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.
It Comes To An End
I’m at that age when people I know have started dropping off the end of Life on more of a regular basis.
We call this happening “Death”.
It’s still a subject many people have a problem talking about or thinking about. I’m of the opposite inclination, not through any morbid inclinations, or because I’m especially brave, but simply because I think it helps me appreciate the preciousness of Life. So I regularly contemplate it’s one very specific limitation:
It Comes To An End. For everybody. And who knows when our turn will be?
Happy days, while we can enjoy it!
Below is a song I just released based on a little story that my mum told me while she was still alive. It’s about her not being allowed to stay with me overnight, during a week that I was in hospital for an operation when I was 3 months old.
Cry Little Baby is for anyone who feels that sense of desperate loss.
Because it’s not the end of things, just yet. We’re here still. And we feel how we feel.
The point is that we have the chance to feel.
Nice Surprises
“Pack your bag and be ready to leave”.
That’s a sentiment that has probably been heard a lot down the ages and not always (probably not often) for good reasons.
I’m lucky. I’ve just been told that by my lovely wife, and it’s a surprise present. I love surprises. And obviously Nice Surprises are the kind you want.
It’s another privilege. It’s another reason for reminding myself daily of how blessed I am. Not only with the big opportunity we all have of conscious life, even though it be for the briefest of moments, but the additional fortune to be born into a time and place in the world, where plenty of nice surprises are a real possibility.
Anyway, I’ve had my orders. I’ve got a bag to pack.
I hope you, like me, have got some nice surprises on the horizon.
But even more than that I wish us all the ability to enjoy and appreciate this moment now, however it may appear.
A Song For Every Eventuality
A Song For Every Eventuality.
That’s a kind of aim I have in my writing. More realistically, I really don’t want to limit the subject matter.
When it comes to the songs I write…well, you know what it’s like, if you write… don’t mess with The Muse. Just go where she or he takes you. But definitely don’t go putting down any daft restrictions.
Apart from anything else, you’ll have a lot less fun. The mystery and uncertainty are undoubtedly a big part of the joy of songwriting.
What’s going to turn up today?
So, anyway, I’m playing at a wee eclectic, arty open mic night for the third time this evening. It’s called The Gather. And I’ve just remembered a song I wrote that has got a bit lost in the mists of time. It’s called The Gathering.
Yay! I appear to have a song that just about fits this eventuality anyway.
The Storm Before The Calm
Maybe it’s The Storm Before The Calm.
I mean, why not?
These things work both ways. Maybe we should be preparing ourselves for some blue sky and sunshine.
What to do with ourselves, once the problem is solved?