C’est La 21st Century Vie
So no, as a follow up to yesterday’s blog, they never rang back. I’m girding my loins to start the process over again:
C’est La 21st Century Vie!
Slaves to Technology?
Possibly.
Certainly not completely free.
And we find ourselves
Modern Medieval Serfs
Trying to maintain some dignity
In this new Kingdom
Of Lords and Masters.
They control the circuitry
And the software
The invisible money
And most of the shares
In The Company.
And the phone lines.
It’s an ancient tale of a familiar greed.
But this is not a conspiracy theory.
Just a rehashing of
The same old, same old
With the same need for us (the peasants)
To take back some control.
Take some responsibility.
In order to gain
Some fundamental liberty.
The Phone’s Ringing?
The Phone’s Ringing. Or rather it’s ringing for some outgoing calls and not for others.
So I’m on to tech support. After going through things I’ve tried and not tried there are no obvious solutions and it’s onto Ye Old Reset. Which also hasn’t worked. I’m writing this while waiting for the promised call back.
And while waiting I harken back in an “old man of a certain vintage” kind of way to a time when the new technology either worked, or it didn’t. Whether that be the phone, or turning the TV on and off and choosing between the three or four options, maximum. And solving the issue had a process that didn’t feel half as time consuming or stressful.
But now, getting many things sorted seems to be a long drawn out dance with a previously unknown partner, whom you meet after a few minutes or more of waiting, in which language barriers and perceptions of each other’s understanding must be overcome. In which the possible solutions are many.
It’s a truism that life is more complicated. It really is. Sometimes it’s for the better…often it’s a pain in the neck. But those complications are a part of the new reality. A brave new world to which we continue to adapt and adjust. Or to avoid if at all possible.
And simple things like…a good meal, a song, or a bit of banter with a friend…become all the more precious.
So the guitar is beckoning as I continue to wait for the phone to ring so that I can continue to receive help with getting the phone to ring.
Love To Hate
There are certain bands whose music some of my music making friends would dismiss or mock. Particularly popular bands, who have gone beyond their remit of simply Making Music, and who delve into the world of politics, large scale social involvement, and such like.
U2 being the prime example.
There can undoubtedly be a certain amount of hypocrisy, grandiosing, and histrionics in some of the large scale do-gooding, which can stick in the craw and appear pharisaical alongside their A-List celebrity lifestyles. Irritating, regardless of how much good intent was involved.
I love the story about U2 at the Barrowlands in Glasgow. Bono steps to the mic, clicks his fingers every couple of seconds for a while, and then proclaims:
”Everytime I click my fingers a child in Africa dies”.
After a quiet moment, a reply comes back, shouted out by a caustically witted Glasgow punter:
”Well stop clicking your f*******g fingers then!”
But what about the music?
Of course some may genuinely hate this or that band or artist. Our tastes are not for sale.
But I’m pretty sure that, for some of the haters, it has nothing to do with the songs, and everything to do with the seismic sense of disconnection between them and the performers. A need to believe in the story-teller, in order to buy into the music.
Personally I’ve never got religiously attached to an artist, even though I’ve got ones that I admire greatly. And in the world of popular music it’s hard to know what is genuine and what is for show. Often it’s a mix of everything.
At heart I’m a song by song person. That’s all. I just want hear your song. Whoever you are. The rest is a factor, but not a game changer.
So here’s one I love from that band who some love to hate.
Keep On Launching
In my heid I have wanted to create connections and relationships that lead to more people hearing about and, over time, acting upon the idea of Homesong - A Small Gig Where You Live.
That takes time, and involves a lot of uncertainties and cul-de-sacs. And failures.
But, it turns out, connections and relationships are valuable and precious, aside from any grand plans that I, you, or anybody else may have. Who would have thunk it?
When it comes to changing culture, changing anything involving people (or the weather!), there are no definite outcomes anyway.
But when we launch our little ship of a new idea out into the real world, whether that be a song, a poem, a smile, or something more complex, there is a very good chance…simply because we didn’t keep it to ourselves…that at the very least we will make some welcome new friends and some helpful acquaintances.
And, because we tried, a little bit of dignity.
All of that is an achievement in itself.
Keep on launching.
Follow Your Heart
Many years ago now, I wrote a song called You Don’t Have To Be Strong which, among a certain crowd of folk connected to the Kintyre Songwriters Festival here in Campbeltown, became my anthem. It’s also THE favourite of regular reader Steve Byrne.
