Bum, Bum, Bum, Ha, Ha, Ha!

Last night I heard a recording of a wee song written by the grandson of a songwriting friend. I’ve had similar experiences with my own grandchildren. It’s always refreshing to hear lyrics involving “bums” and “pooh”. Very under-rated subject matter in my opinion.

Songwriters often hear remarks like “I wish could play an instrument” or “I could never write a song”. And, yes, there is an aptitude that someone can possess for doing anything really. We’re all good at some things and not so good at others.

But most of us go through a right of passage known as “learning to ride a bike”. That’s not a natural skill. It involves learning certain techniques and a particular sense of balance. And yet most parents put their children through their very own “learning to ride a bike” course. Children are usually keen to take it. And most succeed.

I’m not suggesting that we should do the same kind of thing with playing an instrument or writing songs. But I think it’s useful to at least provide the opportunity. As noted above, children who spend time around songwriters don’t see it as anything other than a normal activity.

I once taught a lesson on songwriting in a local primary school, which was a wonderful experience. Perhaps we should give all our children that chance, before they get old and scared, and think that songwriting is only something The Gifted are capable of doing.

Who knows where it might lead? “Bum, Bum, Bum, Ha Ha Ha!”

It’s Not Funny

My sense of humour to me is completely normal. Normal I tell you. It makes me laugh. Yes, I laugh at my own jokes.

It’s always a little baffling when someone doesn’t get it. What’s that about? Don’t leave me stranded on this desert island, cackling into the ocean sky, like a demented Tom Hanks, with only a football to share the moment with.

But it’s not personal I know. It’s never personal. And some people are going to think I’m serious (which might mean they think I’m upset, needing comfort, or speaking literally, or simply plain mad) when in fact my tongue is firmly in my cheek.

It’s clear as daylight to me, but THEY can’t read the signs!

It’s Not Funny.

Screen Time

My Screen Time is up, according to the information on my screen.

That is never a good thing. Because looking at a screen is generally preventing me from looking at or engaging with anything else. And there is an awful lot of “anything else” out there.

Still….obviously there are plenty of things to look at and engage with on my screen too. Right now, for instance, I’m not just looking at the screen. I’m using it as a tool to engage with my own thought processes and to engage with you.

But.

But my time here, when it becomes a crutch more than a tool, seems to prevent me from thriving as the physical being which I am. And this screen is only ever a tiny step away from making the transition from tool to crutch.

Like you, I know what the answer is, but I don’t always do it. Or I slip back into old habits.

It’s perhaps one of the biggest 21st Century conundrums. This screen is not the simple stone knife invented by an ancient ancestor, useful for practical survival, and not much else.

This screen wants all of my time.

But I want to live a fuller life than that.

If It Works For You

Yesterdays blog and the song lyric, Start At The Beginning, was my very immediate reaction to author Steven Pressfield’s excellent short Youtube series, “Foolscap Method”, on how to start writing a novel, telling a story, or planning an idea.

It’s potentially very helpful advice for any creators. And it could easily be used for writing a song. Among other things Steven suggests starting with the ending. He suggests knowing the genre you plan to write in. Your theme. Your hero and villain. And other things that might seem obvious but are very clearly laid out with all the whys and wherefores spelt out, on one page of A4 paper.

It’s all very practical, sensible and wise. It’s good advice.

And I don’t see myself using any of it in my own creations anytime soon, even though I’ve flirted with similar concepts in the past. I flirted with it this time too, because it sounds like something I should do. But instead I ended up writing yesterday’s song.

The reason being that I enjoy the journey of discovering what the next song is about while I’m actually writing it. It’s really that simple. And whether or not I successfully manage to incorporate all the ingredients of a good song or story into my writing, the thrill of the ride, for me, decreases the more I plan it out.

And none of that is to say that YOU shouldn’t do it this way. I know lots of people who write brilliantly, that work in a similar way to Steven. Which why I recommend you take a look at the video series above. It might lead to a breakthrough in creativity.

At the end of the day, If It Works For You, do it.

