Not Very Much
… to look at?
I gaze at the wall across from the window. It’s Not Very Much to look at.
On closer inspection however, if I sit and watch for a while, it becomes full of shapes, colours and patterns. It has a history too. And a possible future. Change the way I look at it, and suddenly I start noticing imaginary creatures and storylines.
And all of that despite the fact that I’m not a very visually orientated being.
Boredom is the state in which we wish we had something more interesting to look at or to occupy us. I’d rather not be here - the place where I actually am. I’d rather be somewhere else please.
Finding something to be “Interesting” is a task for the imagination, and it can be developed. In an age in which nearly everybody owns their very own Personal Distraction Unit … a smartphone …. it is probably becoming more important than ever to set time aside to learn to find something interesting in not very much. You never know when that particular skill might come in handy.
Best not wait till the battery is dead to practise.
Jenny Wren
… she looks bigger now.
I posted a picture and a story of a wren a while ago on this blog. This week in our online songwriting circle we’ve been challenged to write a song about nature and our fragile relationship to planet earth.
The picture of the little wren that had been stunned by a car was the first spark, the doorway into my song. Then I recalled the story about the wren who was able to fly higher than an eagle by cadging a lift, without his knowledge, upon the eagle’s back.
I had wanted to include a simple guitar picking technique, which I had just been practising, into a song. And so that was how things kicked off musically, using the same chord loop I been practising with. The melody fitting awkwardly (as usual with me) around the words at the start.
And after that the story developed. And it gradually became clear, to me as I was writing it, that this was a song about perspective, and the way in which all of our point of views so often become skewed. The story is about the true heroes in life and how we should never rule out the value of those invisible ones and the unseen sacrifices they make. And, of course, a reflection about how easy it is, to take our home, this planet, for granted. How much have we messed it up?
I’m just describing the process as it happened for me. Part of why I’m doing that is to note that it is our subconscious that will do the heavy lifting when it comes to creating anything. Whether or not it produces something good (and that is never a guarantee) we need to learn to handle the material lightly and to enjoy and appreciate the journey, the road, that the song takes us down.
Hopefully that doesn’t sound too highfalutin’. Below is the lyric part of the song that emerged on this occasion. It made me cry.
Jenny Wren
Jenny Wren
She hangs on for dear life
Flying high
On the back of the eagle
Rising up
On the thermal winds
Her tiny heart
Is pumping oxygen
Can’t be far
To the stratosphere
Where she can gaze
Back towards planet earth
And it looks smaller from there
Than it does from here
Smaller than she is
Smaller than all of us
Jenny Wren
Is praying for good days
Like a nun
In a holy cathedral
Rising up
On the thermal winds
Now and then
She glances down
To the blue azure
From far up on high
But she’s not sure
If that’s really planet earth
It looks purer from there
Than it does from here
Purer than heaven
Purer than all of us
And while she sings like
An angel of the dawn
She carries
The poison
Of the world
Jenny Wren
Is about to take off
Flying high
On her final journey
Rising up
From the back of an eagle
Tell me when
She jumps up and flys
A little higher
To the stratosphere
And say goodbye
From me and the planet earth
She looks bigger now
Than she did from here
Bigger than Jesus
Bigger than all of us
Jenny Wren
Jenny Wren
Jenny Wren
Restlessness
… a million to one.
When Restlessness moves in the very first step in the right direction is … to rest. In case that isn’t patently obvious, which it quite often isn’t with me.
Restlessness is a state in which a million thoughts and feelings collide, without settling, constantly flitting, one to another. They flit so quickly, that it can take a while to even notice that it’s happening.