And Davey Ray Moore , a professional songwriter and performer who heard the song just after I wrote it told me - “that is the direction you should go with your music career”. Hearing another musician speak of a “Career” in regard to my songs was an enormous encouragement at that moment in time.
The career never happened, but the songwriting of course did. And although I have written songs that are in a similar genre to “Strong”, some of which I think are better, in the end I realised that I just couldn’t stick to writing one kind of song.
And I’m very happy with that decision. It definitely hasn’t helped me with the “building an audience” side of things, but it has given me a lot of pleasure and, I think, made me a better songwriter.
Sometimes you do have to be strong in order to follow your heart.
The Club At The Edge Of Town
I’m in the middle of a great book right now. I’m going to recommend it highly, even before I get to the end!
The Club At The Edge Of Town by Alan Lane is a book about people from a community in Leeds working together, across many potentially divisive barriers, and actually making things better. Despite…well, despite everything: the covid pandemic, bureaucracy, uncaring politicians, infighting, racism, oppositional viewpoints, lack of money, social distancing, and much, much more.
It is not a do-gooder book, but it will undoubtedly inspire the doing of good. Along with a dollop of hope.
______
The work being done in Holbeck in Leeds is founded on three values:
Be Useful
Be Kind.
and
Everyone gets what they want, but no one else gets to stop others getting what they want.
The first two are wonderful, but hard to combine. The last one sounds impossible. But the book makes even that one seem achievable. It’s wonderful food for thought for me in regard to Homesong and to community life in general. It will be for you too.
Ps It’s also a real page turner.
Pps. Thank you Kim Le Clair for the recommendation!
Belonging
A sense of belonging is important. For some more than others.
People who grow up and live in a small rural town or village or even, still, in some close knit city communities, will often have that in bucketloads, without even having to try. It’s a great inheritance, because it can provide a lot of security and comfort.
For the increasing number of migratory humans…people who move away from the place in which they were born….belonging is not always so easily come by.
The best plan of attack, in my experience, is to be pro-active. Join a club, invite people in, stop to chat, be a friend. Don’t wait for all of that to come to you. If people are comfortable in their lives, you probably need them more than they need you.
One thing you could try, and I would say this of course, is to go along to a small, intimate music gig. Like, urrrm, a Homesong for instance.
There aren’t many Homesongs around though, so perhaps the best course of action is to start one. That would get things started.
It’s Been A While
Of course this site is called Homesong. And it was, as you probably know, set up to promote the idea of small gigs in peoples homes. But it’s been a long while, for all kinds of reasons, since I myself have hosted one in our home.
Thankfully that is going to change in a couple of weeks, when a couple of performers from our online Homesong4Life gigs, Gary Carey and Kevin Farrell, will be travelling up on the long and winding road to Campbeltown to perform over a weekend in Kintyre.
I’m happy to call them both friends. Even though I’ve never actually met Kevin in the flesh. It’s a big added bonus to catch up with Gary, and to meet Kevin in the real world.
Like all things worthwhile, hosting any Homesong can take a little bit of planning, a little bit of effort. But the rewards are worth it. I promise.
So…what are YOU waiting for? Plenty of information on the site to help you. Or get in touch with me.
Smile At A Stranger
Smile at a stranger and they might:
Ask for directions
Frown
Smile right back
Walk on by
Start chatting about the weather
Become a friend
Or… not, in fact, be a stranger. Just somebody you haven’t seen for a while in the days when you had a good memory.
Everything Zen?
I’m in the middle of a water fast (no food for a period of time, only water). I find that lots of good things happen when I do that, but there is also a certain amount of tiredness, as the body gets busy carrying out repair work.
Weirdly, after being excited, as mentioned in a previous post, about being back with my guitar after our trip away, I haven’t had much inclination to write songs, or even sing along with my old tunes during this period. Almost unheard of.
Maybe I needed a fast from that too.
But I’m relaxed about it all.
Seasons come and go, and the things that we desperately want to do or change, change. Even if only for a while. These days I’m a lot happier to watch till the good inclinations return, or wait till the bad moods drift away.
Sometimes, even with the matters we are responsible for, we simply need, responsibly, to let go.
Ooh, look at me, all Zen like.
But it’s probably the only way to be, when so much else out there is looking very Un-Zen. A theme well addressed in this song by Bush.
Did I Do That?
We underestimate our achievements.
Problem is that most of what we do goes unrecorded and our memories aren’t accessible like a hard drive is.
