No Guarantees
We all know that there is no guarantee of success. In the field of music if that is our thing. Or any other area of ambition.
This is true even if we have a clear idea of what “success” might look like for us. Even if we set realistic goals. No Guarantees.
This makes the steps along the way to that distant goal even more important. Do we enjoy them in themselves? Or could we learn to?
In fact to learn to find contentment and purpose in the steps we are taking right now is perhaps, itself, the ultimate goal. Though it can all sometimes feel a little bit like unravelling the onion and finding that there is nothing in the middle when we arrive.
But that is simply not true. This very moment our conscious minds, and the senses that supply them, are full to the brim with things to notice, to enjoy, or to learn from. If that is “all” there is, it’s still quite wonderful.
And that remains true even if the first thing we notice is our tendency to be never quite satisfied with all the things we could be noticing, enjoying and learning from right now. And the additional tendency to be distracted by the weird internal conversations and battles we seem to have with ourselves.
We’re alive. And we’re conscious. Frickin’ amazing.
Fifteen Minutes In Manchester
I thought I might have left my headphones at the Premier Inn in Manchester the week before, so Gary dropped me off there yesterday, before I caught my bus to Glasgow.
The young lad at reception was very friendly and chatty, as somebody else went to look. He said he’d forgotten his headphones too, when he’d recently stayed at Premier In in Scotland to climb mountain. My ears pricked up.
Me - ”Oh, which hills were climbing. I live in Scotland and do a bit of that myself”
Young Fella “It was Snowdon”
Me - “You mean Wales”
Young fella - “Oh yeah. My geography’s rubbish.”
And I got my headphones. Result.
On the way to the bus station, I got a bit confused. I asked a young lady passing by if she knew the way. She started explaining and then said “Just come with me, I’m heading in roughly that direction” and took me nearly there.
Kindness is everywhere.
Needed a pee at the bus station. But I didn’t have the required twenty pee. A cleaning lady was walking away and I asked if there was a way of getting in. She came back and used her key. After going through I nearly went in the Ladies by mistake. Quick as a flash she said “That’ll cost ya a pound”.
Fifteen Minutes In Manchester and three exchanges which all put a smile on my face.
In The Distance
The sound of the wind In The Distance is not actually happening in the distance.
It’s happening inside my conscious mind.
The concept of my home, at the moment 400 miles away, is also in my conscious mind.
Everything, far and near, is happening right here. In my own awareness.
I think…the mind is an amazing reality that encompasses the whole universe….therefore I am.
Hidden Universe
We’re approaching the end of our songwriting week. Lots of new songs written, both individually and together. It’s been a complete pleasure, as always.
One of the songwriting friends in our band of troubadours has recently released an album in digital format.
Darren Jones is a big man and a lovely fella from the valleys of Wales where we are right now. He combines in his songwriting great observational and sensitive singer-songwriter material, together with huge, hook heavy, rock steady, adult anthems.
He has recently released an album, available in all the usual digital outlets, that somehow combines brilliantly both of these songwriting personas into a fantastically produced collection. Some of the songs were co-writes with other in our group. I’m just gutted that on this occasion I didn’t manage to get myself into the credits.
Despite that obvious oversight on Darren’s part, I highly recommend a listen to Hidden Universe. You can listen to the whole album on Spotify here and purchase the digital version here.
Fortunately I’ve managed to write with Darren this week, so here’s to the next, EVEN better album mate!
A Little Bit Crazy
It was a late one last night. Not as late as the late one’s of old. But still late for me in my present stage of decomposition.
It’s nice to blast away the routines and patterns of daily life occasionally. And just go A Little Bit Crazy. It’s such a privilege to have good friends to do that with too.
I don’t want to burden you with another tale of how grateful I am for….well….so many things. Never the less, I am.
But the funny thing is, there were always great quantities of things to be grateful for. I was just not very good at seeing them in the past. Gratefulness is such a great attitude to develop.
Songs Gone To Seed
On Monday, driving on the way down through Wales, we came upon a most unusual sight. In the middle of the valleys, in the middle of Wales, miles from anywhere, appeared a big field full of Range Rovers gone to seed. Weird.
