You Might Never Know

You sing a song.

And that song you sing expresses exactly how someone is feeling on this particular evening. The perfect balm for a needy soul. Beautiful.

And it really doesn’t matter whether it was destiny, serendipity, or simply just a nice coincidence. The person can take it how they will.

One thing is certain though. They are glad you wrote the song and that you were brave enough to sing it. They were glad you were there. But through shyness or some other reason they may never tell you that personally and so You Might Never Know.

But I’ve heard your song. And it could do that.

To Be Used

The exercise bike gazed out of the window, as she watched yet another Real Bike glide past on the street beyond the front garden. The monitor on her handlebars blinked sadly. How wonderful it must be to breathe fresh air and to see the world outside of these same four walls.

But most of all, how wonderful it would be, simply to be used.

Her only purpose in life seemed to be as some kind of modern art - an ironic commentary on the cancerous condition of consumerism perhaps. And occasionally she was A Tea-Towel Drying Stand.

Being able to see the world outside but not be part of it was far worse, it turned out, than being locked into the sweaty, windowless gym where she had once resided, before being ruthlessly replaced by a newer model and sold off on ebay.

And though, at the time, it had been exciting to move from there to her new home in Suburbia, the excitement had not lasted long. For her or for her new owner.

And now she lay abandoned.

Yes, how wonderful it would be, simply To Be Used.

Added Extra

Well, it was such a lovely experience playing, along with others, at a Homesong in Devon last night, at the house of a friend.

And you know what the big difference is between this kind of live musical happening and so many others. It’s the “getting to know you” part which is happening, before, during and after the gig. Talking to people, and actually getting an idea about who they are.

Of course it’s quite likely that I won’t see any of these people again. Yet it still feels like something far more than just turning up and playing some songs.

I like that Added Extra which a small gig in a home provides. I hope we never lose it. And I still recommend trying out a Homesong at some point, if you haven’t already. Either as a performer, or as a host, or simply as an audience member.

It’s lovely.

Happnin’?

Happnin'?

It's another Campbeltown dialect thing, as far as I know. As in "What's happening?" "How are things?" or simply "Hiya!"

In actual fact, everything in the universe is “Happnin’”. If you strip it all down, remove every facade, and get back to basics…it’s all just happnin’. And it always has been.

We can’t make it happen. We can’t stop it happening. What’s happnin’ is happnin’. The big bang didn’t choose to be big or to bang. And I didn’t choose the last thought that popped into my head.

Better ride that Happnin’ Express with our eyes wide open.

There ain’t no second chance, baby!

Preference

My 12 year foster son very recently said that he prefers to hear me playing live than to listening to the recordings that I make. It’s nice that he’s paying attention of course. And he’s not the first person to say that.

I put a lot of effort into the recordings, and work with a very talented fella when I do so. And I often receive very good feedback about the recordings too. But taste is taste.

And I know what he means. I too like a song stripped back to the bare bones, with the singer in the room, and with all the rawness, humanity and emotion that the live dynamic adds to the whole experience.

In fact, as much as I like listening to a polished and arranged recording, I think that for pretty much any song or any artist, live and unplugged is my Preference too.

What’s yours?

In Front Of Real People

I’ve been busy trying to improve my performance skills at home. Putting a lot of work in simply singing the songs, trying to be better, and trying to be consistent.

Hardly any chance to gig though. But fortunately I’ll be able to get a small opportunity at a friend’s Homesong gig down in Devonshire this weekend.

Practising at home is one thing. But the only real test is performing In Front Of Real People…instead of a mirror. It shouldn’t make a difference, but it does.

When I stand up to play though, I’ll be pretending I’m blasting ‘em out at home. Because that is when I’m most relaxed.

If we’re enjoying ourselves, then everybody else will too.

I’m looking forward to the challenge, and I only wish there was more opportunity.

Could Have Been

I’ve heard many songs, written by unknown or relatively unknown artists that, given a different time, different circumstances, different singers, different production, different arrangement, different marketing, or different luck, Could Have Been hits.

