Historical accusations of sexual impropriety are trending. Harvey Weinstein is an awful sexual predator who is in the news daily.  Turns out his pro Zionist position included hiring Israeli intelligence to spy on his accusers to discredit them.  Although Harvey’s opportunistic casting couch impropriety is none of my business, my curiosity in this subject is the legal landscape in which what constitutes sexual offenses has shifted. Not that long ago we were voting for a President who openly admitted his rapey past. Instead of being disgusted, as we were with Harvey, who was jailed, instead we celebrated Trump and elected him as president.
    I wonder when does sexual inappropriateness become illegal. How credible is the reporting of historic sexual offenses, sometimes 30 years in the past, when allegations appear without evidence as a money making opportunity. Is it conduct that devalues the very serious and unacceptable predatory nature of powerful people using their status to inappropriately exploit women. Even when it falls below the legal bar of rape. Why did Harvey go to Jail and Donald went to the White House?

In the spirit of sharing, I am reminded of my own experience of non consensual sexy time, in which I admit from the outset,  I would definitely have said yes had any invitation preceded the action.

This particular event, not my first #metoo tale, happened some time in 1992. In a splendid Victorian manor house in the mid east of England where I was attending the wedding of the lawyer/owner of the distribution company representing my music. A good friend, much admired by many musicians, and an influential power in London’s music business marrying a (very pretty) Publisher.

My wedding gift on the occasion of this lovely marriage between two music biz types was a 1954 release of Elvis Presley’s ‘That’s alright mama‘. On a 78 RPM vinyl disc, a collectible in-the-sleeve original copy that might be worth some money one day. I thought, a nice gift for a musical friend with expensive tastes.  My well intentioned joke was “stay together long enough and this will be worth some money.”

I was single at the time. I attended this overnight wedding on my own, staying overnight at a guest hotel nearby, some two hours drive North from London.

Being a music industry wedding, almost all the 200+ guests were in the music business.  The reception was impeccably arranged, a bit like a music venue concert. A big marquee was set up in the big garden, with a professional sound stage and a big PA, on which a variety of world class acts took a Turn. Acts who were signed to the distribution company, many of whom were Irish. This was a splendid wedding party concert where I got to see famous artists I had not met before. I was having a blast.

One of the star turns that day was a leading Irish singer. I had never met her but knew of her international reputation and attractive record covers. Hers was the voice of a maestro, not only in singing technique, but in the masterful way she interpreted Irish traditional music.  I noticed she was revered by all who approached her. That star quality where you don’t just go over and say Hi.

Being frank, as a slightly starstruck Andrew, while I stood in the marquee at side of stage listening to her sing, I was overwhelmed by her mastery of that Irish-emotion singing.  She ended her short set with ‘Song for Ireland’. I had never heard that song before. You could have heard a pin drop when she sang it.  Shivers ran down my spine. The best I had ever heard in that Irish style of emotional fire paper siren song, despite my lifelong aversion to vibrato. She could get away with that. She could get away with anything when she sang that song.

I was stood to one side of the stage area watching, with a champagne flute in hand, dressed, uncharacteristically in a grey suit (Hugo Boss) with a white shirt (Armani) out of respect for my upmarket, smart hosts.

At the time I weighed 65 kg. Pretty thin and fit and sporting an abundance of hair.  I was mesmerized by that moment. Vulnerable as any one would be caught up in a superior artistic performance of Irish musical excellence. Her song ended. An emotional eulogy for Ireland that left the audience drained and ecstatic. I was enthralled.