Love, Music, And Friendship

I was excited to hear that the Kintyre Songwriter’s Festival is going to be back on in Campbeltown this summer. For the first time in three years.

KSF is the event where I first started to feel like I could perhaps wing it as a performer, and also the place where I discovered that my songs could be appreciated. It’s my musical home.

I soon realised, however, that I won’t be able to play it, because I’ll be attending a wedding in another part of the country that weekend.

There’s a certain sadness that I can’t do both, obviously.

But love and friendship trumps even my love of local music in the community.

And that’s the way it should be.

Miss You (When You Go)?

Talking about my local woods, as I was yesterday, I bumped into a fella on the hill there a week ago. He gave me some news, which I desperately hope is nothing more than local gossip.

According to Bob, Scottish Woodlands are going to be chopping down all those trees that have kept me sane, and provided countless hours of wonderful relaxation, over this last couple of years in particular. And then they are just giving up responsibility for them.

I don’t know how true this is, and I need to find out. But I have come to realise why people do some seemingly crazy things. Like chaining themselves to trees, for instance.

It’s the way I feel right now about the forest on Ben Ghuilean. Because some things become a part of us.

Even the possibility of that happening makes me feel sad. This is a fittingly sad song I wrote with a friend called Dave Harris, and one which I hope, I really hope, I’m not going to be singing in my own special happy place.

A Cover Song

It was Springtime in the woods on my walk t’other day. It felt like Spring. Sun was shining. The birds were in full voice. Lovely.

I ended up chatting with a Great Tit.

No! Don’t go there!

But really, I did. I heard one calling nearby and, as bird song goes, it was fairly easy to replicate. So we ended up chatting. He or she was definitely answering me back. I wasn’t imagining things.

Quite proud really.

I’m not usually very good at singing covers.

Making A Song And A Dance

Gimmick: a trick or device intended to attract attention, publicity, or trade

I’m as a sniffy about the use of gimmicks as the next Authentic Songwriter. I want my precious creation to be the thing that attracts the attention. I don’t want to trick people into listening to it.

Do I?

In fact our art won’t generally attract any interest at all if it doesn’t itself contain gimmicks.

Who heard of a joke without a punchline.

Or a song without a hook.

When making our thing, we intentionally try to trick people into continuing to listen. Whatever tactics we use, we’re certainly not using them with the intention of encouraging folk to lose interest.

Which has made me think that perhaps we shouldn’t look down on attempts to attract interest and seek attention through gimmicks, in order to get people to pay attention to Our Thing in the first place.

Perhaps we should make more of a song and a dance, about our song. Or dance.

How far we go with that idea, is a personal issue of course. And if the gimmick becomes bigger than whatever it is attempting to attract attention to, then things have probably gone too far. But at the end of the day, we’re all advertising something.

We’re not trying to hide it from view.

The Special One

The guy or gal who is always there in the audience is so easy to take for granted.

And when he or she is the only one there, it is easy to see them as a symbol of your own failure.

In reality they should be the most appreciated and honoured.

And in reality it is amazing that somebody, even one, is prepared to commit their precious time to watching you do your thing on a regular basis.

They are special.

(Thank you Steve. You’re a legend!)

Rule Breakers

Breaking the rules.

It’s usually frowned upon. For good reason.

It’s how we hold it all together.

Society. Families. Organisations.

And the things we make. From a rocket ship to a song.

But sometimes the world (your neighbour, your community, your song) is crying out for the rules to be broken.

Something fresh is needed. Occasionally it’s a matter of life and death.

It’s a tricky one though, because when you break that rule, you may still be frowned upon. And you might get it wrong. You could break the wrong rule at the wrong time.

But sometimes. Sometimes you and the world will experience a breakthrough. Something that makes life better.

My own suspicion is that we need more brave people, not less, of the kind who will take a risk, and at least consider breaking the rules on occasion.

We Don’t Decide

There are plenty of songs, we’ve all heard them, that sound like they should have been hits. They should have been popular. They should have been played on the radio regularly. Just like the ones that we are all familiar with.

But they aren’t.

There are of course reasons, most if not all of which have nothing to do with the song itself. But it’s not always helpful to go looking for those reasons.

Because we don’t decide.

And so, because most of those reasons are out of our hands, we simply carry on making our songs. It turns out that getting a hit isn’t the only way to find and give pleasure from that process.

Parental Responsibilities

I record a song a month, and do my recording with my long time co-producer, Sam Hales. He is a superb musician, a brilliant sound engineer, and a fantastic arranger. It’s like having my own band and studio team in one person.

