Good Culture

Creators value freedom. The freedom to wander away from the path. To plot our own route to the destination.

But no one likes to be lost. Or, more accurately, to feel lost.

One of the wonders of the Netherlands are the cycle routes. The Dutch do routes in general very well. And not just the routes, but the rules about how to use those routes. If you know and follow the routes and the rules, it is very difficult to get lost in the Netherlands. It’s a fabric of the culture.

Ineke and I got told off by a horse rider once, because we had wandered off the “walkers path” on to the “horse riders path”. And in fact it is a common experience to be frowned at or berated for breaking a particular rule when walking or cycling or driving.

However good the rules are though, it can be a little bit tough if you don’t know them as well as other people do. And even tougher if you value the possession of an artistic license which allows you to mess with the rules a little sometimes.

It’s a conundrum. I value both the presence of good rules and routes and the freedom to ignore them occasionally.

This is the fine line we walk as humans who are still in the early stages of trying to create a Good Culture that both constrains us, when helpful to do so, but also provide us with the soul food of liberty which we hunger for, and that leads to so much innovation.

There aren’t any easy solutions. It’s a work in progress.

My Thang

Four great spotted woodpeckers, seven ticks, and a red deer.

Some of the highlights of my first morning walk back at our wee wooden house in the Netherlands. Ideally I would have spotted a Tickpecker too, but in its absence, Ineke got the tweezers out and dealt with that problem. So hopefully Lymes avoided this time, but a warning to be careful. Coz, as I have previously discovered, these Dutch ticks seem to carry more of that particular bloody cocktail than the friendlier Scottish variety.

In other unrelated news, I am not a guitar geek. Unlike some of my good songwriting friends. I’ve only had two “proper” guitars. And the very first of them is now left over here on a permanent basis. So it’s nice to be back with Simon and Patrick. He (They?) is different to Taylor… but does the main thing just fine: I have a music making instrument to hand.

It’s a bit of a necessity really. Though a little bit harder to do My Thang without disturbing family and neighbours.

Oh, well. Sometimes you’ve just got to be disturbing.

They Had A Point

It’s a very, very, mad world.

So said Tears For Fears.

They Had A Point.

And so did The Pointer Sisters.

I’m so excited.

In The Middle

Nihilism is mainly the belief that life is meaningless.

But does it really matter?

What is, is.

Our definitions are, in fact, more….”Is”.

And if this all sounds like codswollap, then we can enjoy that particularly view of things too. Even more “Is”.

So much to see, and think, and feel from every direction.

When we unravel the onion then we find that there is, in fact, nothing In The Middle. The good news is that there is so much joy to be found in the unravelling. And it all takes precisely the length of a lifetime to achieve the task.

I think life is full to the gunnels with meaning.

Are We There Yet?

Gone on the gun.
Pedal to the metal.
Zoom Zoom.
Boy racers.


Are We There Yet?

”No, we’re here”.

Always here.

Did it pass us by?

A Gut Feeling

I have a funny feeling that we (us, not you!) are going to be swept away over the next few days, to a land that is not this one, with a lot fewer hills, and a people who are very direct in their communications with other people.

It’s just A Gut Feeling.

Maybe I should ask my wife. See if she’s got the same inkling. She’s usually quite direct too. It’s probably a coincidence that she shares that directness with the people of this land I feel that we may well be visiting.

Anyway, wherever it is we might be swept away to, we (you and I!) can still stay in touch. That’s the wonder of The Interweb.

But what if The Interweb collapsed you ask?

Well…then we couldn’t stay in touch. I don’t know how we ever managed before to be honest.

Of course you and your existence, might also be merely a gut feeling. In actual fact, the reality is, I’m sitting here all alone, typing and, quite sadly, speaking some of the words aloud, as I write.

But even if all of this, even if YOU, are only happening in my imagination, I like it. It’s a strange magic.

Things That Don’t Exist

Did someone take something the wrong way and get a bad impression of Petit Moi?

Imagining they did only takes up unnecessary space, time and energy in my pea-wee brain. And unless and until they tell me, then there is nothing to be said, done…or thought… about it.

It’s nice not to be getting in a tiz about Things That Don’t Exist.

I wish I’d learnt that lesson a long time ago.

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.