But don’t worry if you don’t seem to fit into any of the conventions.

Start At The Beginning

Here is the lyric to a song wot I wrote yesterday. I obviously didn’t write Yesterday, which is a shame. But I definitely did write yesterday.

Start At The Beginning
Well you start at the beginning
You can’t say where you are going
Might be raining might be snowing
When you get around the corner

There is just know way of knowing
So I thought that I would warn ya

You might be losing, might we winning

Yes you start at the beginning
They say know your destination
And if you could read the map
Then you would probably know that

But you can’t even read your own mind
There’s a very good chance
You might be losing, might be winning
Might be losing, might be winning

Can’t get to the end
Before you’ve started
Can’t take the bend
Until you get there

So you start at the beginning
Which is where you are right now
You take a step
And then  you take another
Don’t wait for the gun
Just run my brother run

Might be losing, might be winning

But it ain’t a race
It’s a journey
And the journey ain’t done
Before it’s begun
You will face a lot of hurdles
You can still have  fun

Might be losing, might be winning
Might be losing, might be winning
Might be losing, might be winning        

Can’t get to the end
Before you’ve started
Can’t take the bend
Until you get there

Can’t get to the end 
Before you’ve started
Can’t take the bend
Until you get there

So you start at the beginning

A School Photograph

Out of the blue, somebody from my old school got in touch yesterday. I was sent a photo that I don’t remember ever seeing, of myself in the official school football team photograph. Yeah, I was exceptionally OK at football.

Apparently though, before my later physical exploits, I was a very gentle baby and toddler. Not very tough. Somebody who knew me back then, and heard about my later footballing “career”, couldn’t quite believe that I even played football. Let alone got into the school team.

And the me from then until now has undergone a million other unexpected changes.

How can we ever know the end from the beginning of anybody’s life. I’ve written songs for all five of my grandchildren, in which I try to grasp at some essence, some fundamental characteristics, of their early lives. It’s quite possible that, in the future, they and I will look back at these songs and hardly recognise the person described.

So it’s hard, but perhaps helpful, to approach our times with other people as though everything that has gone before in our relationships is as ancient as A School Photograph. As well as giving ourselves a chance each day to reinvent ourselves, perhaps we can give others, especially the people we are closest to, that opportunity as well.

Because even yesterday is history.

Lottery Of Life

Last night Ineke and I watch the sun go down over the Atlantic, on the longest sunlight day of the year, with the Island of Islay in the distance. As we watch, the seabirds start to settle for the night, apart from the Oystercatchers, who have always got something to pipe about, in their stridently musical way. The sea is calm. Time stands still. It is idyllic.

And this morning the sun is out and summer has begun. Although in truth it feels like it arrived a month ago. I am, without a doubt, one of the lucky ones. A billionaire in everything but the bank account.



And Today? Today I am not remotely needing to think about sharing a fishing boat with seven hundred and fifty other human sardines to get away from the land I called home.

I am not a woman, or a child, who is worthy, on that same boat, only of being crammed into the below deck spaces, like lower grade sardines.

I am not in fear of my life.

I am probably not about to die a horrible death.

This Lottery Of Life is all very sobering, and it is very hard to think about sometimes. Though survivors guilt doesn’t help anybody.

But keeping a little bit of a wider perspective, leading hopefully to a smidgeon of humility and a desire to make the most of anything and everything we experience, is probably a good thing.

The truth is, whatever is coming our way today, we are all, almost certainly, one of the lucky ones.

Trigger

I get triggered.
Don’t know about you.
I’ve got a horse called Trigger.
And he knows what to do
When I’m ready to be pushed in the wrong direction.
He’s the horse for the job.
He’ll see it through.

Quite clever really
He pops up unawares
A ghost horse, is Trigger
Stallion, not a Mare
But I don’t hold him in much affection
Coz he makes me angry
Like an angry bear

But it’s not Triggers problem
I should open my eyes
By now I could figure
When he’s out to surprise
And I should do a little pre-empting detection
But it turns out that I am
Not always so wise.