I’m lucky, as some one who writes words, and songs, that there is often a record of the things I made. But then is there always the addictive attraction of moving onto the next thing, leaving little time to look back and reflect.
I accidentally came across some longer articles I had written in the past and, because of the passage of time, was able to read them as A Reader, and not as The Writer. I was honestly, if you’ll forgive me, quite impressed.
“Did I do that?”
Anyway, it’s easy to be hard on ourselves instead of taking pleasure in what we do or make.
So give yourself a pat on the back sometimes.
And here is something I also had chance to look back on with enjoyable pride. This time with the added pleasure that it was done with friends, Gary Carey and Murray Webster.
Recorded on the day we wrote it. Three minutes of fun fresh from the oven.
What Have I Got To Do?
Four weeks ago, just a couple of days before the wedding of my son and bride to be, I managed to upset them both in the middle of a text conversation we were having. It wasn’t intentional, and it was very much one of those things which could have been sorted out straight away if we’d been in the room together.
But they were in Aberdeen and I was in Campbeltown. It’s sometimes hard to communicate via the written word, when anybody’s personal feelings are involved.
I was devastated that I had managed to be the cause of upset, almost on the eve of the most important day of their lives so far. I hardly slept that night. And I knew that I had to make it right.
Next morning I rang up to say sorry to them both. It’s good to do that even when there has been no harm intended. And we talked and cried. And then everything was so much better.
As a result of our reconciling chat, there was not the slightest hint of a cloud hanging over the wedding. And the following weeks have been a great time of being together, and strengthening our relationships further.
So the answer I’m going to give, Elton, to the question “What I have got to do, when sorry seems to be the hardest word?” is quite simple really.
Say sorry.
(A beautiful performance of that song in the link, btw).
Winchester Cathedral
I have an aversion to repeating myself.
But it’s unavoidable in a daily blog like this. With a memory like mine.
And in most kinds of song, it’s really a part of the deal. The ones that stick in our heads usually have one or more hooky musical phrases on repeat. And a chorus lyric that does the same.
It doesn’t take much really. For instance, I just came across Winchester Cathedral. I didn’t recognise the title. But the tune was immediately recognisable. Not a lot to do it, but it’s hooky, appealing and very memorable.
I suspect I’ve only heard the song two or three times in my life.
But the repeated melody line is, it seems, indelibly ingrained upon my memory.
And now it’s on repeat in my heid.
ps. There is lovely quirky lyrical idea too. The lyric to this one doesn’t in fact repeat. It just comes and goes, telling a familiar story in the fewest words, then says “see ya”.
Do wah diddy
Confucius say: don’t discuss religion or politics in a sauna.
When I was losing my religion, the song of the same name by R.E.M. meant a lot to me. It seemed to describe where I was coming from.
Do you know what I mean, man?
Anyway, it turned out that Michael Stipe was really not speaking about religion. But the song itself remains wonderful partly because it can have such a malleable meaning for the listener. It can be anything you want it to be.
In the song it undoubtedly helps that the music is so magically hooky. But the music hangs on the lyric. And whether they be crystal clear, opaque, or trite….it doesn’t matter which…it ain’t a song without the words. It wouldn’t have the potential to become so engraved upon our memories.
Every song needs, at the very least, some “do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do”!
Wild Elephants
On average one hundred people a year are killed by elephants in Sri Lanka. Which is the kind of information that is usually merely a statistic for those of us who live in the British Isles, where all potentially dangerous animals were killed off a long time ago.
I’ve always found it hard to imagine what it must be like to have to tread carefully when going for a walk.
Only a week ago we were lucky enough to see wild elephants close up from the relative safety of a reinforced jeep, driven by a knowledgeable driver. Never-the-less, the two ladies in the back, who had grown up in the country, were visibly and audibly frightened when a bull among the group that were feeding only twenty metres away, began walking purposefully towards us. The driver quickly started the engine and moved to a safer distance.
At the time I hadn’t felt at all perturbed. But a couple of days later I met a man who had seen his uncle killed in the last year, while he watched helpless from only thirty metres way. They get in the mood apparently, especially when it’s very hot, and seem to attack for no other reason than that. The man I spoke to couldn’t do a thing, apart from aim a few futile stones, as the animal threw his uncle around and then crushed his head. Horrific.
It feels like I’ve lived a cosseted existence. Last night in a half asleep state my imagination was taking me into fatal encounters with elephants, and it wasn’t fun. Fortunately for me it was all taking place in my mind.
