I was taken to the Los Angeles restaurant Spago for a movie industry lunch. The conversation turned to the question of Sly Stone's whereabouts. Someone mentioned that Sly had wandered into this very eating establishment a few months previous, smoking what appeared to be a crack pipe. Someone else happened to mention they knew someone who knew someone who was in the process of selling their entire collection of music memorabilia, including a hat worn on stage by Sly in 1970: a very fetching Davy Crockett-style number with a giant brooch attached. Without delay, a call was made to the seller and I was informed that only sealed bids would be considered. I duly scraped together all the cash I could muster (a princely £6400) and pitched my bid with what can only be described as a sense of burning hope. A fortnight later I learnt that the hat had been sold to some bloke in Missouri for £6800. Misery had surely found me.
But hope springs eternal, they say. Given that Sly Stone memorabilia never, ever comes up for sale on eBay, perhaps the Family Stone's appearance in Bournemouth on July 28 will be my last chance to score. Perhaps if I hang around at the stage door and ask Sly nicely enough enough he'll give me his hat. Even his underpants would suffice. Not only am I simple, I'm not that fussy either.