Upon noticing though, the way forward, I find, is to say to oneself…
”Ah that old chestnut! It’s OK. No rush to get out of here. It’s the rushing that’s keeping me here. Look, I can’t even see what is beneath this little cyclone of mental activity at the moment. Something is. So just slow down. Yep. Nothing to get sorted. Just stop a moment. Ah, I see … that thing has floated to the top. I think it’s that which is bothering me. Or anyway it’s the one I can see. Well the good thing about THAT thing, is that it’s not EVERYTHING. Which already feels more manageable. And, actually that thing is something that I can look at or let go of, like everything else. But it’s a lot easier to look at or let go of on it’s own, than it is to attempt the same with everything else”
And, really, by this point the restlessness is gone. It’s not possible for it to remain. Because I’ve narrowed a million down to one. Not by working through them all, but by simply accepting the situation of restlessness as it is. And then selecting the one thing that comes at me first.
One at once is really the only way I have managed to find rest.
Quiet As A Stone
… a very quiet one.
Walking through the local graveyard this morning I was enveloped by a peaceful tranquility.
To which birdsong was the gorgeous soundtrack.
Everybody else was Quiet As A Stone.
The time to sing is now.
Discover Fee’s Music
This In Particular
…should not remain in the shadows.
I have an uneasy relationship with hype.
Maybe it’s a stiff upper lip self-deprecating Britishness kind of thing. Maybe my own personality and genes. Probably a bit of both. But it’s hard for me to do that thing which many Americans and extraverts in general seem so comfortable with:
"You’ve got to listen to this. Really proud of it. I’ve made a lot of things, but This In Particular is special”.
That isn’t really hype though is it? It could be the simple truth. But it all feels unnatural to me. I would struggle to say it about something that I have made. And almost as much if someone else said it about what I had made.
And you know what? That’s probably a cop out.
It’s basically a way of avoiding putting my neck, my owe so important reputation, on the line.
What if people hate what I’m calling “great”?
Though there is undoubtedly a form and amount of blowing-my-own-trumpet that I would never do, still, I probably need to own my own creations more. And my own feelings about them. Even if only occasionally.
Maybe I’ll give something a bit of a build-up one of these days, rather than just leave it on the doorstep and run. I probably should.
And Breathe….
… help, it’s happening again!
“Thanks for waiting”
That’s OK. My pleasure. Just wanting to pay my taxes. Nothing else to do, honest.
”We will be with you as soon as possible”.
”Soon as possible” in the sense of you having the perfect amount of staff available to make everybody involved as miserable as possible?
”Our call is important to you”.
And a very bemused and confused pigs grows wings (once again) and takes off like a bat out of hell into the blue, blue sky.
We all face this kind of thing regularly. Customer service is so often bottom of the list of a big companies ToDo list. And both we, and the poor customer service agent (good or bad) are the “fan” that get’s hit by the shit.
Kindness, tolerance and patience are the only useful tools here, because this is the situation, like it or not, and only innocent victims suffer when the opposite traits show their faces.
But damn, you’ve gotta hope there is a special hell (not permanent - let’s imagine an indeterminate period of “knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door” using their own specially designed customer service preference) for the various executives out there who think that a share price, or “efficiency” or whatever other weird motivations exist in their minds, is more important than the daily life experience of actual human beings.
And Breathe….
It Wasn’t Me
… it was the little man!
A silly wee po’m that might perhaps grow up to be a wee silly song.
It Wasn’t Me
It wasn’t me playing guitar just then
A little man in my brain took over
He’s been watching quite closely
He must have been
’else he already knew “Wild Rover”.
It wasn’t me driving my car just then
The little man in my brain did that
He’s been learning to drive
Or so it seems
’Coz somehow he didn’t crash.
It isn’t me writing these lines just now
Little man in my brain is the bard
He’s quite a bit smarter than me
Yes, I’ll come clean.
But you probably realised that already.
(Doh! Sorry little man…I thought I’d have a go there)
Beautiful News
… it’s out there.
A simple book recommendation today. Beautiful News was in turn recommended to me by songwriting friend Tina Pluchino. (Thanks Tina!)
The author David McCandless dedicates his book to “all those uncelebrated millions who work quietly and steadily to make the world a better place”.
