very quick note, from here in south london, the place i've got to get to tomorrow in the midst of tube strike, although i think the overground trains may still run...
anyway, josiah came round with my fantastic god daughter grace, sang through some tunes, making me happier and happier about saturday,...
then i spoke to L, double bass player who i was beginning to doubt and he is right up for it, rehearsing 2 or 3 times this week, makes me smile so much knowing it is all coming together, dragged K over to the venue in the rain on sunday, musically it is all starting to happen,
just have to find some audience now...
x
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
drinking leisure tube strike
i have a few hours of leisure ahead of me, josiah and grace are coming round to do some music with me, and to look cute and non poxy. i am in a delicious state of slow langour. partly because i drank last night, which is a fun thing to do now and again, and i often forget it.
have to apply my brain a little as to how i'm going to get to camberwell tomorrow mid tube strike, maybe cycling, also will the tube strike impact on the bass players ability / desire to rehearse,
both these questions and more will be answered in due time, yesterday was such a killer day for sunlight, took plenty pictures but my internet is still wiggly, maybe you'll see them soon,
strangely empty post,
x
have to apply my brain a little as to how i'm going to get to camberwell tomorrow mid tube strike, maybe cycling, also will the tube strike impact on the bass players ability / desire to rehearse,
both these questions and more will be answered in due time, yesterday was such a killer day for sunlight, took plenty pictures but my internet is still wiggly, maybe you'll see them soon,
strangely empty post,
x
retrospect post how do i travel from jaded to responsible?
i'm putting this is on friday 9th july, 1:20am, just because i'm remembering this time and this feeling:
in a staff training day, enjoying it, have rehearsed the night before with band, have keys to the building still, haven't yet put them where they belong... in a break i get a very brief talking to from boss about this, telling off effectively, completely pushes me into this familiar jaded, humiliated state in relation to my job.
come back to the training and at first i can't even concentrate on what's being said, so annoyed / upset i feel.
i write in my notebook, "how do i travel from jaded to responsible? - what do i do?"
responsible being the attitude i have found most helpful in amongst all this work doubt stuff. i am responsible for my life. my actions and behaviour are the consequence of how i live my life. the choices i have made. this work nonsense has derived from my actions.
in the few weeks prior to this i have swung mainly between these two poles, jaded or responsible.
after a while the training re-engages me and i get back into it, jaded feeling recedes... but the question remains, what do i do? and i know i do something because i have felt jaded so much at work, but i have worked effectively as well, which comes from being alive to the world, being responsible...
in a staff training day, enjoying it, have rehearsed the night before with band, have keys to the building still, haven't yet put them where they belong... in a break i get a very brief talking to from boss about this, telling off effectively, completely pushes me into this familiar jaded, humiliated state in relation to my job.
come back to the training and at first i can't even concentrate on what's being said, so annoyed / upset i feel.
i write in my notebook, "how do i travel from jaded to responsible? - what do i do?"
responsible being the attitude i have found most helpful in amongst all this work doubt stuff. i am responsible for my life. my actions and behaviour are the consequence of how i live my life. the choices i have made. this work nonsense has derived from my actions.
in the few weeks prior to this i have swung mainly between these two poles, jaded or responsible.
after a while the training re-engages me and i get back into it, jaded feeling recedes... but the question remains, what do i do? and i know i do something because i have felt jaded so much at work, but i have worked effectively as well, which comes from being alive to the world, being responsible...
Sunday, June 27, 2004
parallels
surreal experience today, rehearsing with the band i play in, not my band, not my material, the band that i play in. rehearsing in my workplace, on a sunday, one of the percs of working here so long. before we start i talk with P, tell him i'm thinking of leaving the band, so it's out there if you will, only him, he's sympathetic in his way.
so we're playing, and i'm thinking about the parallels with the time i was leaving AT's band, becoming less involved in recording, so my voice isn't heard so much on the finished thing, (voice being keys or singing), also the parallels with my work, feeling jaded,...
almost like time travel, whilst playing, which is central to my life, how i define myself, reviewing the situations i've been in, am in, looking for links, wondering about why i did it then, why i'm thinking of it now, i guess trying to avoid falling into the same patterns. and at the same time really enjoying playing, great bass player deping for us on this next gig, very natural feel,... at one point i was leaning back, looking at the keyboard, readying myself to go at it, somehow really digging that feeling... how will i have that kind of experience if i leave this band?
almost like now i'm really considering giving it up, my life is showing me just what it is i'm thinking of leaving...
we have a gig next sunday at the spitz, the day after my acoustic gig. actually how i love doing it, putting the one right next to the other, two different expressions of my musical life.
so when i go home (i'm posting this from my work) me and K are going over to M's house, where the saturday gig is, to go through some stuff, check out the space. it's been a lovely thing for me, gradually tunes surfacing in my consciousness that i want to play, my fingers remembering how to play things i haven't played for a while, thinking of doing bach's C major piece from the well tempered clavier, maybe with gounod's ave maria over it.. you can't be mine came back to me easily enough,...
and i spoke to H today, who played cello with me last summer, i've been ringing her for months with no response until today, i invited her to the gig but she's doing a show that night, but she's up for playing from late july, maybe getting a band together...
so we're playing, and i'm thinking about the parallels with the time i was leaving AT's band, becoming less involved in recording, so my voice isn't heard so much on the finished thing, (voice being keys or singing), also the parallels with my work, feeling jaded,...
almost like time travel, whilst playing, which is central to my life, how i define myself, reviewing the situations i've been in, am in, looking for links, wondering about why i did it then, why i'm thinking of it now, i guess trying to avoid falling into the same patterns. and at the same time really enjoying playing, great bass player deping for us on this next gig, very natural feel,... at one point i was leaning back, looking at the keyboard, readying myself to go at it, somehow really digging that feeling... how will i have that kind of experience if i leave this band?
almost like now i'm really considering giving it up, my life is showing me just what it is i'm thinking of leaving...
we have a gig next sunday at the spitz, the day after my acoustic gig. actually how i love doing it, putting the one right next to the other, two different expressions of my musical life.
so when i go home (i'm posting this from my work) me and K are going over to M's house, where the saturday gig is, to go through some stuff, check out the space. it's been a lovely thing for me, gradually tunes surfacing in my consciousness that i want to play, my fingers remembering how to play things i haven't played for a while, thinking of doing bach's C major piece from the well tempered clavier, maybe with gounod's ave maria over it.. you can't be mine came back to me easily enough,...
and i spoke to H today, who played cello with me last summer, i've been ringing her for months with no response until today, i invited her to the gig but she's doing a show that night, but she's up for playing from late july, maybe getting a band together...
Saturday, June 26, 2004
doubts return catshit (not)
a strange day today, woke at 12:15 to find a text from my housemate cedric nash from 6:46, saying my cat had shat outside my door, balthazara, who was curled up with me on my bed, dribbled once or twice (the cat) which bemused me... wasn't shit but vomit (how nice this post is), which maybe tells me something about feeding her, the choices and decisions you can make when you are in control of more factors than before...
then strangely anxious for much of the day, not altogether sure why, oh and our internet is being funny, intermittent and irregular... maybe a few missing days here until i'ts sorted,
went with cedric to see the return, beautiful russian film, enormously human, very moving,
a little later i took john berger to jai krishna, ever wonderful food that really regenerates me, entirely vegetarian south indian cuisine on stroud green road. the book is called the shape of a pocket, and i bought it yesterday in the tate modern bookshop, after an incredibly taxing day which turned into a nice evening. a performance or rather a rehearsal for a performance, from some of my students, in preparation for another performance a week on monday. the day was really nuts, so many things to deal with, complete, organise, and by 4ish i was done for, but the gig went surprisingly well, reminded me of a - just how much i will miss some of these students and b - just how talented some of them are, i don't know how i can teach them all year and still be surprised at that, but it's nice when it happens...
i had taken in venus in furs, by mr masoch (of masochism fame), which i may yet read but didn't really do it for me yesterday, not really my bag, and although that doesn't mean i won't read it, it has to come at me on the right day, so i was happy after work to stroll along the southbank, let the bookshop draw me in, let john berger find me,
x
then strangely anxious for much of the day, not altogether sure why, oh and our internet is being funny, intermittent and irregular... maybe a few missing days here until i'ts sorted,
went with cedric to see the return, beautiful russian film, enormously human, very moving,
a little later i took john berger to jai krishna, ever wonderful food that really regenerates me, entirely vegetarian south indian cuisine on stroud green road. the book is called the shape of a pocket, and i bought it yesterday in the tate modern bookshop, after an incredibly taxing day which turned into a nice evening. a performance or rather a rehearsal for a performance, from some of my students, in preparation for another performance a week on monday. the day was really nuts, so many things to deal with, complete, organise, and by 4ish i was done for, but the gig went surprisingly well, reminded me of a - just how much i will miss some of these students and b - just how talented some of them are, i don't know how i can teach them all year and still be surprised at that, but it's nice when it happens...