So I keep getting triggered.
Fool me once, fool me twice.

He’s Got Moves

My eight year old grandson, Saul, just had his first Judo competition. He won a silver medal. He’s Got Moves. I’ve seen the video evidence.

It’s obviously every Grandparents dream to see them grow, challenge themselves, gain confidence, be happy.

It’s also nice to know that, in the future, we’ve got a potential body guard when our own bodies are more in need of guarding. I haven’t told Sauly about that job yet, but I’m sure he’ll be up for it.

Not that THAT’s happening anytime soon. No sir. I’m a long way from glueing my slippers to my feet.

I’ve still got my own moves to master.

Ever Ready

On demand.

Having the battery at full charge ready to turn it on. The song for every occasion and the ability to sing it without preparation.

It’s a good aim to have whether we’re pro’s or hobbyists.

We can rarely predict what the demand might be, but we can aim to be Ever Ready.

Free To Decide

I know someone well, who thinks that animals eat each other because Adam and Eve ate a bad apple that God had told them not to eat. All the “bad stuff” in the world, including the physical adaptations that make animals look like they look, and make them brilliantly adapted to their particular environmental niche, came into the world from there on in because of the alleged sin.

There are more “sophisticated” versions of this explanation. But basically that’s the belief that some people, and my friend, have.

People can, in theory, believe what they like of course. We have always felt that we can and that we do. But when it comes to deciding how to live, it is very unhelpful to rely on explanations that are either unknowable or unreasonable.

To live well, we need good explanations, based on what actually IS. Things that can be seen to be true, or explained to be true, not simply said to be true.

And to my friend, this statement of mine is simply another “belief”, no different from their own.

The truth is we all should be Free To Decide these matters for ourselves.

I do wonder how free we really are though.

Tick Tock

Tick Tock.

The clock’s rhythm is constant.

But inside our heads we rush. We try and fit things between the tick and the tock. And when we do, it suddenly seems as though there are no gaps to be found between them.

TickTockTickTockTickTock. Relentless.

The clock doesn’t care though. In reality it never changes its message. And there is always room in the gaps for the moment at hand. Actually there is ONLY room for the moment at hand.

Because that thing we are internally rushing towards … in 20 minutes, 20 hours, 20 week, 20 years time …. doesn’t exist yet.

It might never exist.

Tick Tock.

Third Thursday

Third Thursday. That evolved from First Tuesday. Which evolved from Homesong. Which evolved from Home Concerts. Which evolved from Ceilidhs. Which probably evolved from dancing around the campfire after a successful hunt.

Anyway, everything comes from something.

Oh yes, Third Thursday. What’s that?

Well it’s an idea that came to my friend Chris Annetts as we continue to find ways for ourselves and other artists here in Kintyre, to batter other people in the locality with songs wot we have written.

So we are making a concerted effort to have a little gig on every third Thursday of the month in a home. The idea is that there will be one half open mic for everyone, and one half when one of the local artist “headlines”. Each time in a different locality in Kintyre. And the focus will once again be on original music.

You’ll know I’ve tried to find other locations in Kintyre before, but so far it’s only me, and Lori in Clachan. This time it’s not just me looking. It’s Chris too. Which really helps. Well, hopefully it does! First one is going to be at my house in August.

Anyway, none of this may be of interest if you don’t live here. Or even if you do.

But I had to tell you.

Chantin’ And Dancin’

Chantin’ And Dancin’…

I like doing both. But….

- Don’t let me try the former after I’ve had a drink or two. Things get messy. Songs get forgotten.

- Don’t try to stop me doing the latter after I’ve had a few somethings. It can’t be done.

I’m not saying anything here really, other than providing you with a little information that may or may not be helpful should you happen to find yourself in my company at a licensed establishment.

*This is a wide ranging blog covering all sorts of perplexing angles on my life and life in general. Thank you for your interest!

Uncle Che!

“Uncle Che! Uncle Che! Uncle Che!” chanted the lassies with complete and utter conviction, as Uncle Che sang his tunes at The Commercial on Sunday night.