That scene inevitably found its way into a song. Of which, over the years, our group has written many hundreds together. Many of them, including some real crackers, have got lost to memory over the course of time. That inevitably happens, unless one of us takes a song, and keeps it alive in some way.
Maybe one day though, we will be driving through the middle of the valleys, in the middle of Wales, and happen upon a field full of Songs Gone To Seed.
Who knows? We might even be able to start the engines on one or two of them.
What We’re Here For
Here below do lie one of the song lyrics I have made with my own fair hands over this very week of songwriting, friendship, alcohol, and mayem (though not necessarily in that order) at which I am presently in the process of being on. Ahem.
This one is a reflection on watching our parents growing old and changing, and how that is itself a reflection on our own changing and growing old. Deep, man!
What We’re Here For
Today I’m gonna see
Somebody that I’ve never seen before
But I know who you will be
You will be beautiful I’m sure
You’re everything to me
And it really doesn’t matter
What we’re here for
Today I’m gonna hold
The whole world in my hands
It’s never felt so cold
A fear that I don’t understand
You’re everything to me
And it really doesn’t matter
What we’re here for
Now you’re so old
Seen so many strange happenings
Can’t control
Anything that’s happening
Now
Look it’s beautiful
This blood red sky
Pierces my heart to the core
Take my hand
Let’s drink it in
The glory of it all
Today I’m gonna be
Somebody that I’ve never been before
Your touch has set me free
I just want to see more
And though the autumn leaves
Are falling from the tree
You’re everything to me
And it really doesn’t matter
What we’re here for
What we’re here for
What we’re here for
The Simple Pleasure
The craftsman takes a knife and painstakingly carves out the likeness of an owl from a block of driftwood he found on the beach.
A woman knits her grandchildren gloves and a scarf for the coming winter.
An artist sits on the beach for hours to paint the waves.
The composer dedicates months at a time to writing the different parts for the orchestra.
Meanwhile, there is a machine, or software, somewhere, that can make, effortlessly, a decent replication, if not the exact likeness, of all those creations.
And yet many of us, myself included, will continue to create work, though not necessarily artistic masterpieces, that still require a certain amount of old fashioned craft and experience. They take time and energy to make. They probably contain flaws.
Why would we ever choose this hard and iimperfect way?
It’s not because we reject the possibilities that the new technology offers. We recognise it’s ability to contribute to wonderful new forms of creativity.
But at the same time, we ourselves aren’t machines. Not just yet anyway. Sometimes it is just about The Simple Pleasure to be found in the making.
Today I’m Going To Make Something
I’m on a songwriting retreat. And so today I will write a song. After having done it many, many times before, I can say that with confidence. Just as I knew I would write today’s blog.
Creativity is a choice. We don’t need to wait for:
-Permission
-The “correct” skills
-Inspiration
-A cure for writer’s block
We simply decide - Today I’m Going To Make Something.
It doesn’t need to be any more complicated than that.
A Special Few Days
Young fella got on the bus with me in Campbeltown yesterday. Made a phone call.
”Hi mum”
Mum asks where he is.
”I’m on the bus”
Mum asks how he’s going to get to some other place too.
”On the bus. Can I ask you a weird one. I’m going to get off at Tayinloan and pick up my stuff. Could you give me a lift and catch the bus up afterwards?”
Fortunately Mum is a bit more tuned on than her son. When we get to Tayinloan Mum has brought his stuff to the bus stop.
I’m on my way to do some songwriting with friends again. That conversation was at the beginning of two bus journeys of over four hours each yesterday. I’m the furthest flung of our collective.
In Manchester now, and me and my stuff is getting picked up shortly, by Gary. Gary is not my mum. But we’re travelling down to Wales together.
These journeys, and I’ve done them in many different ways over the years, are always the start of A Special Few Days.
Flying Into The Wind
I’m walking on a very windy day down the path by the seafront. The waves are splashing against the seawall to my right, and the Oystercatchers, as they often do, are choosing to feed on the large area of grass on the left hand side of the path. Perhaps they’re evolving into Wormcatchers.
As I approach, a small group of them take off. Half the group do the hard work of flying past and behind me, into the wind. Then they carry on feeding, undisturbed now by my approach.
But the other half take the easier option and fly twenty yards windward. And they’re the fools. I’m still heading in their direction! So in a few moments they are going to have to repeat the process.