i had taken in venus in furs, by mr masoch (of masochism fame), which i may yet read but didn't really do it for me yesterday, not really my bag, and although that doesn't mean i won't read it, it has to come at me on the right day, so i was happy after work to stroll along the southbank, let the bookshop draw me in, let john berger find me,
x
Friday, June 25, 2004
Thursday, June 24, 2004
slight infection phenomenal day
robbed.
irritating to be sucked in to giving a shit about the football by that disallowed goal, years of not supporting england and then suddenly i care, only for england to lose...
this slight feeling of down, normal football fans must have this so regularly, your whole emotional state governed by something completely external to you... football is nuts,
an incredible day for weather, (so typically english), opened my curtains to a blue sky so i wore my thin indian trousers to work, as i left the house a grey sky laughed at me, i stuck it out... i was walking with funki g after work, celebrating the beautiful day it eventually turned out to be, she got on a bus, i was walking up to liverpool street, got utterly drenched moments later in a sudden downpour...
i had to go out to sawbridgeworth to see a project being run by one of my students, strange part of the world, essex, very pretty.
went past hackney marsh on the train, near stamford hill where i used to live, that church with the almost pagan statues around the spire... strong memories of place,
so on the train back into town, just as the england - portugal game kicked off, there was the most amazing series of high atmosphere events, beginning with majestic banks of clouds bordering a blue sky with the sun low on the horizon, thickening out over london into dark storm clouds, just where we were heading. if you looked in the right place you could see right under the storm clouds, to a patch of lighter grey a long way off, really dark but small clouds over there. it was all about light traveling long distances, the sun so low it illuminated the underside of the murky weather.
as we drew in closer to london it started raining a little, sunlight, rain, classic rainbow territory... and sure enough, moving to the other side of the carriage, (rainbows are always seen with your back to the sun), a beautiful rainbow in sharp focus, all the way over, with it's second weaker outer rim, inside the semicircle of the rainbow, such a luminous grey... heavenly. very aware that i'd run out of photos before the rainbow, such a nice / odd shot with the rainbow, and the reflection of the blue skies behind me, lost, or maybe remembered all the better...
as we approached tottenham hale the southern end of the rainbow started dissolving, seemingly a lull in the rain where i was headed, got home just after half time,
robbed.
irritating to be sucked in to giving a shit about the football by that disallowed goal, years of not supporting england and then suddenly i care, only for england to lose...
this slight feeling of down, normal football fans must have this so regularly, your whole emotional state governed by something completely external to you... football is nuts,
an incredible day for weather, (so typically english), opened my curtains to a blue sky so i wore my thin indian trousers to work, as i left the house a grey sky laughed at me, i stuck it out... i was walking with funki g after work, celebrating the beautiful day it eventually turned out to be, she got on a bus, i was walking up to liverpool street, got utterly drenched moments later in a sudden downpour...
i had to go out to sawbridgeworth to see a project being run by one of my students, strange part of the world, essex, very pretty.
went past hackney marsh on the train, near stamford hill where i used to live, that church with the almost pagan statues around the spire... strong memories of place,
so on the train back into town, just as the england - portugal game kicked off, there was the most amazing series of high atmosphere events, beginning with majestic banks of clouds bordering a blue sky with the sun low on the horizon, thickening out over london into dark storm clouds, just where we were heading. if you looked in the right place you could see right under the storm clouds, to a patch of lighter grey a long way off, really dark but small clouds over there. it was all about light traveling long distances, the sun so low it illuminated the underside of the murky weather.
as we drew in closer to london it started raining a little, sunlight, rain, classic rainbow territory... and sure enough, moving to the other side of the carriage, (rainbows are always seen with your back to the sun), a beautiful rainbow in sharp focus, all the way over, with it's second weaker outer rim, inside the semicircle of the rainbow, such a luminous grey... heavenly. very aware that i'd run out of photos before the rainbow, such a nice / odd shot with the rainbow, and the reflection of the blue skies behind me, lost, or maybe remembered all the better...
as we approached tottenham hale the southern end of the rainbow started dissolving, seemingly a lull in the rain where i was headed, got home just after half time,
robbed.
love is lies a certain completeness end to leisure
very brief note to say love is lies is nearing completion, it now has a structure enough gaps have been filled to make it feel whole, what a great thing songwriting is, still more to come with the third verse but the first inkling of complete song, two days of idleness and now to work upon awaking, gonna be two days of hard work too x
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
beginning the feeding forgiveness good food and company
balthazara looking a bit peckish today prompts me to get the food for her, thus beginning a routine that will last for a very long time.
she has been particularly close to me over the last few days, almost always full of love anyway but particularly so recently, i guess the catflap has been shut a few doors away and she feels rootless,... so hard not to project human emotions onto cats, so involved they are in our emotional lives. anyway, following that idea, just want to make sure that my / our hearts are open to her all the more... the irrational anger i feel when S hisses at her for fun...
i ended up running over to Manolis's cafe around 5, Manolis who is the only human being that i'm prepared to name in here, just because i think his cafe is so good and worthy of a visit, on hercules street, directly opposite the holloway odeon,
came in amongst an obscure conversation between him and his current help, a man who apparently has been involved in the place for years, listening to a greek singer who this other guy was saying sounded a bit like tom jones, true enough, manolis meanwhile translating the words for me, this from the chorus:
she is going everywhere saying i am the guilty party,
she can say whatever she likes i forgive her,
struck me today, deeply involved as i am writing this love is lies tune, at first just describing a deep emotional feeling, then gradually starting to be more specific as to it's cause in the song, approaching that and then backing away, a very personal song already, but how personal about the other person to make it - or how general? skating between real darkness and a certain redemptive quality, hearing forgiveness like that today was a shaft of light.
so i ate at manolis's, came back via auntie E's, chatted for awhile (as it is almost inescapable to do at auntie E's), popped in on josiah and grace, the dad was there too, so nice to see him with grace, she is a source of joy for many people.
then fell into cedric nash's marvellous evening with italian C, fantastic food as ever, great company, grappa, the nash dall is something to be experienced, he is cooking soup the night of my july gig, very nice indeed,
x
she has been particularly close to me over the last few days, almost always full of love anyway but particularly so recently, i guess the catflap has been shut a few doors away and she feels rootless,... so hard not to project human emotions onto cats, so involved they are in our emotional lives. anyway, following that idea, just want to make sure that my / our hearts are open to her all the more... the irrational anger i feel when S hisses at her for fun...
i ended up running over to Manolis's cafe around 5, Manolis who is the only human being that i'm prepared to name in here, just because i think his cafe is so good and worthy of a visit, on hercules street, directly opposite the holloway odeon,
came in amongst an obscure conversation between him and his current help, a man who apparently has been involved in the place for years, listening to a greek singer who this other guy was saying sounded a bit like tom jones, true enough, manolis meanwhile translating the words for me, this from the chorus:
she is going everywhere saying i am the guilty party,
she can say whatever she likes i forgive her,
struck me today, deeply involved as i am writing this love is lies tune, at first just describing a deep emotional feeling, then gradually starting to be more specific as to it's cause in the song, approaching that and then backing away, a very personal song already, but how personal about the other person to make it - or how general? skating between real darkness and a certain redemptive quality, hearing forgiveness like that today was a shaft of light.
so i ate at manolis's, came back via auntie E's, chatted for awhile (as it is almost inescapable to do at auntie E's), popped in on josiah and grace, the dad was there too, so nice to see him with grace, she is a source of joy for many people.
then fell into cedric nash's marvellous evening with italian C, fantastic food as ever, great company, grappa, the nash dall is something to be experienced, he is cooking soup the night of my july gig, very nice indeed,
x
mm lovely blessed journey
so i trekked out to greenwich to see mm who was fantastic. multi-lingual talking most of the way through her set got me riled (the whole smoky room looking impotently over at these two rude tables) but like any number of london annoyances, acceptance of the whole sound, mm with yabbering, came eventually. particularly as she finished with a bruce springsteen cover that ended so quietly, bringing the whole place to silence...
mainly her originals though, beautiful voice, great songs, lovely arrangements with fellow canadian playing guitar against her acoustic. great proffesional sound, all the way from canada.
so i had my lyric writing book on me, and though the journey out didn't do that much for me, the journey back gave me almost the whole second verse and part of the third. the journey back was blessed in a number of ways in fact. i caught the DLR just before midnight and i was right at the front of the train travelling through docklands at night. driverless trains means seeing out of the front windows... the isle of dogs looking eerie as ever with huge tower blocks and very old communities. then bank station almost dead, echoing tannoys in other parts of the station, my train 14 minutes away so i go another way, central line to oxford circus where i get on a victoria line train straight away and there is the philip larkin poem i've been missing, not only that but as we pull into finsbury park there is a picadilly line train almost level with us, so we see them just before the platform, that wierd gap between lines whilst still in the tunnel...
and to top it all a huge downpour accompanied me to my door, giving me another lyric and also the atmosphere i need for this song, the sound is incredible, walking along with my left foot completely waterlogged, gutters overflowing, the percussion of millions of raindrops...
and balthazara welcomes me inside the house.