We work together most Thursday mornings, but of course sometimes it’s not possible. I wasn’t around for a week and half, and I’m always happy on those occasions to give Sam free rein, in order to keep up with our deadline. I couldn’t make the song recordings without him, but he doesn’t need me sitting there.

Except that he does really. Because it’s my song, and that makes me the master of its destiny. We got back together yesterday, and I didn’t really like the direction he was taking the song we’d started before I’d left. It happens.

As well as his other gifts, Sam is very pragmatic and flexible, and in one session we managed to get it back on course. My course, of course.

Some songwriters refer to their song creations as “their children”.

It is a bit like that sometimes.

The Last House On Needless Street

Today’s blog is a book recommendation.

I finished reading The Last House On Needless Street by Catriona Ward yesterday. Ostensibly a horror story, which I would usually avoid like the plague, being the easily spooked fella that I am, I think it should more accurately be labelled a thriller … but one with ridiculous levels of heart and humanity.

It is simply one of the best novels I’ve ever read.

The story telling is wonderful, surprising, compelling, tender and hopeful. And the very difficult subject matter is handled with unbelievable compassion and empathy, gentleness and insight. I’m struggling to find the right superlatives, but it is really is that good.

Sometimes darker subject matter can leave this reader feeling a little bit empty and despairing. Catriona Ward takes an horrific situation and creates a genuine page turner, a real thought provoker, but one that somehow ultimately leaves us feeling optimistic and hopeful.

I can’t recommend it enough, but I don’t want to say anything more about the actual story except to plead you to read.

And feel free to spam me if you hate it. :)

Personally, I’ve got songs brewing somewhere inside.

The Opening Band

Here’s how you embrace the opportunities that arise when you’re at the bottom of the pile.

With style.

Indecisioning

I struggle with the decision that follows this very personal question:

What is the most worthwhile thing I can do next?

If I don’t ask myself that question for a period of time, then I find myself letting everything go. And of course it’s not an easy question to answer. The best ones never are.

However, when the question becomes the Slave-master, sometimes the most worthwhile thing I can do next is to not worry about answering the question.

Yep. Sometimes you’ve just got to surf the wave, go with the flow, and improvise the riff.

I know. You already knew that. But I needed reminding.

The Need To “Art”

I, of course, like the art of songwriting. That attempt to make something sound right and speak right inside a small three minute window of opportunity.

A novelist doesn’t have the music to worry about. But they have to get the words right, page, after page, after page. It’s a massive endeavour of imagination, empathy, and intellect. When it’s done well the reader doesn’t need to be persuaded to turn those pages. We follow in wonder, like moths to a flame.

A comedian is the bravest of all artists. I truly don’t know how or why they put themselves through it. Making people laugh is one thing. Making people laugh, on demand, something else entirely. To go through the process of learning how to do that, until people pay to watch, must be butt-clenchingly terrifying. They have to become the fool, so we don’t have to. And the best ones do far more than make us laugh.

Then there is the composer who writes not one melody, but ten, twenty, a hundred. And then arranges them together in a complete whole, in which the sum of the parts, which individually are wonderful, make something even more magical.

The list goes on. Artist, Poet, Director, Sculptor, Actor. And a multitude of other crafts, trades, skills, jobs, professions and hobbies that, in the right hands, even though they don’t always look like creative endeavours, become works of art.

We’re all trying to make our mark. We should never give up the hope of making something that is outstanding.

The Lost Keys

Sometimes the keys are lost, and you can’t get in.

To something.

Happened to me today. I lost my keys. In fact it happens most days. There is always something I can’t get into. Or solve. Or sort out.

The Lost Keys are the answer. The trouble is they’re lost.

Sometimes we need help to find them. Sometimes the key is to ask for help.

But the truth is that, more often than not, those dang keys turn up. A thorough search, a bit of patience, a sudden brainwave…or another’s kindness… usually solves the issue.


No reason to panic.

Song For One

There is probably still a music industry that looks something like this.

And you may have heard that in the region of 60,000 songs are UPLOADED to Spotify everyday.

In the past the advice to songwriters was to write something universal. Something that everybody can relate to.

In a way, that is still the Holy Grail. But, for songwriters, a better aim in this day and age might simply be to try and write something that means something to one very specific person.

That would be a start.

Annandale Services

Well, it’s been a good tour.

Great turnout, wonderful songs, lovely people. Lot of laughter.

