Black Isle
photo by Sylvia Duckworth
We’re on the Black Isle. It’s not an island. Nor black. But that’s the only real criticism. In every other respect it is lovely.
It’s our first time here. And being somewhere for the first time is always a very pleasant occurrence in life, I find. All that undiscover-ness has a special quality.
Also, the new in-laws to be are very nice. They don’t have fangs or spit fire or any of those frustrating little behaviours that can put you off people. Which is just as well, considering that we’ll be a part of each other’s extended family’s. We’re getting on very well.
Ooh, and there is chance that we might get to see dolphins, as this is one of the top places in the whole of Britain for seeing them. Even living in Kintyre, I’ve never seen one, so that would be exciting.
And that’s your travel update today.
Now back to the studio.
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One Thing Leading To Another
… beautiful connections.
We’re meeting the new in-laws to be this weekend for the first time. The parents of our youngest son’s fiancee. These are the two people who came together many years ago and brought into the world the little girl who would grow into the woman who would like the picture of our son Eryn on Tinder ,or some such dating app, and especially like the fact that his picture included a cat.
And then she swiped left or right, or whichever way you’re meant to swipe in order to say…”Mmmm…he’s a possible”. And of a course a similar process happened the other way round.
Those are just a couple of the basic happenings among the infinite multitude of happenings that had to happen for this weekend away to happen. Everything an intricate web of connections.
One Thing Leading To Another.
And the crazy thing is that today we will be adding to the chain and causing more as yet unforeseen future happenings.
It’s quite beautiful really. We are fully part of it, and yet able to appreciate it in the moment, with a sense of awe and wonder.
Comfort Zones
… and stepping outside them.
Was just reminded of the time, the one time, when I sang in a choir.
It was the biggest singing challenge I’ve faced. I can’t say I learnt to read music, but I learnt to read the music of the songs we were singing. And I sang in three languages. Again, just for those songs. Sadly I still can’t speak fluent Latin or Tuvaluan. My English is getting there though.
I think my biggest take away from that experience was to get more focussed, less haphazard, about singing the right notes with the right tone. Previous to this, my biggest gift to the world when singing was probably the passion, and sometimes the sheer volume, with which I sang.
But it’s obviously better to do something better. And, for me, singing in a choir, though just the once, helped me to sing better.
Testing and challenging ourselves, out-with the normal Comfort Zones, will always up our game, whatever the game might be.
ps. The accompanying photo is obviously not me playing in a choir. It’s Chris Annetts playing in Carradale!
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Spludge
… it’s a start.
Spludge.
I heard someone say that Van Gogh might have said, that the first thing he did, when presented with a blank sheet of paper, was to make a pencil mark in the middle of the sheet.
Then the damage is done. A start has been made. The creation has begun.
And chances are it can only improve.
Or, to quote Cecily from our online songwriting sessions:
”If you’re struggling to write a good song, write a crap song”.
And take it from there.
The Meaning Of Life
… it’s a wrap!
What is the point?
Of this blog, for a start.
Well, on the one hand, does it need one?
On the other hand … could be the left hand or the right, it doesn’t really matter, but it definitely depends upon which hand you used first … as I’ve continued writing the point has become, in my mind at least, simply to look at this thing we call Life, and to see it more clearly, and to appreciate it more fully.
I can’t really put it any better than that. Sorry.
I was always the kind of dude who was looking for meaning. The Meaning Of Life. It was always out there somewhere in the distance.
But life itself was always here. With me and in me. In one sense, as far as my own experience apply’s, I am life. And the looking for its meaning was probably the main cause of any pain or suffering I experienced.
Because it seemed to be always out there in the distance. Somewhere else entirely. Something I was missing.
But, yeah, turns out it’s here. Who would have thunk it?
(Shout out to all those peeps who manage to work this simple truth out without getting all Esoteric or Spiritual or Philosophical or Theological or Born Again or Clinically Depressed).
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Smiley
… no reason not to be.
Twelve year old Smiley
Never saw Thirteen.
Never had a snog.
Or smoke a crafty cigarette
Before thinking better of it.
He never had to sit an exam
Lucky thing.
Never drove a car.
Never went with his pals
For his first pint in a pub,
Like a real adult does.
He never had sex.
Never lived to have regrets
About the way
He repeated
Some of the very mistakes
That were made on him.
He never held his own son, and wondered what that boy would become.
I’ve done all of these things. And I have no reason, no reason whatsoever, not to smile on Smiley’s behalf.
The Rain Pours
… and other meteorological phenomena.
The Rain Pours
The sun shines
The lark in the blue sky sings.
The west wind batters
The summer breeze whispers
And these are a few of my favourite things.
British weather is a metaphor for everything. But it’s not an excuse for bad poetry. That’s on me. And a rapidly approaching deadline.
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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.
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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.
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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
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