Cut Grass by Philip Larkin (1922 - 1985)
from High Windows 1974
Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death
It dies in the white hours
of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn
White lilac bowed.
Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace,
And that high builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.
mainly her originals though, beautiful voice, great songs, lovely arrangements with fellow canadian playing guitar against her acoustic. great proffesional sound, all the way from canada.
so i had my lyric writing book on me, and though the journey out didn't do that much for me, the journey back gave me almost the whole second verse and part of the third. the journey back was blessed in a number of ways in fact. i caught the DLR just before midnight and i was right at the front of the train travelling through docklands at night. driverless trains means seeing out of the front windows... the isle of dogs looking eerie as ever with huge tower blocks and very old communities. then bank station almost dead, echoing tannoys in other parts of the station, my train 14 minutes away so i go another way, central line to oxford circus where i get on a victoria line train straight away and there is the philip larkin poem i've been missing, not only that but as we pull into finsbury park there is a picadilly line train almost level with us, so we see them just before the platform, that wierd gap between lines whilst still in the tunnel...
and to top it all a huge downpour accompanied me to my door, giving me another lyric and also the atmosphere i need for this song, the sound is incredible, walking along with my left foot completely waterlogged, gutters overflowing, the percussion of millions of raindrops...
and balthazara welcomes me inside the house.
Cut Grass by Philip Larkin (1922 - 1985)
from High Windows 1974
Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death
It dies in the white hours
of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn
White lilac bowed.
Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace,
And that high builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
the chateau love nippy mm
so i was woken this morning by mm phoning, one of the canadians who had been staying here, she's playing a gig tonight in greenwich that i'm going to try and check out,
then i reach for the chateau by william maxwell, which i've been reading for at least two weeks now, and i finish it, lying in bed, balthazara comes in near the end and loves me in that unconditional cat way, lovely book. i found william maxwell (this is the third book of his that i've read) on the day that i bought austerlitz, the last novel that i had left to read by w g sebald. i bought maxwell's so long, see you tomorrow, as a way of opening a new writer as i was closing another. i liked the look of it, and he's published by the harvill press which is often the sign of a good writer, and he is a lovely writer. w g sebald's passing away still makes me sad, that he won't be writing any more books, but william maxwell's presence in the world is a comfort.
early on in this book i was travelling on the underground, and i happened to pick up a copy of the times. a small news item caught my eye and i ripped it out and used it as a book mark.
Briton Shot Dead
A British teacher was killed by gunmen in Pakistan in what police described as a targeted killing, possibly linked to Islamic terrorists. A C, 60, was giving a lesson when he was hit by four bullets. (full story page 5)
i remember being struck by this, partly because i'm a teacher, but also because of the last phrase... when he was hit by four bullets... i don't really know why but that gives me such a surreal image, like being hit by a truck when crossing a road, somehow it suggests to me that he went into the path of these bullets, which seem quite independant of any gun or person,
anyway, sad news that i carried around with me in my book for a few weeks,
oh and nippy is coming round, to do some vocals for K, this is great news, i haven't seen her for ages and now she's coming to my house.
x
then i reach for the chateau by william maxwell, which i've been reading for at least two weeks now, and i finish it, lying in bed, balthazara comes in near the end and loves me in that unconditional cat way, lovely book. i found william maxwell (this is the third book of his that i've read) on the day that i bought austerlitz, the last novel that i had left to read by w g sebald. i bought maxwell's so long, see you tomorrow, as a way of opening a new writer as i was closing another. i liked the look of it, and he's published by the harvill press which is often the sign of a good writer, and he is a lovely writer. w g sebald's passing away still makes me sad, that he won't be writing any more books, but william maxwell's presence in the world is a comfort.
early on in this book i was travelling on the underground, and i happened to pick up a copy of the times. a small news item caught my eye and i ripped it out and used it as a book mark.
Briton Shot Dead
A British teacher was killed by gunmen in Pakistan in what police described as a targeted killing, possibly linked to Islamic terrorists. A C, 60, was giving a lesson when he was hit by four bullets. (full story page 5)
i remember being struck by this, partly because i'm a teacher, but also because of the last phrase... when he was hit by four bullets... i don't really know why but that gives me such a surreal image, like being hit by a truck when crossing a road, somehow it suggests to me that he went into the path of these bullets, which seem quite independant of any gun or person,
anyway, sad news that i carried around with me in my book for a few weeks,
oh and nippy is coming round, to do some vocals for K, this is great news, i haven't seen her for ages and now she's coming to my house.
x
Sunday, June 20, 2004
summer rain english style
lovely play on that piano this afternoon, working out the poetry aspect of the july gig,
walking home it starts to rain, and this on top of a cold day, A went off camping today for a week with a couple of my household and i just hope they're warm enough. for the first time in ages i was in a coat this afternoon, and i was glad of it, downpour complete with crack of thunder just as i reach my road, and now moments later the sun is shining,
but not the shower that takes the edge off a steamy hot day, no, english june this is, the shower that gives a colder edge to an already cold day...
x
walking home it starts to rain, and this on top of a cold day, A went off camping today for a week with a couple of my household and i just hope they're warm enough. for the first time in ages i was in a coat this afternoon, and i was glad of it, downpour complete with crack of thunder just as i reach my road, and now moments later the sun is shining,
but not the shower that takes the edge off a steamy hot day, no, english june this is, the shower that gives a colder edge to an already cold day...
x
a different endgame thoughts of kingdom
ok, so a different endgame, this time against stallion4, gameknot sure gives me brain food.
the greggie endgame still sits there, the odd thing about gameknot, can be so frenetic, then so placid, moments from annihilation.
still almost setting up my studio, thinking of going over to princess crescent to check out the feel of that beautiful piano, thinking also of how to include my thoughts on the kingdom of my youth into that gig.
when i went home this easter to see my folks, partly because dad came out of hospital not too long before, i spent some time walking around the village where they live, where i grew up. i climbed the hill that i used to watch the sunset from as a teenager. the hill i have since found out has twelve (i think it's 12) horses sacrificed and buried around it. so i was stood on top of this hill, thinking about the countryside, noticing for the first time the army of electricity pylons marching in single file in a zigzag path from didcot. and i came across the notion that this was the kingdom of my youth. this landscape that i looked at so many times in my solitude back then, as now. i was thinking of the area enclosed by the trainline didcot - reading (and on to london), on the east, maybe the disused railway line to the west, probably as far down to the ridgeway to the south, and didcot in the north.
i was also thinking about the day me and J took acid and walked out past this hill, east, through villages, eventually to another hill, can't think of it's name now, a beautiful summers day...
so when i got back to london, i was reading my book of rilke, and i found that there is a section of that book, Uncollected Poems 1913 - 1918, that begins with The Spanish Trilogy includes You who never arrived and To Holderlin and ends with To Music, which in some way represents this same territory of land that i called the kingdom of my youth. You who never arrived is the point at the top of the hill where i stand to watch the sunset.
odd i know, but quite a strong theme for me, You who never arrived is already in the gig in my version of Like someone in love, some lines in To Holderlin i've already quoted in this space, talking about the jam session i was involved in (see Journeys), and they have a huge resonance for me. i'm thinking of taking the listeners on a journey through that territory, maybe with reference to the disused railway that comes from finsbury park... certain tunes throughout the gig with poetry...
stallion4 almost beaten starts another game even before this one is finished, playing him twice, right at the beginning and end of two different games.
slight smell of rain through my window, london.
x
the greggie endgame still sits there, the odd thing about gameknot, can be so frenetic, then so placid, moments from annihilation.
still almost setting up my studio, thinking of going over to princess crescent to check out the feel of that beautiful piano, thinking also of how to include my thoughts on the kingdom of my youth into that gig.
when i went home this easter to see my folks, partly because dad came out of hospital not too long before, i spent some time walking around the village where they live, where i grew up. i climbed the hill that i used to watch the sunset from as a teenager. the hill i have since found out has twelve (i think it's 12) horses sacrificed and buried around it. so i was stood on top of this hill, thinking about the countryside, noticing for the first time the army of electricity pylons marching in single file in a zigzag path from didcot. and i came across the notion that this was the kingdom of my youth. this landscape that i looked at so many times in my solitude back then, as now. i was thinking of the area enclosed by the trainline didcot - reading (and on to london), on the east, maybe the disused railway line to the west, probably as far down to the ridgeway to the south, and didcot in the north.
i was also thinking about the day me and J took acid and walked out past this hill, east, through villages, eventually to another hill, can't think of it's name now, a beautiful summers day...
so when i got back to london, i was reading my book of rilke, and i found that there is a section of that book, Uncollected Poems 1913 - 1918, that begins with The Spanish Trilogy includes You who never arrived and To Holderlin and ends with To Music, which in some way represents this same territory of land that i called the kingdom of my youth. You who never arrived is the point at the top of the hill where i stand to watch the sunset.