And this is a book that demonstrates, through cleverly and creatively made graphs, the areas in which the world is often heading in a pretty good direction, despite the apparent anecdotal “evidence” of almost every News programme and Social Media feed you’ve ever followed.
Usually I HATE graphs, but these are graphs that are both enjoyable to look at, and understandable. And after a little bit of time flipping through the book, I genuinely found myself feeling more optimistic about the world we live in. I wasn’t trying to. It just happened.
So thank you to the millions who are making a difference. Including you. I bet you’re one of them.
And Beautiful News is now in residence on our coffee table.
Discover Fee’s Music
Winning Our Own Game
… by singing our own song.
A common assumption is that the game of life is a competition.
Us against everyone and everything else. And it’s very easy to take onboard that outlook for a whole life time.
For instance, I’ve lost count of the times when I’ve felt a touch of envy and jealousy about the quality of someone else’s song, or the fact that their’s got more attention when mine was definitely better I’ll have you know (though I wouldn’t say it out loud), or because they were more prolific or…or… more anything really.
That’s a sad reflection on one of the areas where I’ve managed to waste my own head-space time in the past. And lose my own game.
Thankfully those days are now mainly in the past. These days those kind of thoughts tend to pass over like a rain threatening cloud that I refrain from rain dancing into a heavy shower.
Abstaining from deceptive comparison making is one of the most important elements needed in Winning Our Own Game. Why stack the odds against winning that game, by thinking that other people’s place on the board makes any difference to our own standing?
Or…. to put that in much simpler terms…sing your own song.
A Moment In Time
… never to return.
In my ongoing online songwriting retreat I was challenged to write a song by picking up an instrument which I hadn’t used before. I had a go yesterday, and it was a fun struggle. The instrument of choice was a mini-steel drum I bought on a whim a while ago. Sounds a bit like a xylophone.
I had hardly touched it until this attempt. Apart from the guitar the only instruments I’ve really glanced at over the last 40 years, and then only briefly, are a piano keyboard and a harmonica. At some point I think I would like to learn to play both a little bit. But yesterday was about experimenting with music from a different kind of soundscape.
The particular instrument definitely influenced the way the song emerged. And the kind of song that emerged. It took a while, but I’m quite happy with the direction things are moving at the moment considering the learning curve.
And though it’s not a finished song at all, here is the lyric so far. You can probably see how my meditation practice and general outlook is starting to haunt my lyrics. Inevitably, I imagine.
These are the days of our lives (never to return)
This is where we will decide (what we’re gonna learn)
Every breath we’ll ever breathe (never to return)
This is what we have achieved (and it’s)
Just A Moment In Time
Just a Moment In Time
Just a Moment In Time
Just a Moment in Time
Let Go Of Hope
… all ye who enter here.
One of the things I do when I meditate is…
….. Let Go Of Hope.
That sounds like a bad thing. But all it means in practise is the practise of returning to the small matter of fact reality that…
Now is all I’ve got.
Hope is about the future. If this or that thing was better, well then I would be happier. That’s the theory. And the possibility that it could be better in the future, might make the present reality better, mightn’t it?
Well, I’m starting to doubt that. The thing is, the present reality will be gone in…well, literally a moment. And the hope is, in reality, a mirage (it lures with imaginings that are far away and uncertain) which stops me noticing now.
And to carry on that analogy, my best chance of finding actual water (as opposed to the illusory kind) in the desert, if in fact I am even in a desert, is to become aware of my REAL present surroundings.
So, yeah, I’m finding it helpful to let go of hope. This is fine. And the future, will take care of itself as I walk.
And that’s a weight off my mind.
ps. None of which means I stop planning ahead if that is necessary or something I fancy doing. It’s the outcomes I’m speaking about.
Three Billion
…only good tears left to cry.
I’m back home, and here is the final song lyric I’m posting before I get back to bashing you with whatever a regular blog looks like.