I might have even written one or two myself.

Ah, those “what ifs” of life. They would give all of us a different history to the one we’ve actually got.

But then we wouldn’t have the very special and unique possibilities that exist for us right now.

So that was a close call then… ;-)

Work In Progress

Below is an unfinished lyric, a Work In Progress.

Everything is a work in progress really. Some of those works become “finished” songs. But even then, they remain “in progress”. They change during practise. And during rehearsal. They change during production and performance.

They even change in the ears of the listeners.

What’s That About?

I’m a homo-sapien
Got the chance to be happier
Than a frog
A fro-o-o-og
Don’t need to wait
Sitting around
On a log like
A fro-o-o-og

He’s catching flies
But I’m feeling dow-ow-ow-own

What’s that about?
boobaboobooboo (or something like that)
What’s that about?
boobaboobooboo

I’m a homo-sapien
Got the chance to be smarter
Than a dog
A do-o-o-og
Don’t need to wait
To be told what to do
By my boss
My bo-o-o-os

He’s sniffing lampposts
But I’m dumbing dow-ow-ow-own 

What’s that about?
boobaboobooboo
What’s that about?
boobaboobooboo

Just Adjust

It’s blue sky all the way here in Campbeltown.

And it’s time for our usual Saturday walk. About to go for a wander around Lussa Loch. For a change. It’s where I saw my first Osprey a few years ago, later finding out they were actually nesting there. They won’t be back yet though. Ospreys fly over to Africa for the winter to do their fishing, and come here to breed in the spring.

And I imagine that’s a routine that they have followed for many thousands of years. We’ve not been doing our Saturday walks that long, but the usual routine involves a walk up and along the forest tracks of Ben Ghuilean. Routine is the bread and butter of life. For us as well as for the Ospreys.

So what about when the routine gets broken? For whatever reason. All creatures, great and small, need to be flexible. To adapt. To start again, and find a new way to do things. It’s how our ancestors survived and it’s why we are all still here to tell the tale.

And one thing is certain. The routine will break at some point.

So we train our adjusting muscles by trying new things before new things are thrust upon us. Which they always will be. And then, when the moment comes, we Just Adjust.

Recent History

When the last thing went wrong. When we messed up, let ourselves down, gave up, misspoke, acted like an idiot, embarrassed ourselves, didn’t keep our word.

At that moment the failure is all that we can see in our Recent History.

And only the very last word, in the previous sentence is relevant here. Because every moment is a fresh page.

Nailing It

Nailed it!

What a great feeling that is. The nail is in! IT is well and truly with nail. It is attached to that thing which it was meant to be attached to. Let’s not get too carried away here but….DESTINED to be attached to.

No knots messed with this nail. It didn’t bend. It didn’t refuse to go in that final little bit. It did it’s job. And we are happy with the nail.

But mostly with ourselves. Because the nail is obviously an inanimate object with absolutely no say in its final destination. It was we who made it happen.

For a carpenter or joiner though, “Nailing It” is part of the job. No big deal.

If we hammer enough “nails” in, the same can become true for us.

Nobody Like Me

We all have this one lonely privilege.

We get to see the universe in a way that nobody else can or ever will do. There’s no direct “connection” to be had there. Nobody sees anything like you see it. In that sense we are truly on our own.

But this seemingly sad, desperate state of affairs, can actually be a cause for excitement. Like the feeling we all must have experienced when we shot off as little toddling humans without a care in the world, while our anxious parents cried out - “Have you seen Jemima?”

And Jemima was happily somewhere gazing in awe at buttercups, or persecuting worms. Enjoying the separation from her parents. And possibly of the worms too.

We, in our lost moments, when it seems that nobody will ever understand, can choose to enjoy and embrace the privilege and the possibilities of all of that, instead of suffer and endure the apparent loneliness and frustration of the situation.