odd i know, but quite a strong theme for me, You who never arrived is already in the gig in my version of Like someone in love, some lines in To Holderlin i've already quoted in this space, talking about the jam session i was involved in (see Journeys), and they have a huge resonance for me. i'm thinking of taking the listeners on a journey through that territory, maybe with reference to the disused railway that comes from finsbury park... certain tunes throughout the gig with poetry...
stallion4 almost beaten starts another game even before this one is finished, playing him twice, right at the beginning and end of two different games.
slight smell of rain through my window, london.
x
Saturday, June 19, 2004
dead growth keeping cat
a few hours before A comes round, gonna set up a little more of my studio, just wandering about the length of my finger nails, beard and hair.
i've developed a taste for more expensive haircuts (£11 rather than £5), so i've had to wait until now for my haircut, planning to go monday or tuesday, at least a month after my last cut. laziness and a slight depression keep me from shaving, this is a weeks growth, fingernails i don't know what governs my behaviour there.
so i'm about to cut all this down to size and i'm just thinking about it, all this dead stuff "growing" on me.
josiah says she likes the beard, it's soft, her daughter grace has chickenpox which is a sad thing in my life - i haven't had it and it means i can't hold her, my god daughter. also hard because it's hard for her mum, and i can't really be there to help her, sleepless nights, but a beard? come on, i'm 30 years old not 40.
and you know i used to have long hair, longer than this, longer by a long way as well... maybe i won't cut it just yet?
lovely to see josiah and grace today, even though i can't hold her, she turned 9 months on thursday. covered in spots, but smiling still, apparently she wasn't smiling the last couple of days but she's alright today. she claps her hands properly now, both hands open, even makes a tiny sound. and she speaks her grace language, quite a joy to behold.
almost went to see the black rider again today, but stayed in bed instead, very nice it was too, the last day so C had some comps for the matinee, and another C came round and left a note saying did we want to keep dolly the cat? dolly being their name for balthazara, who most of my house call tibbsy. dolly daydream. which i guess means i'm going to have to start feeding her, they have lived a few doors away and have continued feeding her whilst she comes here for affection, but they're moving away... of course we want to keep balthazara.
x
i've developed a taste for more expensive haircuts (£11 rather than £5), so i've had to wait until now for my haircut, planning to go monday or tuesday, at least a month after my last cut. laziness and a slight depression keep me from shaving, this is a weeks growth, fingernails i don't know what governs my behaviour there.
so i'm about to cut all this down to size and i'm just thinking about it, all this dead stuff "growing" on me.
josiah says she likes the beard, it's soft, her daughter grace has chickenpox which is a sad thing in my life - i haven't had it and it means i can't hold her, my god daughter. also hard because it's hard for her mum, and i can't really be there to help her, sleepless nights, but a beard? come on, i'm 30 years old not 40.
and you know i used to have long hair, longer than this, longer by a long way as well... maybe i won't cut it just yet?
lovely to see josiah and grace today, even though i can't hold her, she turned 9 months on thursday. covered in spots, but smiling still, apparently she wasn't smiling the last couple of days but she's alright today. she claps her hands properly now, both hands open, even makes a tiny sound. and she speaks her grace language, quite a joy to behold.
almost went to see the black rider again today, but stayed in bed instead, very nice it was too, the last day so C had some comps for the matinee, and another C came round and left a note saying did we want to keep dolly the cat? dolly being their name for balthazara, who most of my house call tibbsy. dolly daydream. which i guess means i'm going to have to start feeding her, they have lived a few doors away and have continued feeding her whilst she comes here for affection, but they're moving away... of course we want to keep balthazara.
x
Friday, June 18, 2004
love is lies pt 2
so i think i now have a chorus, VERY sad.
verse 1 (maybe an intro) - almost done,
strange business, willing myself into a dark headspace to write a sad song. of course i don't believe that love is lies. but i did the other day and i don't want to forget that.
x
verse 1 (maybe an intro) - almost done,
strange business, willing myself into a dark headspace to write a sad song. of course i don't believe that love is lies. but i did the other day and i don't want to forget that.
x
Thursday, June 17, 2004
love is lies
writing a song, first time in a little while, coming quickly, as they often do at first,
near the end of the first... verse? i guess,
we have a couple of canadians staying with us right now, and for one reason or another i sang to them the other night, a cover: for all we know, and they mentioned chet baker, which of course i loved, so i sang them the thrill is gone,
now both those songs i will do on july 3rd, although they are less current than some, and i have often felt that i have a certain voice for those old sad jazz songs which doesn't work for the songs i write, which are inevitably a bit more modern, they recquire different things from a voice, (mind you on my mind get's to be quite croony sometimes - one of mine) - the reason i'm talking about this is because this tune i'm writing today fits with those old tunes in terms of quality of voice, - i reckon, at this early stage,
it's a wednesday (well it was a wednesday) and i get to go to the pictures for half price on wednesdays, two for one (orange wednesdays - mobile phone promotion), and in these lean times i love this, so i went tonight. my arrangements came unstuck so i spent quite a while finding a "date", and at the last minute my flatmate cedric nash agreed to come. heading into town we were on this balmy evening - to the curzon soho, to see spring, summer, autumn, winter... and spring again.
only the curzon soho is about the only cinema in london that doesn't do this promotion, and it was quite late, a lot of films had already started so we didn't end up going to the pictures at all, just wandered the streets a little, marvelling at the surreal colour of the sky, popped into waterstones on picadilly (book shop - in the old simpsons department store building) which is open 'til ten.
hung out around M in fiction for awhile, Maxwell, Murakami, Maalouf, Marias, Mann, (William, Haruki, Amin, Javier, Thomas), i realised i always start with M in waterstones picadilly, found Ford (Richard), bemoaned his moving from the Harvill Press to another less stylish publisher, chatted about books somewhat inevitably, realised i almost never went into F, checked out C maybe a little half heartedly... headed home without purchasing, but satisfied, on reaching finsbury park there was still a touch of pale blue in the horizon,...
x
near the end of the first... verse? i guess,
we have a couple of canadians staying with us right now, and for one reason or another i sang to them the other night, a cover: for all we know, and they mentioned chet baker, which of course i loved, so i sang them the thrill is gone,
now both those songs i will do on july 3rd, although they are less current than some, and i have often felt that i have a certain voice for those old sad jazz songs which doesn't work for the songs i write, which are inevitably a bit more modern, they recquire different things from a voice, (mind you on my mind get's to be quite croony sometimes - one of mine) - the reason i'm talking about this is because this tune i'm writing today fits with those old tunes in terms of quality of voice, - i reckon, at this early stage,
it's a wednesday (well it was a wednesday) and i get to go to the pictures for half price on wednesdays, two for one (orange wednesdays - mobile phone promotion), and in these lean times i love this, so i went tonight. my arrangements came unstuck so i spent quite a while finding a "date", and at the last minute my flatmate cedric nash agreed to come. heading into town we were on this balmy evening - to the curzon soho, to see spring, summer, autumn, winter... and spring again.
only the curzon soho is about the only cinema in london that doesn't do this promotion, and it was quite late, a lot of films had already started so we didn't end up going to the pictures at all, just wandered the streets a little, marvelling at the surreal colour of the sky, popped into waterstones on picadilly (book shop - in the old simpsons department store building) which is open 'til ten.
hung out around M in fiction for awhile, Maxwell, Murakami, Maalouf, Marias, Mann, (William, Haruki, Amin, Javier, Thomas), i realised i always start with M in waterstones picadilly, found Ford (Richard), bemoaned his moving from the Harvill Press to another less stylish publisher, chatted about books somewhat inevitably, realised i almost never went into F, checked out C maybe a little half heartedly... headed home without purchasing, but satisfied, on reaching finsbury park there was still a touch of pale blue in the horizon,...
x
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
endgame black rider
racing through the endgame of my game of chess with greggie, who was also rather smartly turned out at the party on saturday night,
having a paul smith suit when having almost no money at all is an obscure pleasure,
but i'm sorry folks that i've even mentioned money in this space, it has a bearing on my life but i'd sooner not talk about it, payday on friday,...
so i saw the black rider, robert wilson directed, william burroughs wrote, tom waits composed, damn fine in my book, not to everyone's taste though, my troop of happy theatre goers were very mixed on it,
but it was right up my street,
x
having a paul smith suit when having almost no money at all is an obscure pleasure,
but i'm sorry folks that i've even mentioned money in this space, it has a bearing on my life but i'd sooner not talk about it, payday on friday,...
so i saw the black rider, robert wilson directed, william burroughs wrote, tom waits composed, damn fine in my book, not to everyone's taste though, my troop of happy theatre goers were very mixed on it,
but it was right up my street,
x
Monday, June 14, 2004
fragmentation anger spanish alcoholic piano playing
i played piano twice today, once at work, waiting for somebody, and once at home, on T's piano. both times i felt strong in my playing and ability to improvise. this is not always the case.
oh and i lost a game of chess on gameknot which really surprised me, just didn't see it coming, thought i was being clever, very neat checkmate,...