One friend, Steve, a talented guitarist, has gone and brought himself a pedal steel. He brought it along with him to our get together last week. I had an idea for a song, based on the fact that 3 Billion seconds amounts to the grand old age of Ninety Three years. So we collaborated, along with Gary, and wrote a song, kinda country style, in memory of a fella like that, who had really got nothing to complain about, up until he died.
Three Billion (Fee, Jones and Carey)
He was a billionaire three times over
Given 3 billion seconds
To breathe this damn fine air
Didn’t know when he started
He’d have 93 years
Before he joined
The Departed
He was luckier than he knew
Had a mum and dad
That loved him from the beginning
Two strong legs, a find head of hair
Before he even got going
He was winning
He was a billionaire three times over
Had three billion reasons
To grab life by the horns
So he did, he did it good
Every one of those years
He held onto like a cowboy would
Found a wife who loved him true
They had two fine children
Who grew up to make him proud
And they had children too
When each one was born
He’d climb the hill
And sing his heart out loud
There’s nothing sad about this song
Three billion reasons to sing along
And now the time to go has come
There are only good tears left to cry
He was a billionaire three times over
3 Billion stars are Looking down from on high
So good, and so kind hearted
He left all these happy memories
And now that he’s departed
We got 3 billion good tears to cry
He left all these
Happy memories
We got 3 billion good tears to cry
He left all these
Happy memories
Only 3 billion good tears left to cry
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Nothing Stays The Same
….seven songwriters to write a song!
How many songwriters does it take to change a lightbulb?
Just one, as it happens. But sometimes it takes seven of us to write a song.
In our songwriters get togethers, we sometimes sit down as a group and write a song together from scratch. We did it yesterday.
It is quite amazing how a disparate group of friends, with different musical tastes, and different writing styles, can come up with a song that works. Egos have to be put to one side, but everyone’s opinion matters. And it takes a while for the engine to get started, but somehow, gradually, out of the mist, a song emerges.
It’s a really catchy little number, though we say so ourselves. You’ll have to take my word for that. But here is the lyric below …a simple reflection about a parent and child’s recognition that they have both changed over the years, and an acknowledgement of the challenges that brings. And all of it grounded in the knowledge that love and friendship will always remain the anchor to their relationship.
Nothing Stays The Same (Jones, Sheridan, Harris, Glasgow, Fee, Carey and Pluchino)
I remember you
When you were younger
You used to sit on my knee
Since you’ve left
I don’t know you any longer
You’re someone else to me
You’re telling me that I’ve changed
I’m telling you that you’ve changed
Maybe
We’ll both change again
You’re telling me that I’ve changed
I’m telling you that you’ve changed
Hey, nothing stays the same
Hey, hey, nothing stays the same
And I can recall
When I was smaller
You danced in the kitchen with me
Time has passed
We don’t dance anymore
You’re someone else to me
You’re telling me that I’ve changed
I’m telling you that you’ve changed
Maybe
We’ll both change again
You’re telling me that I’ve changed
I’m telling you that you’ve changed
Hey, nothing stays the same
Hey, hey nothing stays the same
And love never ends
We’ll always be friends
No love never ends
We’ll always be friends
You’re telling me that I’ve changed
I’m telling you that you’ve changed
Maybe
We’ll both change again
You’re telling me that I’ve changed
I’m telling you that you’ve changed
Hey, nothing stays the same
Hey, hey nothing stays the same
Hey, hey, hey, nothing stays the same
Discover Fee’s Music
Brief Encounters
Photo by Sarah Lawrence
Happy International Womens Day!
As you know, I’m away writing songs and also taking part in an online songwriting challenge. My friend and host of the course Cecily suggested writing to the theme of independent women. Tough one for blokes I think, even incredibly sensitive ones like me! :-)
Below is the lyric to the song that surfaced. The starting point for me was a bird called the Red Necked Phalarope…one that I have always wanted to see, but never have. It’s rare, and breeds on tiny lochans on the far northern isles of Scotland. With these birds it is the lady who lays the eggs of course. But, unusually for birds, she has the more vibrant plumage. And after she’s laid her eggs, she then flies off and leaves the male to brood those eggs and rear the young.