Which they do.
But this time they’ve learnt the lesson:
- A little bit of extra effort, Flying Into The Wind is, in truth, often the direction they will need to take in order to expend less effort overall.
Lucky Me!
Lucky Me!
I got born AND I’m still alive.
I live in a society that has been free of war my whole life.
I have never been anywhere close to starving.
I have the use of all my senses.
My body is strong and able to do almost everything I want.
Lucky me!
The very ability to overcome the things I have overcome, and achieve the things I have achieved, was there from the start, because of the particular genes I inherited and the circumstances in which they have developed.
All of which is the antidote to any kind of inflated ego, or sense of superiority.
But what about unlucky me?
Of course I’ve had some. And the acknowledgement of that is the antidote to any harsh judgements I might make about myself. When it doesn’t work I can give myself a break.
Which brings me right back to Lucky Me!
Honestly…. it’s luck, antidotes and general good fortune all the way back, sideways, down the line, and any direction I happen to be heading.
Green lights all the way, in fact.
————-
ps. Today is the fourth of the month, and therefore heralds the release of my Fee Comes Fourth song for this month. Introducing Holy Water.
Till I Drop
Work can be a means to an end. The end being to obtain the resources and freedom to do the things we enjoy.
I bumped into an old neighbour on the seafront first thing this morning. He’s been a gardener of different descriptions over the years, always self employed, now working with his son.
He’s getting on and I asked him if he’d got plans to stop.
”Not Till I Drop. I enjoy the work”, he said.
(Albeit, he’ll be glad to finish the job he’s on at the moment).
There’s nothing wrong with working for the pay check. We do all sorts of things that “hurt” in the short term to gain more long term benefits. But overall the aim has surely got to be, like Ian, to spend as much time as possible doing the things that we enjoy and gain satisfaction from.
Maybe that will involve finding a way to extract more enjoyment out of work that was previously just about “paying the bills”. Or it could be about changing what we do. Every one’s situation is different, but it is no sin to make our own enjoyment of life the aim.
For my old neighbour, I’d like to imagine that the last thing he does, before he “drops”, might be to plant a bulb, look up to the sky, and know that he’s added little bit of beauty to the future world.
As Bad Habits Go
It’s that time of year when the cold showers in the morning start to feel really cold. The reservoirs feeding the mains have started to feel the winter chill. It’s colder getting up. The ice cream head arrives a lot quicker, as I stand beneath the icy flood.
Why would anyone do that to themselves? I hear you say.
Well, I’m sure you’ve got some bad habits too!
Also, in the aftermath, when I do my warming up exercises and then get dressed, there is a certain kind of calmness and anticipation of the day ahead, which I don’t get in any other way.
It’s not for everyone, but, As Bad Habits Go, I could do worse.
(Ok, I have done worse!)
But right now, getting my coffee fix, that six o’clock wake up call is merely a distant memory. I’m warm and on it.
Almost Every Day
A cold easterly wind blowing a wee breeze, or a gale, along the shoreline this morning, according to your perspective.
According to the perspective of a particular oystercatcher, it was simply another good day for having a refreshing wash of the old feathers. Preening didn’t gain any new meaning for her by virtue of the weather. It was simply the usual routine.
I continue to feel the personal benefit in doing some things Almost Every Day, regardless of….the weather, or the mood, or the circumstance.
I say almost. Because I’m not as consistent as an oystercatcher.
Monday Morning
It’s Monday Morning
The sun is rising
As it does on other mornings.
It appears, in fact
To be exactly like other mornings
But we call this one Monday.
Monday Morning
The sun is not rising.
It’s in exactly the same place
As it was on other mornings.
Apparently we’re the ones who are changing.
Which is why we call this one Monday.
Monday Morning
The sun says “hello”
As it did on other mornings.
Just like it did on Sunday morning.
But yesterday we gave ourselves a chance to rest
And we call this one Monday.
Monday Morning
The sun is still there, behind the clouds
As it was on all the other mornings
Wondering why we are tensing ourselves.
Unresting.
Before we begin doing the things we are about to do.
Relax. We call this one Monday.