so yesterday i was in waterlow park with A, (who sometimes lives with a very beautiful piano), lovely. Not so lovely was the spanish guy sat near us, alternately playing his flamenco guitar, (cheap sounding, fairly rough playing, and not in a good way), or yelling. the three lines i remember (each one repeated several times) are:
"get a fucking job"
"i just need to stop drinking"
"my wife is a very dangerous person"
he was clearly angry, and also fairly misogynist.
as i was playing the piano for the first time today, i at times pictured myself as that man, although without the misogyny, in fact without any of the content of what he was saying, just anger, yelling, sporadic music. i like my music, but it's quite possible and likely that some others don't like it. when i was growing up i only had to start playing for either my brother or sister to shut doors. the other side of this is maybe that spanish man likes his music...?
now this partly comes from an anger i feel easily at the moment, to do with my work, which is partly directed at myself, it's a complicated business. no need to go into it all here, just worth noting that it's there, sometimes a huge purifying sensation. quite seductive perversely.
sometimes playing / improvising comes from emotions, sometimes from bodily sensations, sometimes the intellect. today this anger was one influence on my playing, and i dug what i played, it had a certain unity to it.
so there i was yelling in my mind as i shaped this piece of music, different phrases coming up and being repeated, (my wife is a very dangerous person my wife is a very dangerous person), reminds me of a bit from that rilke poem "black cat":
"...just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified..."
then once i was home i played again, on T's piano, and again i enjoyed what came out. sometimes i think a truer blog would just be recordings of what comes out when i play the piano. partly because "sadie's gone" is back in my life, a 10 minute improvisation from 3 years ago, i am really interested in this music that flows from me. i think about recording it but i also just love the idea of not recording, of it being heard only once by those near, and never again. somehow an image of water flowing underground.
T comments that it was very sunlit. she said she could hear the sunlight in it. i wasn't thinking about sunlight at all but that doesn't mean she's wrong. the sunlight is so fantastic today how could i not play something infused with it?
and then fragmentation. just a note to do with all this. i played on saturday, and i have been thinking about the ways in which certain other performers were "better" than me that day. as i think they were, K and N particularly, very strong. now it's easy to doubt yourself with creativity and partly maybe it is just that, but i want to think about this. i think i find it easy to experience my self, and my music as fragmentation, and the music of others, and indeed other people, as unity. not sure where this is headed and i've written too much today anyway, but just to mention it. i know that with time and experience i get better, more "whole" let's say, and i'm not talking about a psychological thing here, or at least not only that, a good performer projects a solid image on the audience, that's what i felt the other day. i of course don't know what image i projest on audiences, i've never seen myself perform - except on videos, and i'm talking about something tangible and in the room that videos can miss i think... anyway,...
must go, going to see "the black rider" - william burroughs and tom waits opera.. very excited.
also want to mention the hammock that is now up in our garden, and how much joy that is going give me this summer.
x
oh and i lost a game of chess on gameknot which really surprised me, just didn't see it coming, thought i was being clever, very neat checkmate,...
so yesterday i was in waterlow park with A, (who sometimes lives with a very beautiful piano), lovely. Not so lovely was the spanish guy sat near us, alternately playing his flamenco guitar, (cheap sounding, fairly rough playing, and not in a good way), or yelling. the three lines i remember (each one repeated several times) are:
"get a fucking job"
"i just need to stop drinking"
"my wife is a very dangerous person"
he was clearly angry, and also fairly misogynist.
as i was playing the piano for the first time today, i at times pictured myself as that man, although without the misogyny, in fact without any of the content of what he was saying, just anger, yelling, sporadic music. i like my music, but it's quite possible and likely that some others don't like it. when i was growing up i only had to start playing for either my brother or sister to shut doors. the other side of this is maybe that spanish man likes his music...?
now this partly comes from an anger i feel easily at the moment, to do with my work, which is partly directed at myself, it's a complicated business. no need to go into it all here, just worth noting that it's there, sometimes a huge purifying sensation. quite seductive perversely.
sometimes playing / improvising comes from emotions, sometimes from bodily sensations, sometimes the intellect. today this anger was one influence on my playing, and i dug what i played, it had a certain unity to it.
so there i was yelling in my mind as i shaped this piece of music, different phrases coming up and being repeated, (my wife is a very dangerous person my wife is a very dangerous person), reminds me of a bit from that rilke poem "black cat":
"...just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified..."
then once i was home i played again, on T's piano, and again i enjoyed what came out. sometimes i think a truer blog would just be recordings of what comes out when i play the piano. partly because "sadie's gone" is back in my life, a 10 minute improvisation from 3 years ago, i am really interested in this music that flows from me. i think about recording it but i also just love the idea of not recording, of it being heard only once by those near, and never again. somehow an image of water flowing underground.
T comments that it was very sunlit. she said she could hear the sunlight in it. i wasn't thinking about sunlight at all but that doesn't mean she's wrong. the sunlight is so fantastic today how could i not play something infused with it?
and then fragmentation. just a note to do with all this. i played on saturday, and i have been thinking about the ways in which certain other performers were "better" than me that day. as i think they were, K and N particularly, very strong. now it's easy to doubt yourself with creativity and partly maybe it is just that, but i want to think about this. i think i find it easy to experience my self, and my music as fragmentation, and the music of others, and indeed other people, as unity. not sure where this is headed and i've written too much today anyway, but just to mention it. i know that with time and experience i get better, more "whole" let's say, and i'm not talking about a psychological thing here, or at least not only that, a good performer projects a solid image on the audience, that's what i felt the other day. i of course don't know what image i projest on audiences, i've never seen myself perform - except on videos, and i'm talking about something tangible and in the room that videos can miss i think... anyway,...
must go, going to see "the black rider" - william burroughs and tom waits opera.. very excited.
also want to mention the hammock that is now up in our garden, and how much joy that is going give me this summer.
x
Saturday, June 12, 2004
creativity
tempting though it is to use this space to catalogue the various pains and sleepless nights i'm experiencing, (like an old man, "just pop the veggie sausages in the fridge over there, you're awfully kind, you know of course my back's playing up again and this arm..."). today i want to briefly mention what is going to happen in this house in about 3 hours.
i first came to this house many years ago because an ex-student of mine was having a creative evening to celebrate her birthday. i knew of the house before because a couple of people from my teaching course lived here, and maybe i'd been round before...? anyway, this ex-student has a piano, and i was invited to maybe sing a few tunes. it was the occasion on which i rediscovered an old, old tune of mine i'd written for a girl i used to see on my school bus. on the night of the do i was sat at home dimly remembering the tune, i played a chord on my rhodes piano and slowly at first, the whole tune came tumbling out, chords and melody, complete. so i sang it that night. it was a lovely event, a giving environment to perform in. lovely strong memories of certain other people singing songs...
so this same woman, who is one of seven of us living in this house now, is having a creative event today, not dissimilar in intention, although more daring on her part i'm guessing today. theatre, poetry, music, works in progress... quite a line-up, she has tried to keep the audience quite small, to make it easier for some performers to take risks a little.
i'm doing 3 tunes, one of mine and 2 twisted covers like i like to do, with a guitarist (another resident) - i'm not sure i can keep up this "not mentioning names" routine, seems long winded and unnecessary.. - and in a way this is a prelude for me to a night i'm putting on in my landlord's front room on july 3rd, checking out how certain things might work,...
it's funny how these things are in my life when i most need them. my creativity and musicianship being expressed in a supportive environment just as my work life is shaken. the dual life of being a musician and a teacher, my college often used to push the idea that they are very similar, or that the skills in one are exactly the same as some of the skills in the other.
a few summers ago sat facing a guitarist whose band i was leaving, and who didn't want me to go, telling me my trouble was that i was too much of a teacher and not enough of a musician. not that he was right, but just interesting for me to trace where i put myself on that dynamic from year to year x
i first came to this house many years ago because an ex-student of mine was having a creative evening to celebrate her birthday. i knew of the house before because a couple of people from my teaching course lived here, and maybe i'd been round before...? anyway, this ex-student has a piano, and i was invited to maybe sing a few tunes. it was the occasion on which i rediscovered an old, old tune of mine i'd written for a girl i used to see on my school bus. on the night of the do i was sat at home dimly remembering the tune, i played a chord on my rhodes piano and slowly at first, the whole tune came tumbling out, chords and melody, complete. so i sang it that night. it was a lovely event, a giving environment to perform in. lovely strong memories of certain other people singing songs...
so this same woman, who is one of seven of us living in this house now, is having a creative event today, not dissimilar in intention, although more daring on her part i'm guessing today. theatre, poetry, music, works in progress... quite a line-up, she has tried to keep the audience quite small, to make it easier for some performers to take risks a little.
i'm doing 3 tunes, one of mine and 2 twisted covers like i like to do, with a guitarist (another resident) - i'm not sure i can keep up this "not mentioning names" routine, seems long winded and unnecessary.. - and in a way this is a prelude for me to a night i'm putting on in my landlord's front room on july 3rd, checking out how certain things might work,...
it's funny how these things are in my life when i most need them. my creativity and musicianship being expressed in a supportive environment just as my work life is shaken. the dual life of being a musician and a teacher, my college often used to push the idea that they are very similar, or that the skills in one are exactly the same as some of the skills in the other.