We’re not birds, but I guess in writing this song what emerged was, firstly, that there are lots of ways to be human and, secondly, that there are lots of ways to be whichever gender of human we happen to be.
And we’ve all got a lot to learn. And a lot more respect we could be giving to each other.
Brief Encounters
You wait for him
Then lay your eggs and fly
Mr Phalarope broods the nest
And no one asks why
These Brief Encounters
That life will always be
Then you fly away
Across the sea
Who wears the trousers,
You or I?
We just do our best
To get on by
I pass the hammer
And you do the rest
‘Cause you’re the best
At the DIY
These Brief Encounters
That life will always be
No need to explain yourself
To me
I’m a Y Chromosome
Don’t know why
Wasn’t like I had a choice
Sex is where your X
Got given a voice
No you don’t need to
Explain yourself to me
Oohohoh, oohohoh
We get what we’re given
All the time
You got your body parts
I got mine
I’ll wait for you
Happy to stand in line
Wherever there’s love
There’s usually time
For These Brief Encounters
That life will always be
Then you fly away
Across the sea
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Small Pleasures
… they’ll never pass me by.
Here is an incomplete lyric written yesterday, inspired by the accompanying photo (which will show up on some links and not others weirdly). I should add that this isn’t specifically a love song to Gary, who features in the photo. That one will have to wait for another day.
Small Pleasures
Quaint little bench on the seafront there
The sign says “Sit down, be happy”
You pose with a frown, two fingers in the air
I swear, I couldn’t stop laughing
These small pleasures
Can’t be measured
Whenever we’re together
The sun peaks out
And smiles
Smiles at me
This hard won treasure
These small pleasures
The trail of a comet
In a summer sky
And I know they’ll never
Pass be by
I know they’ll never pass me by
I smile as I walkout the bookshop there
Brown paper bag in my hand
Somebody else’s story to share
Another life, in another land
These small pleasures
Can’t be measured
When ever we’re together
The sun peaks out
And smiles
Smiles at me
This hard won treasure
These small pleasures
The trail of a comet
In a summer sky
And I know they’ll never
Pass me by
I know they’ll never pass me by
A.I.
… back to the future.
I might cheat this week, and post some of the lyrics that surface during our time of songwriting. I’m really feeling the urge to write now. I’m feeling very Mused, here in the Old Post Office in Grange Over Sands.
I enjoy writing lyrics that can stand on their own two feet. That make sense without the music. But often that is not the case. The lyric below works best with the music attached, but you’ll get the gist I’m sure.
A. I.
Living in a world of synchronised faces
A.I. A.I
Dream our dreams in digital spaces
A.I. A.I
Get a grip
Take a trip
Back to the real world
Your touch
Too much
Back in the real world
History will leave no traces
A.I. A.I
Every thought now syndicated
A.I. A.I.
Get a grip
Take a trip
Back to the real world
Apathy
Empty
Back in the real world
I can recall every love letter
You ever sent me, darling
All I need now
Your breath on my skin
Keep up, Keeping up, All the time, Keep up
Baby, A.I.
Don’t ever fall behind, don’t let me see
You cry, A.I.
Get a grip
Take a trip
Your touch
Too much
Get a grip
Take a trip
Apathy, Empty
Back In The Real World
Keep up, Keeping up, All the time,
Keep up Baby
Don’t ever fall behind, don’t let me see
You cry
I can recall
Every love letter
You ever sent me, darling
All I need now
Your breath on my skin
It’s Not Gonna Change The World
…but it changes me.
Here is my Fee Comes Fourth song release for March. My 142nd.
And, like all the others….It’s Not Gonna Change The World. But it does keep me off the streets.