But I’ve developed a new respect, and a certain amount of cautionary fear, for a world of wildness which previously I had only experienced courtesy of David Attenborough.
Something Precious
It was a sweet moment when I got back, and was able to hold her again. Her curves, missed so badly while I was away, felt so right against my body. I stroked her neck. And when my fingers plucked and strummed, as though for the first time, the sounds she made were like honeycomb, fresh from the hive. I couldn’t stop myself from singing out loud along with her.
Yes. It’s great to be together again with something very precious.
My guitar, of course.
The Final Push
Songs can be written on sight. A wee observation, a musical or lyrical hook, or a particular mood, spark me into action. Wham, bam thank you mam!
But most of the songs of my own that resonate the deepest with myself and, I think, with others, tend to be more like a pregnancy - of which, admittedly, I only know about from my seat on the sidelines.
Those songs are the ones, seeded by some more profound emotion or experience, which wait patiently for a period of time, unseen in my subconscious, part of my daily reflections, alive, but unknown. And then, with a certain inevitability, at the right time, they start moving inside me, until finally - the actual writing of the song - is the final push leading them to their first gulp of oxygen in the light of day.
Maybe that sounds a little bit grandiose. But that’s how it feels to me.
And I am quite sure, as our time in Sri Lanka comes to an end, that one or two of those second kind of songs have been conceived here.
Personally, I can’t wait to hear them.
Monkey Business
Our guide to the ruins of the impressive old Kingdom of Polonnaruwa had already demonstrated how quick the monkeys were to spot the possibility of a quick steal.
As we visited palaces, hospitals, and temples that had been discovered in what had once been impenetrable forest, we were quite amazed - as anyone has to be when looking at structures and societies that had been built all over the world during times when cranes, planes and mechanical automation were not even a pipe dream.
At the Buddhist temples, as required, we took took off our shoes and hats before entering. Sometimes we had to go bare foot over burning rock and sand and on a couple of blessed occasions the relief of some cool dark interiors.
As I exited from one of the latter I was informed by my family that a monkey had stolen my shoe. Oh dear. But, hey I like going bare foot as you know. And anyway, it didn’t take more than a few seconds to remember that I had another pair with me on the trip, so no great harm done. It was just a shoe. My wife, far more practical than me, later told me that her first reaction was a plan to lure the monkey down, with food and try to do a swap deal.
Anyway…none of this turned out to be necessary. Our guide laughed delightedly as he revealed my shoe in his possession. It had indeed very much been monkey business - but only of the practical joke variety.
LOL, as they say.
Listening To The Enemy
A while ago I wrote, in conjunction, with my friend Les Oman, an album that was our response of shocked confusion to world events. It is called Too Much Of Everything, although it could probably have been called WTF Is Going On Out There?
The trigger for the songwriting happened to be the inauguration of Donald Trump as US president. I can’t speak for Les, but like many people I react instinctively and emotionally to people. And for me Trump appeared to manifest the polar opposite of some of the qualities that I admire the most. Qualities like kindness, honesty, humility, and integrity.
Nothing has changed my view on that. But at the same time I’m very aware of our dangerous and increasing tendency to hunker down in the security of our own little tribal villages, in homes where only Local People, the ones who share our own particular point of view, are dwelling.
The aforementioned album, and some of the newsletters that I sent out with songs from the album led, at one point, to me getting a very angry response from an American fan, who up until then had been very kind and positive about my music.
I hate conflict, having been bullied at school. And I think perhaps one of my greatest subconscious motivations in life is to find a way to avoid it.
But we can’t avoid it, or at least we can’t address it adequately, without facing it head on.
All of which is the sort of thing that prompted me to watch this today.
Not a short watch, it’s an interview with someone, a particular kind of someone, who people like me don’t usually have much time for. And the interviewer is very “Marmite” too. But it is interesting, and informative, and it didn’t cause me to run a mile despite my own instinctive politics. There are things in it I agree with. There are also many things which I don’t know enough about to properly comment upon. And there are things that I find inconsistent or contradictory.
I’m not offering it up for any purpose, other than to say, quite simply, that listening to “The Enemy” is really quite an important part of our growth as humans and creative beings.
Those of us who are songwriters, or artists of any kind, should probably be more prepared to grasp that particular nettle if we want to have a voice and make good art.
And now I’ve really put myself in the mood to write a frivolous pop song.