When Oscar was born there were many phone calls. So, at the end of that most magical day, the birth of our son – a delivery where we’d waited much longer than just the nine specified months to meet him – I get this call. And though my phone had been ringing all day this was one from a number I didn’t have programmed in.

The caller asked if Oscar Sweetman was there. I managed some quickness even after my senses had taken an all-day battering. I said, “he is, but he can’t come to the phone right now”. I was staring at the beautiful little bub in the plastic tub, his mother wiped out – and beautiful too. Never more so. She raised a thin smile just to hear me say our child’s name aloud and wondered  briefly who was on the other end of this call.

“Simon! Jordan Luck here mate” came the familiar voice from so many great songs. And a small handful of warm conversations.

He laughed heartily at my joke and then he told me he wouldn’t hold me up. He told
me that I probably already knew that today was a special day, none better. He told me he knew that feeling. Father to father – dad to dad. Two people who didn’t know each other well but knew about each other, knew the work, and now occupied the same
world once again. And in an entirely new way.

I like to think that most people realise that Jordan Luck is brilliant.

If the songs aren’t to your taste you at least know they were written to last. They’re often perfect pop songs and when they’re not you can at least smell that the intent was still there, always pure.

Anyway, whenever anyone tells me that they don’t like The Exponents or Jordan Luck
I tell them this story. So, felt the need to write it down. It was a nice call to receive at the end of a punch-drunk day of elation.

Jordan Luck understanding, as always what’s important and how to cut right to the heart of it. And yet, he tries to tell you he has no idea why love does this to you. He knows.
He fucking knows.

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