It’s Not Gonna Change The World
I heard somebody say
What I do today
It’s not gonna change the world
It’s not gonna change the world
When I hold your hand
I hope you understand
It’s not gonna change the world
So go ahead and take me for me granted, he said
But these little seeds I have planted
Are gonna grow
They’re gonna grow
Towards the light
And life live on
You can’t stop it’s power (whoever you are)
You can’t stop the song
Don’t give up the fight (little angel)
Though the fight be long
And it’s hard to know
Right from wrong
It’s not gonna change the world
I heard somebody cry
No I can’t lie
It’s not gonna change the world
It’s not gonna change the world
When I call you friend
And our hearts do mend
It’s not gonna change the world
So go ahead and take me for me granted, he said
But these little seeds I have planted
Are gonna grow
They’re gonna grow
Towards the light
And life live on
You can’t stop it’s power (whoever you are)
You can’t stop the song
Don’t give up the fight (little angel)
Though the fight be long
And it’s hard to know
Right from wrong
And the monsters that we fear
Have feet of clay
However they appear to you, they too
They too my friend, will have their day
And today there is something we must do
And it’s not gonna change the world
When your smile shines
And you walk the line
It’s not gonna change the world
It’s not gonna change the world
When you’re kind you see
But it changes me
Discover Fee’s Music
The Early Bird
… fragile, but resilient.
“The Early Bird catches the worm” said Michelle to me when I bumped into her along the sea front, on this quite pleasant March Sunday morning.
Turns out it’s the early worm that catches the bird. In this case a tiny wren. I almost missed her as I got close back to home. A tiny brown blob that I glanced as I walked by on the pavement. I stopped briefly and noticed that the blob was made up of very still brown feathers.
The little wren looked stunned more than anything. She’d probably flown into a passing car windscreen. But she wasn’t very safe there on the pavement, and I picked her up, lighter than light she is, and placed her in a neighbouring garden. She flew up on to the wall right alongside, but didn’t move any further before I left her be.
Hopefully after a while she’ll recover, and be fine. No sign of external injuries anyway.
Life all around is tough, resilient, delicate and fragile. A ragbag of contradictions, to steal the stage nomenclature of my pal Chris.
But it applies to all of us, really.
The Chorus
… get me there!
I’m travelling by train for the first time in a long while on Monday.
Down to my regular twice yearly get together, with songwriting friends again. I’ve mentioned it a fair bit, I think, simply because it’s one of the very best things in my year.
I’ve travelled to this do by planes, trains, buses and automobiles in the past. They’ve all got me there. To a lesser or greater extent, it’s always a long journey. But I genuinely look forward to that part of it too. And now I can’t wait to be sitting with a book and a coffee watching the world go by on my train. Which will of course depart and arrive on time! Watching the world go by, and simply feeling lucky to be alive.
The Chorus is the part of the song which everyone is anticipating, however wonderfully constructed the verses might be. These weeks away, together with friends, wine, songs, banter, freedom, and fresh air definitely count as a chorus for me.
And the journey down is the pre-chorus when the anticipation starts to wind up. Everything familiar and in its right place.
A Gathering
… Homesong by any other name.
The Heron’s are gathering. I’ve never seen so many “fishing” in the same small area. Seven of them within fifty yards.
I say fishing. They were in the kind of place where fishing happens. At the seashore. But you could tell there was other stuff going on. A bit of inter-heron status gamery was occurring I think. One or two had a little fly in the direction of another, who in turn flew a short distance away. No fighting as such, but you could tell that there were stakes to be raised and lowered.
I actually thought that all the mating and stuff had happened already, hence the earlier nest building I mentioned in another blog
Maybe it has.
Never the less the herons gathered.
And in other news I had a gathering in the hoose last night. I didn’t call it a Homesong, though that is what it was in a way. A few local songwriters came round, and we chatted and played a few songs together. It was very enjoyable, and folk seem keen to continue. But when we do, it’s going to be chilled and relaxed. Less of a gig than we were having before. More of A Gathering.
Unlike the heron’s, we’ll try and refrain from too much posturing.