And life on the road is the space in between. A time to reflect, and to sing along with much, gusto, love and affection to classic disco hits on the Zoe Ball show.

”Ring my be -e - el, Ring my bell………ding, ding….ding, ding, ding!”

Nice to be on the way home.

But the truth is, it’s all a pleasure, when I let it be. Even the part where I’m sitting in my car and typing the daily missive in a motorway service station car park.

Lucky bugger that I am.

Mattering To Somebody

This thing (this blog) I do every day, got forgotten the last two days.

Nobody died.

And of course I’m the one mainly bothered about it because it is I, and no one else, who decided that this was something I wanted to do everyday.

So it matters. And it doesn’t matter.

But I’ve had enough positive feedback to know that I might not be the only one who notices when it’s not there. And that’s a good place to be. Because whatever it is we’re doing, or creating, or singing, or making, all we really hope is that it matters to somebody.

Right In Front Of My Face

The blog I wrote yesterday got me reflecting on the impact of things happening far away, and close by. And how one can quickly become the other. Anyway, I wrote a song, the lyric for which is below.

Right In Front Of My Face

When your brother 
In far off places
Is losing races
He never entered for

You want him to win
That bloody war
But you can’t fight for
You can’t fight for him

And your sister
You can see her face
In that other place
But you can’t speak to her

She’s crying now
That bloody war
But you can’t fight for
You can’t fight for her

There’s your mother
In another world
It’s another world
She’s heading for

She holds a child
That bloody war
But you can’t fight for
You can’t fight for her

Oh your father 
In a far off land
Can he understand
What the fight is for?

He’s got a gun
That bloody war
But you can’t fight for
You can’t fight for him

Here today I walked on by
A stranger  in my home town
He was sitting there out of view
Right in front of my face

Right in front of my face
Out of view
Right in front of my face
Out of view
Right in front of my face
Out of view
Right in front of my face
Out of view
Right in front of my face

The War On War

Everything seems trivial when we are hearing about tragedy in other parts of the world. And we ourselves, if we live in a peaceful time and place, are only here because of wars won and lost in our own part of the world.

Too much suffering and pain, in the past, and still today.

It’s always inconceivable to understand why humans keep returning to these same blood stained fields. But despite the ominous signs of the times, I’m optimistic for the long term. I think we will learn eventually.

In the meantime, the course of action for those of us who are lucky to live in a relatively easy place…the main thing that most of us can do to stand in solidarity with those who suffer…is to make sure that the connections, friendships, and communities that we are part of become stronger. And that as well as becoming stronger, they look outwards, beyond borders, and welcome in strangers and strugglers, refugees and wanderers. We can’t afford to be insular.

Because the time to build all of these connections is not when war comes. It is when we are fortunate enough to have peace.

It may partly be the bloodlust and greed of power hungry despots that leads us so often to war and conflict. But it is complacency, and the developed habit of turning a blind eye, by us, that allows it to happen in the first place.

A kind word or action, taking a stand against injustice, or building something that benefits more than ourselves, today, here, might not seem to be of much benefit to people who are suffering thousands of miles away right now. But I would suggest it is our primary duty, in the face of a general sense of powerless-ness, to take advantage of the privilege we enjoy, while we are free to do so.

We have more power to change the future than we think. And we owe it to those are suffering tragically today from past neglect towards Ukraine, to do so.

War might be a present reality. But it isn’t inevitable.

Back In The Groove

I was the first person to arrive at our cottage near Lampeter for our songwriting retreat. It was sunny, and warm out of the breeze. I got myself some lunch and a glass of wine and sat outside enjoying the sunshine. Lovely.

They say write what you see, especially when you haven’t written for a while. All I could see was Blue Sky. It’s not the most original title, but I picked up my little travel guitar, and found a little bit of inspiration to get myself back in the groove.

Fellow retreater, and Homesongs4Lifer, Gary Carey arrived later that evening. He’d managed to get his car stuck in a ditch. A different kind of groove, you could say. So I’m curious to hear what his first song is about…

Knocking On Doors

When you’re travelling, as I am, you see a lot of other lives happening. Lots of worlds that will probably never interact with your own world. It’s one of the those things that always causes me a sense of awe. Even more than the size of the universe!

Providing shelter for those other lives are an awful lot of houses. A lot of homes. A lot of potential Homesong venues I always think.

I don’t know how many of those homes contain people who love songs, and love people, and would make great Homesong hosts. But there must be quite a few.

Maybe I should start knocking on doors…