I don’t think any Pope in Rome has been the subject of such adoration and belief. It was a thing of beauty.

It’s nice when there is someone who has our backs. Though in the world of “fandom” we don’t get to pick and choose the people who will be rooting for us.

But we do get to choose who we cheer for.

We should let them know.

”Uncle Che! Uncle Che! Uncle Che!”

Little Ripples

The Morning After.

Sometimes it can feel like a loss. Sometimes it can feel like a cloudy memory. Sometimes it can hurt. Sometimes it can feel like an opportunity missed. Sometimes it can be a hangover.

On this occasion, after a wonderful weekend of music at the Kintyre Songwriter’s Festival, for me it simply feels like a new beginning.

My word…we didn’t even have the ubiquitous all-nighter celebration, which has often been an event in itself. Just some late night tea and cheese on toast for me and my pal Chris. Rock ‘n Roll, baby!

After The Covid Years it has sometimes felt like everything has changed for the worse. This weekend has been a reminder of the beauty of the simple things in life. And that we, as Stephen Johnson reminded me last night, can be part of setting off the Little Ripples that make the world a better place.

Great music. Friendship. Drunken dancing. Stimulating conversation. Tired satisfaction. Tears of reflection. Tearing down walls of division. Bringing people together. Young and old.

It was all such a refreshing blast of lung-fillingly beautiful air.

Thank you KSF!

Spread Their Wings

The Kintyre Songwriter’s Festival is off and running. I’m playing tonight so was able to enjoy last nights acts without a care. They were all wonderful. But a particular privilege was seeing a young fella called Ruairidh Wallace hit it out the park with his stunningly angelic voice, wonderful “noodling”, and some really sophisticated songwriting.

One of the reasons why I got such a kick out of his performance was a connection to Homesong. He first performed live in our living room four years ago, with a young band of friends called The Endorphins. I sat with him for much of last nights festival, and he spoke with gratitude about how much confidence that experience gave him.

I was chuffed, as you can imagine. Like the KSF, Homesong is about just that kind of thing. Giving a relaxed environment for performing songwriters to Spread Their Wings and fly.

Ruairidh is flying and Homesong can take a little bit of reflected glory for that.

The Same Boat

It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that certain categories of people are different than everybody else. That’s why we often feel awkward or embarrassed or shy around famous musicians, or actors, or any kind of “celebrity”.

To which it is always useful to remember this truism - they have to take a shit too. Think about it. But not in too much detail.

It’s a truism because it’s true.

We’re all in The Same Boat. And a human doesn’t stop being a human when they get a million subscribers on Youtube.

Even if some might think they do.

A Kind Of Victory

Irreconcilable differences.

These probably don’t exist. Given enough time and patience and….well those two mainly… we can find reconciliation. It would be nice to think so anyway.

But in real life we don’t always have enough time. Or patience.

Sometimes we find ourselves spending time together, even living together, with another person, with whom we simply can’t reconcile our own outlook on life. It seems impossible.

And that is where the shit really hits the fan. On a personal level for sure. But also in our communities, in our wider culture, and in our nations. Between all of us.

Between all of us is a divide.

And sometimes that divide is like kryptonite.

So, if we don’t let our anger or frustration dominate the situation…

We walk away. We agree to disagree. We don’t talk about it. We spend some time apart.

These are all some of more “acceptable” solutions to the problem. And they all still feel like a compromise really.

But sometimes that’s all we’ve got. Sometimes that’s enough to stop an imperfect situation getting worse.

It’s A Kind Of Victory.

Always A Better Solution

The two herons squawked loudly at each other as they flew from their nests in the tall conifer trees to the nearby shoreline.

It was a petty argument over a minor clause in “The Infringement of Space and Territory” act. Whatever that meant. Nobody understood the finer details of Heronry Legislation. But anyway, they were kicking up a fuss.

In the grand scheme of things though, it was yet another few moments of wasted time.

Because it didn’t really matter whether you were a heron, a human, or a hermit crab. Life was too short to be spent fighting and bickering.

There was Always A Better Solution.