a few summers ago sat facing a guitarist whose band i was leaving, and who didn't want me to go, telling me my trouble was that i was too much of a teacher and not enough of a musician. not that he was right, but just interesting for me to trace where i put myself on that dynamic from year to year x
Thursday, June 10, 2004
fears, spider, respect
left work after a long awaited meeting with boss, in which i had some fears confirmed and some dispelled, found myself slowing right down to take it in, once more in the arms of arnica,
strolled along the river and went into the tate modern, which i haven't been in since they took down that amazing "weather project" months ago,
and found they've put up the spider, which is probably the first installation they had in there and which i missed, and have always regretted, along with a whole series of sculptures / busts, a few that caught my eye, rodin's balzac (rilke was once rodin's secretary), giacometti's diego (jean genet had a friendship with giacometti who did a portrait of genet, tiny head, huge body, a little like this diego, incredibly thin head), somebody's claudel, who has been on the edge of my awareness for years now, i somehow suspect that nella bielski's estranged lover in "oranges for the son of alexander levy" is paul claudel, although it's possible claudel's name isn't paul anyway,...
then i stopped into my local primary school to vote, Respect all the way, very coherent argument for voting this year, proportional representation in the London Authority, the inevitable tiny fuckwit vote for the British Nationalist Party, let's make their proportion as small as possible by all voting, i just hope it has worked, if the BNP get 5% they have a seat and racist violence is almost guaranteed to increase, beautiful world that we live in.
x
strolled along the river and went into the tate modern, which i haven't been in since they took down that amazing "weather project" months ago,
and found they've put up the spider, which is probably the first installation they had in there and which i missed, and have always regretted, along with a whole series of sculptures / busts, a few that caught my eye, rodin's balzac (rilke was once rodin's secretary), giacometti's diego (jean genet had a friendship with giacometti who did a portrait of genet, tiny head, huge body, a little like this diego, incredibly thin head), somebody's claudel, who has been on the edge of my awareness for years now, i somehow suspect that nella bielski's estranged lover in "oranges for the son of alexander levy" is paul claudel, although it's possible claudel's name isn't paul anyway,...
then i stopped into my local primary school to vote, Respect all the way, very coherent argument for voting this year, proportional representation in the London Authority, the inevitable tiny fuckwit vote for the British Nationalist Party, let's make their proportion as small as possible by all voting, i just hope it has worked, if the BNP get 5% they have a seat and racist violence is almost guaranteed to increase, beautiful world that we live in.
x
thankyou poetry on the underground
the first from my outward journey tonight, the second from my journey home, long live poetry on the underground:
Web - by Don Paterson (from lending light)
the deftest leave no trace: type, send, delete,
clear history. the world will never know.
though a man might wonder, as he crossed the street
what it was that broke across his brow
or vanished on his tongue and left it sweet
I saw a man pursuing the horizon - by Stephen Crane
I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
round and round they sped.
i was disturbed at this;
i accosted the man.
"it is futile," i said,
"you can never - "
"you lie" he cried,
and ran on.
now i'd seen this second one before tonight, perhaps on the same train, it was in the same carriage, in the same position amongst the adverts, and i'd spoken about it with the young woman sat beneath it that night. Stephen Crane's dates were written on the poem, (as all the poets are, Don Paterson was born in 1963), they are 1871 - 1900, making him 29 or 30 when he died over a hundred years ago. We remarked on this, me being 30 and she being 20.
i've seen one more poem on the underground in this current series, a philip larkin poem that is lovely, about the breathe that mown grass exhales - and high builded clouds moving at summers pace, fantastic,
x
Web - by Don Paterson (from lending light)
the deftest leave no trace: type, send, delete,
clear history. the world will never know.
though a man might wonder, as he crossed the street
what it was that broke across his brow
or vanished on his tongue and left it sweet
I saw a man pursuing the horizon - by Stephen Crane
I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
round and round they sped.
i was disturbed at this;
i accosted the man.
"it is futile," i said,
"you can never - "
"you lie" he cried,
and ran on.
now i'd seen this second one before tonight, perhaps on the same train, it was in the same carriage, in the same position amongst the adverts, and i'd spoken about it with the young woman sat beneath it that night. Stephen Crane's dates were written on the poem, (as all the poets are, Don Paterson was born in 1963), they are 1871 - 1900, making him 29 or 30 when he died over a hundred years ago. We remarked on this, me being 30 and she being 20.
i've seen one more poem on the underground in this current series, a philip larkin poem that is lovely, about the breathe that mown grass exhales - and high builded clouds moving at summers pace, fantastic,
x
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
pain as music (when almost asleep)
2 events, one last night, the other awhile ago,
i have a headache which has been on and off since yesterday afternoon, one of thoses "behind my left eye" headaches that i associate with the need to sleep.
i'm pretty sure that with alot of sleep it will go away. i haven't yet slept enough.
so last night the headache actually prevented me from sleeping, and it's been ages since i did any class A's & i don't have any ibuprofen next to my bed. (the obscure joy of waking up with a headache, self inflicted, and seeing a can of coke, a bagel, and a packet of ibuprofen, how organised i used to be).
so i was inbetween sleeping and waking for much of the night, and for much of that time i experienced this pain as being a musical note, a constant, musical note.
since i gave back a certain analogue keyboard to it's rightful owner on sunday, i've been listening to Sadie's Gone (the music i wrote with that keyboard and a piano once - see "journeys" - previous post) quite a bit.
That music was floating through my brain last night, with the beginning of every phrase somehow discordant with the music of my pain, very specific musical thoughts, as though i was playing the melodies, each melody out of tune with the pain, trying different melodies all night, trying to find a harmony that wouldn't come,.. in fact that is what kept me from sleeping, not the pain but the discord.
which reminds me today of a night perhaps three months ago, when i was lying in bed almost asleep, being kept from sleep by a constant pain in my leg.
i had hurt myself, either that same night or the night before, in my sleep, i'd banged my leg against the side of my bed, (whilst standing), - more on this phenomena later -
and in my almost sleep i could hear this pain in my leg as a seventh note, with the root note (of my chord) in my head, the third around my belly the fifth probably around my groin.
in music, particularly on the piano, (and it was a piano voicing of a chord, as distinct from a guitar voicing), the root (or 1st), 3rd (can be major or minor) & 5th, make up every basic chord there is. adding a seventh note gives a further level of harmony.
the pain in my leg gave a single note which was part of a chord. the pain in my head gave a single note that contributed to a discord.
i guess further experiments now would involve causing myself pain on various different parts of my anatomy and then trying to sleep...
i have a headache which has been on and off since yesterday afternoon, one of thoses "behind my left eye" headaches that i associate with the need to sleep.
i'm pretty sure that with alot of sleep it will go away. i haven't yet slept enough.
so last night the headache actually prevented me from sleeping, and it's been ages since i did any class A's & i don't have any ibuprofen next to my bed. (the obscure joy of waking up with a headache, self inflicted, and seeing a can of coke, a bagel, and a packet of ibuprofen, how organised i used to be).
so i was inbetween sleeping and waking for much of the night, and for much of that time i experienced this pain as being a musical note, a constant, musical note.
since i gave back a certain analogue keyboard to it's rightful owner on sunday, i've been listening to Sadie's Gone (the music i wrote with that keyboard and a piano once - see "journeys" - previous post) quite a bit.
That music was floating through my brain last night, with the beginning of every phrase somehow discordant with the music of my pain, very specific musical thoughts, as though i was playing the melodies, each melody out of tune with the pain, trying different melodies all night, trying to find a harmony that wouldn't come,.. in fact that is what kept me from sleeping, not the pain but the discord.
which reminds me today of a night perhaps three months ago, when i was lying in bed almost asleep, being kept from sleep by a constant pain in my leg.
i had hurt myself, either that same night or the night before, in my sleep, i'd banged my leg against the side of my bed, (whilst standing), - more on this phenomena later -
and in my almost sleep i could hear this pain in my leg as a seventh note, with the root note (of my chord) in my head, the third around my belly the fifth probably around my groin.
in music, particularly on the piano, (and it was a piano voicing of a chord, as distinct from a guitar voicing), the root (or 1st), 3rd (can be major or minor) & 5th, make up every basic chord there is. adding a seventh note gives a further level of harmony.
the pain in my leg gave a single note which was part of a chord. the pain in my head gave a single note that contributed to a discord.
i guess further experiments now would involve causing myself pain on various different parts of my anatomy and then trying to sleep...