Absolute Certainty
I’m reading a novel by Robert Harris called Act Of Oblivion. It’s about a manhunt for two of the Regicides (the men responsible for bringing about the death of King Charles the First, during the time of Oliver Cromwell) in the seventeenth century. Very good it is too. My knowledge of history is fairly non-existent, and these kind of novels are a good way for me to chop away a tiny chip of ignorance.
Cromwell, as you’ll no doubt know, was a Protestant, who stood against the Catholic royalty. Both of these factions were convinced that their particular form of Christianity was right, and both of them were very comfortable with the idea of killing and often horribly torturing the “enemy”.
Anyhow, a particular sentence at the end of one chapter struck me deeply. With sadness mainly, because of the truth it contained, both about those times and about our modern age.
Ned is one of the Regicides, hiding in America, and living a very difficult life of ongoing vagrancy for years, because of his involvement in the death of the King. He had been there at the demise of Charles Stuart. And he had heard about the murder of some of his fellow Regicides once the royal throne had been reestablished. In his last years he starts to write down his memoirs, and recalls that the King, just like Ned’s colleagues, the Kings enemies, had all died very bravely -
”It was only then that it occurred to Ned that the King had died exactly as the Regicides had many years later - in the Absolute Certainty that he was right”.
My own observation is that when large swathes of people choose to believe in the righteousness of their tribe, and their tribe only, then, just like Ned, we are living in dangerous times.
Something Cheerful
Unless you’re a very well known writer/performer, thrust before the massing hoards on the cyclone of social media, you won’t tend to get too much harsh criticism flying in your direction.
Mainly, it’s the odd nice response from the people who really like your output, or from folk who know you, and are just being polite. It’s one of the benefits of being obscure. People save the nasty negative attacks for those famous people who need, apparently, to be brought down a peg or two.
After my very first gig though, many years ago, there was a slightly negative back drop to a mainly nice response I got from a listener in the pub.
“That was quite good, but you should play a happier tune as well. Like American Pie”.
Well, that’ll be the day that I die
———————
Bringing everything right up to date, a little closer to the day that I do die - and to carry on the theme - last night I heard, second hand, from a fairly reliable eavesdropper, a damning commentary on the really depressing nature of my music.
That old classic…. “Songs to slit your wrists to”.
Actually I was quite surprised the person in question had even heard anything of mine. Which in itself is always something to be grateful for, I think.
But the truth is (and this applies to McCartney, Prince, Swift and Sheeran, as well as lil’ ole me) most people, even if their opinions aren’t this stark, are going to let our music walk on by.
It might be for somebody, but it’s not really for them. Even if they don’t actually hate it.
———————
But, Hhrmmmphh!
For the record, and I’ve put a lot on record, “songs to slit your wrists to” does not sum up the whole of my musical back catalogue. Please check them out if you doubt me! Even if it’s to prove my bloody critics right!
Although, if it’s for that reason, please stay away from sharp implements.
——————-
Anyway, I got that off my chest. But it’s all still food for thought ain’t it? And all input has some validity. I’m going away to write songs with friends again soon, and I can see myself making a concerted effort to create Something Cheerful now.
Honestly, the things you have to do to please some people….
The Art Of Cooperation
Thanks for the responses to my “all that glitters is not gold” conundrum yesterday. The concensus so far mirrors my own thoughts really - that the art should stand alone from the artist. But I’ve got a pal coming round who wants to talk about that blog as well. I’m interested to hear his take.
It’s not surprising that the difficult topics muster the most conversation. They always involve our lives together as humans and, as humans, the only way we can solve them is to talk about them.
In a podcast yesterday, I heard someone say that THE most important issue we face globally, outside of our ability to manage our own personal lives and mental states, is the need to learn the skills involved in cooperating with other people.
This might seem obvious. And we all recognise the achievements that come when people work together, despite and through their differences. They occur daily and many of them are truly amazing.
So we might think we’ve mastered The Art Of Cooperation.
But everything that is wrong in world society, as we experience it, is down to a failure to cooperate. There are some pretty tragic and global examples of this staring us in the face right now. And some of the examples could potentially be fatal to our survival as a species.
So, I’m with the lady on the podcast. Anything that helps us to cooperate better is a step in the right direction.
Talking about difficult subjects, with freedom and flexibility, is a vital one of those steps.