And we can joyfully acknowledge to ourselves - There really is Nobody Like Me.

- Also, even if you can’t understand what I mean completely here, you get it a little bit. That’s nice too.

Turn On The Inspiraton

Gotta write a song.

I’m still doing the Forest Of Songs 10 week challenge alongside a few lovely people. It’s great to have to chat each week, about songs, and about life. And to present our brand new songs. Songs that almost certainly wouldn’t have happened without the challenge.

But how do you Turn On The Inspiration.

Well you don’t. But if we want to be creative, in whatever way that might be, and we set time aside to allow inspiration to strike…. then inspiration, more often than not, will be obliging.

And though she might strike in the way that we would like to be struck, she will turn up if we turn up. In some form or other.

Trust me. And more importantly, trust ourselves.

Running Out Of Milk

Running out of enthusiasm. How does that happen?

Is it like Running Out Of Milk?

Where do you go to buy another pint. Or litre?

It can come from outside sources and personal achievements. Little or big successes undoubtedly help. But they aren’t guaranteed. You can’t pop down to your local Success Store for a refill of enthusiasm.

And willing yourself to “keep going” can definitely keep you going sometimes, when things are tough. But, still, keeping going is so much easier when there is a positive emotional engagement with the thing you’re doing. Will power has very definite limits for even the most stoical among us.

I’m getting into the habit, little by little, of choosing to see every new day for what it really is. A new moment, a new beginning. The past is in actual fact history. We are capable of letting it go and not allowing it to affect our future actions. And these aren’t just cliches, whipped up by some Duracel Preacherman.

It’s simply true. We can always start anew. Not just in a tired, grudging fashion. Even if we are tired. Even if we are feeling crap. But that feeling can float away like a cloud. Because it has done before and it can do right now. This, THIS, really is the moment.

Everything has passed, and will pass again.

Nothing matters but now. And what a privilege to have a Now.

ps. I know how all of this can sound. Life has turned me into a “born” sceptic. But I’m still saying it because I’m experiencing it to be true right now, and something that I can do something about. Or not do something about, if I choose. What I mean is…it’s in our hands.

The First Stone

My Muse was indeed musing the last couple of days. A little bit deeper and heavier than usual, possibly. Although, to be fair, “deep and heavy” is my middle name. This particular song might be described as personal therapy. I don’t know. It’s not for everybody and it’s been hanging around for a long while I suspect. Waiting for the right moment to pop out and surprise me. And possibly upset others.

The First Stone
I’m not a believer anymore
I didn’t find what I was looking for
It wasn’t that, that’s for sure

But I like some
Of the words that he said
And some of them, yes some of them
Still live in my head

He who is without sin
Let him throw the first stone
He who is without sin
Let him throw the first stone

I’m not a believer anymore
Who knows what I was looking for
It wasn’t that, that’s for sure

But I like some
Of the things that he did
And some of them,
That they say he did
I wish we all did

Let the children speak
Don’t turn them away
Let the children speak
Don’t turn them away

And I know what they say
I once said it too
You can’t have some of it
You can’t have  some of it
It has to be all of it.

The thing is
All of it, ain’t true
And you know that too
Coz you don’t follow all of it
You don’t believe all of it
Even if you say you do
You pick and choose
What’s true for you

Coz you’re a sinner, like me
That’s Ok. It’s hard to know.
You get things wrong.
We all do.

He who is without sin
Let him throw the first stone
He who is without sin
Let him throw the first stone
He who is without sin
Let him throw 
Let him throw
The first stone

Let The Muse Muse

Carrying on from yesterday, as you do, because yesterday, in my fairly long experience, always seems to precede today, it’s important to note that we aren’t as in control as we’d like to be in the kind of imaginings we have that lead to the very particular creations we individually create.

And I hope you got through that particular sentence without too much collateral damage.

It’s just that, to be creative in a distinctive kind of way, it’s important to let go a little bit.

In other words…

…you gotta Let The Muse Muse.