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
hidden parks on hot days
came south to teach and to observe teaching in camberwell, a regular weekly thing and a route i'm familiar with. blistering hot day. dry mouth, no money, would be buying drink after drink today. i have a little more time than usual so i wander a little off the beaten track.
from oval tube i normally cross over a big road and go straight into a church yard, huge church, nice trees, those garish purple and yellow signs drawing you into the faith, always reminds me of 80's supermarkets, but today there is a "police inner cordon - do not cross" accross the church gates, curious, i go around by the road,
the rest of the journey is just along camberwell new road awhile, past some huge estate blocks (huge by our standards, not america), crossing another huge road, where tower blocks converge, always a site i want to take in as i'm crossing that road, i have an image of myself dreamily gazing at these buildings as i'm mown down by some impatient south london motorist...
so today i come off the road early and find a section of kennington park nestled amongst 3 or 4 different estates, a few people out amongst the trees or sunning themselves in the open, a childrens playground close in on one estate that protects the park from the road, lovely,
aerial photo of the park, estate and the school i was going to, on the right
routes i take to get to work, hardened almost by constant use, then if i come just outside of that way there are often treats in store,
short on sleep, dry mouthed, blisters on my feet, still digging new areas for my imagination and my mental geography,
x
from oval tube i normally cross over a big road and go straight into a church yard, huge church, nice trees, those garish purple and yellow signs drawing you into the faith, always reminds me of 80's supermarkets, but today there is a "police inner cordon - do not cross" accross the church gates, curious, i go around by the road,
the rest of the journey is just along camberwell new road awhile, past some huge estate blocks (huge by our standards, not america), crossing another huge road, where tower blocks converge, always a site i want to take in as i'm crossing that road, i have an image of myself dreamily gazing at these buildings as i'm mown down by some impatient south london motorist...
so today i come off the road early and find a section of kennington park nestled amongst 3 or 4 different estates, a few people out amongst the trees or sunning themselves in the open, a childrens playground close in on one estate that protects the park from the road, lovely,
aerial photo of the park, estate and the school i was going to, on the right
routes i take to get to work, hardened almost by constant use, then if i come just outside of that way there are often treats in store,
short on sleep, dry mouthed, blisters on my feet, still digging new areas for my imagination and my mental geography,
x
Monday, June 07, 2004
on the relationship between the senses and the outside world whilst on an underground train
so i was on an underground train today, not a tube train, not "the underground", but an overland train that had gone underground, in fact it began it's journey underground, @ moorgate. it was a beautiful day here in london (as, in fact, it still is), it was rush hour or thereabouts and the train had been delayed, so there was a certain amount of inter-passenger banter, minimal, but there. "is this platform 9 or 10?", "does this train go to highbury & islington?"...
as the train pulled in, still underground, to it's 1st stop, old street, i could smell that "it is about to rain" metallic smell. i had to ask my fellow passenger beside me about it: "do you think it's raining outside?". another passenger interrupted her reading of "ms london" to confirm that she could also smell it. like i say it had been a beautiful day today and rain would seem unlikely, but possible, we spoke of the possibilty of rain, how nice that would be against this heat. being underground you are completely cut off from what otherwise would be such a huge and obvious thing, the rain, or lack of rain.
we pulled into the next stop, essex road, and my fellow passenger, the man beside me who hadn't smelt it, commented on this notion of mine, maybe i was right? although the passengers getting on didn't seem to be wet so it seemed unlikely. Sadly he had been the one asking about highbury & islington, which is the stop before the train comes out overground, so i wasn't able to share the rain / not rain discovery moment with him, although we said goodbye warmly. as we came out at last into bright sunshine and not a hint of rain the woman opposite was once more engaged with her reading, now she'd switched to "metro", and i had that moment of "ok, no rain" alone.
but how odd to have smelt the rain so clearly, as did she, that in the absence of outside experience, deep underground @ old street station, the rain was a real possibility...
this reminds me of another experience i had on this very train line, this time traveling into town, from finsbury park to moorgate. i had bought a croissant and an "innocent" smoothie from sam, who sells such things from a counter just inside the station, as was my wont when i had a bit of money on me, (unlike these days... nother story). Nice guy, i only learnt his name recently, born in iran to swedish parents. An expensive habit but it wasn't just the breakfast, it was the smile and the tiny bit of conversation, sometimes too much in fact, i missed my train once talking to sam.
i was on the train, i'd eaten the croissant, i was having my first taste of the smoothie, some kind of strawberry flavour, i always have the same one. now sometimes i have a cup of tea before i leave the house, but sometimes this smoothie is the first drink of the day, and let's assume this was one such day, making the impact of that smoothie all the more. The taste of that smoothie... it was a beautiful day like today, although earlier in the year, spring, so not as hot, but clear... i shut my eyes to drink my smoothie, and was so enjoying it i had an urge to open my eyes and take in this beautiful sunlight, to balance out the sensations. as i opened my eyes the train went underground. suddenly just sterile electric light and darkness. i was horrified. the taste thing in my mouth was exploding just as before so i shut my eyes again. and i had a fantasy that this taste explosion, denied contact with the sunlight, went underground within me, and somehow fought a battle that led to an explosion which instead of rocking me, completely obliterated me...
such a complete shift, overground to underground, or viceversa. as an aside, taking the train instead of just the tube cuts about ten minutes off my journey to work in the morning...
as the train pulled in, still underground, to it's 1st stop, old street, i could smell that "it is about to rain" metallic smell. i had to ask my fellow passenger beside me about it: "do you think it's raining outside?". another passenger interrupted her reading of "ms london" to confirm that she could also smell it. like i say it had been a beautiful day today and rain would seem unlikely, but possible, we spoke of the possibilty of rain, how nice that would be against this heat. being underground you are completely cut off from what otherwise would be such a huge and obvious thing, the rain, or lack of rain.
we pulled into the next stop, essex road, and my fellow passenger, the man beside me who hadn't smelt it, commented on this notion of mine, maybe i was right? although the passengers getting on didn't seem to be wet so it seemed unlikely. Sadly he had been the one asking about highbury & islington, which is the stop before the train comes out overground, so i wasn't able to share the rain / not rain discovery moment with him, although we said goodbye warmly. as we came out at last into bright sunshine and not a hint of rain the woman opposite was once more engaged with her reading, now she'd switched to "metro", and i had that moment of "ok, no rain" alone.
but how odd to have smelt the rain so clearly, as did she, that in the absence of outside experience, deep underground @ old street station, the rain was a real possibility...
this reminds me of another experience i had on this very train line, this time traveling into town, from finsbury park to moorgate. i had bought a croissant and an "innocent" smoothie from sam, who sells such things from a counter just inside the station, as was my wont when i had a bit of money on me, (unlike these days... nother story). Nice guy, i only learnt his name recently, born in iran to swedish parents. An expensive habit but it wasn't just the breakfast, it was the smile and the tiny bit of conversation, sometimes too much in fact, i missed my train once talking to sam.
i was on the train, i'd eaten the croissant, i was having my first taste of the smoothie, some kind of strawberry flavour, i always have the same one. now sometimes i have a cup of tea before i leave the house, but sometimes this smoothie is the first drink of the day, and let's assume this was one such day, making the impact of that smoothie all the more. The taste of that smoothie... it was a beautiful day like today, although earlier in the year, spring, so not as hot, but clear... i shut my eyes to drink my smoothie, and was so enjoying it i had an urge to open my eyes and take in this beautiful sunlight, to balance out the sensations. as i opened my eyes the train went underground. suddenly just sterile electric light and darkness. i was horrified. the taste thing in my mouth was exploding just as before so i shut my eyes again. and i had a fantasy that this taste explosion, denied contact with the sunlight, went underground within me, and somehow fought a battle that led to an explosion which instead of rocking me, completely obliterated me...
such a complete shift, overground to underground, or viceversa. as an aside, taking the train instead of just the tube cuts about ten minutes off my journey to work in the morning...
Journeys
2 journeys to speak of tonight, firstly the journey to the jam session, and then the journey that the jam session went on.
But first a mourn, when my grandma passed away a few years ago i wrote / improvised a piece of music for her, called "Sadie's Gone", it's about ten minutes long and i intend to put it up here as an mp3. I played two keyboards during that improvisation, one pretending to be a piano, and the other in "random note mode", a keyboard called a ROLAND SH1000, altering the filters and such like, a beautiful analogue beast that i gave back to it's owner this very evening. So as i listened to this piece of music before i headed out there tonight i was mourning the imminent loss of this keyboard, listening to a tune that had been part of my mourning my last remaining grandparent. Also odd that this parting should come now, just as i'm forming my computer studio again,...
So in addition to my normal gig keyboard, which i carry on my back, along with my keyboard stand, i was carrying this precious, small but heavy SH1000 as i made my way to the jam session tonight, on public transport. Now i always suffer a bit carrying my keyboard, although it gets easier with each gig, obscure muscles have developed in my back and shoulders that i'm sure only get used when i'm going to gigs with my stuff, but i really suffered tonight with this extra weight. Also, if i'm ever scruffy, and trust me i am almost always scruffy, i have no notion of just how mad i must have looked tonight, struggling under this weight, i get so many odd looks as i travel in this way.
Well it got easier as the journey progressed, from my house to finsbury park was sheer hell, changing lines at holborn was hard but much easier, then the journey from liverpool street to the studio was hell again, but light years better than the first leg. As with all tube journeys i read whilst on the train. An obscure pleasure, putting down all this heavy stuff, reaching into my keyboard case and getting out my book (still "the chateau" by william maxwell). i really felt some kind of transformation in myself as i traveled, i found myself growing into the task. I'm not sure what else i want to say about this journey, just that it happened, and it was a mad thing, and it's always a mad thing, lugging my keyboard on public transport.... a) what was my point? b) why do i think anyone will be interested in this?... who knows?
so very quickly just to say about the journey of the jam, i'm sure i'll want to go over this again but just to get it down now. Ten musicians, bass, guitar with laptop, cello, rhodes (me), theramin with clarinet, voice with sax, percussion, drum machine, mixing desk with sampler. synthesiser. i can only describe my experience of it and the other 9 will each have their own story. we got into it before we started recording, groovy bass player bouncing along with my chords and the drum machine, seemed like a nice vibe already, we all played a little to check out the mix,.. cool. Ramjac (drum machine) says a few words before we start about space and then we're in, voice and rhodes, recording. i suddenly had that red light syndrome, no matter how many gigs i've done, recording is a different deal, self consciousness, particularly when improvising. felt visible, uncomfortable, wrong. It took a while for the other musicians to come in and i felt a little stranded,... somewhat painful beginning (although this was subjective, listening back it sounded great).
1st tune lasted half an hour. 2nd tune about the same, was more relaxed now, able to feel the music flowing beneath my fingers abit. some interaction between players becoming clearer, somehow easier. Late on in the second piece i come out completely, walk away from my keyboard, just as i come back it finishes. After the second tune we break. i chat with the musicians, particularly the ones i hadn't already met, some lovely people.
Then after the break, we start really cooking. things really seem to be really working now, there is a certain love in the room, (speaking of love my cat balthazara has just come into this room)the third and fourth tracks for me work the best (although again subjective, the mixing desk sampler guy, who has editorial control with ramjac, didn't think they would get much from the stuff after the break...). The whole thing, the different moods, the different emotions, reminded me of a good party, with many different chapters to it, also to be honest it reminded me of magic mushrooms, the alive, changing aspects to it, the plateaus, safeties, risks, oasis,.... again, as the journey progressed we underwent a transformation, those ten people, and regardless of what the archivers get from it, that experience will live inside of all of us and in some way has changed all of us, for ever.
"we are not permitted to linger, even with what is most
intimate. From images that are full, the spirit
plunges on to others that suddenly must be filled;
there are no lakes till eternity. Here,
falling is best. To fall from the mastered emotion
into the guessed-at, and onward."
(from "To Holderlin", by Rainer Maria Rilke, in a translation by stephen mitchell)
But first a mourn, when my grandma passed away a few years ago i wrote / improvised a piece of music for her, called "Sadie's Gone", it's about ten minutes long and i intend to put it up here as an mp3. I played two keyboards during that improvisation, one pretending to be a piano, and the other in "random note mode", a keyboard called a ROLAND SH1000, altering the filters and such like, a beautiful analogue beast that i gave back to it's owner this very evening. So as i listened to this piece of music before i headed out there tonight i was mourning the imminent loss of this keyboard, listening to a tune that had been part of my mourning my last remaining grandparent. Also odd that this parting should come now, just as i'm forming my computer studio again,...
So in addition to my normal gig keyboard, which i carry on my back, along with my keyboard stand, i was carrying this precious, small but heavy SH1000 as i made my way to the jam session tonight, on public transport. Now i always suffer a bit carrying my keyboard, although it gets easier with each gig, obscure muscles have developed in my back and shoulders that i'm sure only get used when i'm going to gigs with my stuff, but i really suffered tonight with this extra weight. Also, if i'm ever scruffy, and trust me i am almost always scruffy, i have no notion of just how mad i must have looked tonight, struggling under this weight, i get so many odd looks as i travel in this way.
Well it got easier as the journey progressed, from my house to finsbury park was sheer hell, changing lines at holborn was hard but much easier, then the journey from liverpool street to the studio was hell again, but light years better than the first leg. As with all tube journeys i read whilst on the train. An obscure pleasure, putting down all this heavy stuff, reaching into my keyboard case and getting out my book (still "the chateau" by william maxwell). i really felt some kind of transformation in myself as i traveled, i found myself growing into the task. I'm not sure what else i want to say about this journey, just that it happened, and it was a mad thing, and it's always a mad thing, lugging my keyboard on public transport.... a) what was my point? b) why do i think anyone will be interested in this?... who knows?
so very quickly just to say about the journey of the jam, i'm sure i'll want to go over this again but just to get it down now. Ten musicians, bass, guitar with laptop, cello, rhodes (me), theramin with clarinet, voice with sax, percussion, drum machine, mixing desk with sampler. synthesiser. i can only describe my experience of it and the other 9 will each have their own story. we got into it before we started recording, groovy bass player bouncing along with my chords and the drum machine, seemed like a nice vibe already, we all played a little to check out the mix,.. cool. Ramjac (drum machine) says a few words before we start about space and then we're in, voice and rhodes, recording. i suddenly had that red light syndrome, no matter how many gigs i've done, recording is a different deal, self consciousness, particularly when improvising. felt visible, uncomfortable, wrong. It took a while for the other musicians to come in and i felt a little stranded,... somewhat painful beginning (although this was subjective, listening back it sounded great).
1st tune lasted half an hour. 2nd tune about the same, was more relaxed now, able to feel the music flowing beneath my fingers abit. some interaction between players becoming clearer, somehow easier. Late on in the second piece i come out completely, walk away from my keyboard, just as i come back it finishes. After the second tune we break. i chat with the musicians, particularly the ones i hadn't already met, some lovely people.
Then after the break, we start really cooking. things really seem to be really working now, there is a certain love in the room, (speaking of love my cat balthazara has just come into this room)the third and fourth tracks for me work the best (although again subjective, the mixing desk sampler guy, who has editorial control with ramjac, didn't think they would get much from the stuff after the break...). The whole thing, the different moods, the different emotions, reminded me of a good party, with many different chapters to it, also to be honest it reminded me of magic mushrooms, the alive, changing aspects to it, the plateaus, safeties, risks, oasis,.... again, as the journey progressed we underwent a transformation, those ten people, and regardless of what the archivers get from it, that experience will live inside of all of us and in some way has changed all of us, for ever.
"we are not permitted to linger, even with what is most
intimate. From images that are full, the spirit
plunges on to others that suddenly must be filled;
there are no lakes till eternity. Here,
falling is best. To fall from the mastered emotion
into the guessed-at, and onward."
(from "To Holderlin", by Rainer Maria Rilke, in a translation by stephen mitchell)
Saturday, June 05, 2004
paths
and as i walked up to the train for the return journey i saw that there was a path running off the platform, over a couple of train tracks to a smallish gate that gives out directly onto the heath. with a forbidding "do not pass this point ... liable for prosecution" sign at the platform edge. Now i don't need that path to get to the heath, the way i go now is a little out of the way but it gets me there, and i guess i'm not likely to risk following that path just for a shortcut, but i LOVE finding paths like that, even if i never walk it, just knowing that it's there...
aerial photo of the station on which you can just see the crossing over the tracks to the heath
aerial photo of the station on which you can just see the crossing over the tracks to the heath
hampstead heath finding paths
greyish day in london town by the time i got out there, had been speaking to a friend who was walking through fields and i wanted to breathe some vegetation through my nostrils not just pollution,
so i took the train a couple of stops to gospel oak and i wandered around hampstead heath for an hour or so.
found some fairly awe inspiring fallen trees, (fallen, felled..?), sat on a bench and read awhile, (the chateau - william maxwell), wrote a little of what was in my head, strolled some more... when i got out of the copse of trees i'd been in amongst, the sun had got through the clouds and it was just like the very end of a summers day, which of course is what it was,
aerial photo of part of the heath that i was wandering in
so i took the train a couple of stops to gospel oak and i wandered around hampstead heath for an hour or so.
found some fairly awe inspiring fallen trees, (fallen, felled..?), sat on a bench and read awhile, (the chateau - william maxwell), wrote a little of what was in my head, strolled some more... when i got out of the copse of trees i'd been in amongst, the sun had got through the clouds and it was just like the very end of a summers day, which of course is what it was,
aerial photo of part of the heath that i was wandering in
text decant
-- texted by me to me to remind me... --
Factorisation - add & times
completing the square
quadratic equation
easter 2004
Separation -
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Eberything I do is stitched with it's colour.
W.S Merwin (b.1927)
12/02/04 10:25
Drinking my first hit of smoothie as the train goes into a tunnel,
(h&i) taste awareness seeks matching sunlight, meets dark, turns
inwards, explodes winning x
02/04/04 11.37
Steph D photographer
30/05/04 20:33
Factorisation - add & times
completing the square
quadratic equation
easter 2004
Separation -
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Eberything I do is stitched with it's colour.
W.S Merwin (b.1927)
12/02/04 10:25
Drinking my first hit of smoothie as the train goes into a tunnel,
(h&i) taste awareness seeks matching sunlight, meets dark, turns
inwards, explodes winning x
02/04/04 11.37
Steph D photographer
30/05/04 20:33
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