Out Ya Heid

How To Make Something?

You need some materials of course. Nothing gets made out of thin air…although probably don’t ask a Quantum Scientist about that.

But if what you makes comes out of the imagination where do you start? I suppose you have to imagine something. And there you’re relying on your conscious, unconscious, sub-conscious, unconscious (?) mind to come up with that thing.

It could be anything really. You can’t guarantee what is going to arise in there can you? For me at least, what I’m going to think next is a flipping mystery. Which is exciting when you, um, think about it.

But once it has arisen, whatever it might be, you’ve got to let it out. Or put it out. Squeeze it out? It might be that it needs to develop a little bit more in your brain before you do that. But once it’s “material” it definitely needs to be allowed out at some point. IF we’re going to make something.

That’s the first brave step we need to take - but almost certainly not the last) - get that material Out Ya Heid, and onto …. well, anything that comes to hand really.

And now we’re on our way.

The World’s Your Oyster

A song about Love is, or appears to be, the classic subject for a song.
But if we think about the dawning of the modern pop age, and the commercial possibilities that opened up after the second world war, particularly in the USA, then it might not be so surprising how this has come about.

Music became something that could, in effect, be advertised to everybody on national radio stations. And so it became increasingly POPular, and The Kids had money now, and they wanted it.

And when I say “it”….

….well, the biggest preoccupation (if I can remember that far back) for teens and young adults, is of course romance, sex, finding a partner, dancing with a partner, getting dumped by a partner! In other words, LURRRVVVE (and all of its detrius).

So, although historically songs were also written as celebratory anthems, cultural history, tales of adventure, horror stories, and much, much more, love became the subject that every songwriter who wanted a piece of the action wrote about. It made money. It was sexy baby.

And Love still dominates the airways in 2023. But it is getting harder and harder to write something new on the subject. Writing a love song for people you love who are in love is the main way I manage to go about it these days, without it starting to feel stale and old.

But in reality there are a million subjects to write about. And some of those subjects are as important, or at least almost as important as The Big One. A lot of wide open space out there for anyone who writes songs. Honestly, The World’s Your Oyster. And I don’t mean that in an aphrodisiacal songwriting sense!

Meanwhile, for those who listen, and are a little bored with hearing I Love You over and over and over again….well, why not spread your wings.

ps. Next Fee Comes Fourth song is called Song To The Tick…which, on reflection, although definitely about the subject in its title, is also heavy with, um, innuendo…which, to be fair, qualifies it as a love song. Hmmm. I’m going to call myself a hypocrite before you do.

The Long And Short

The L     o    n     g

And Short of it is that-

Sometimes IT takes forever….

….and sometimes it’s very quick.

You can’t always take your pick.

The Other Way Round

Lou Reed said
Three chords is Jazz
It was a perfect day
When I heard him say that (I play jazz)

Well my fingers make shapes
And the strings make a sound
And my heart skips a beat
Or The Other Way Round

The other way round
The other way round
I’m up a creek without a paddle
Or the other way round

A fella called Hank sang
Three chords and the truth
It was a perfect day
When I heard him sing that (Here’s the truth)

My fingers make shapes
And the strings make a sound
And my heart skips a beat
Or the other way round

The other way round
The other way round
I’m up a creek without a paddle
Or the other way round

The other way round
The other way round
I’m up a creek without a paddle
Or the other way round (To the bridge)

A theory of everything
Everybody’s got one
But I haven’t got one
So here’s a song instead

George Harrison said
My guitar gently weeps
It was a perfect day
When I heard him say that (Cry baby cry)

My fingers make shapes
And the strings make a sound
And my heart skips a beat
Or the other way round

The other way round
The other way round
I’m up a creek without a paddle
Or the other way round

The other way round
The other way round
I’m up a creek without a paddle
A paddle without a creek
I’m a fight without a battle
And my heart skips a beat
My heart skips a beat
My heart skips a beat

Or the other way round