To Live Without My Music…

…would, as the song says, be impossible to do.

Besides writing and reading, the one thing I love to do most in the world is listen to music – and create some of my own, at times, when I feel like dusting off my old guitar and tuning up the vocal cords – and, some time ago, I sat down to make a list of songs I love, and why I love them.

I never got around to sharing it on the blog, for one reason or another (*ahem baby*) but I thought this might be an opportune time to give you all some listening pleasure, as well as an insight into my life – for what better way is there to crowbar open someone’s mind than to have a look at the music which has shaped them? (Well. You could look at the books which have shaped them, but you’re sick of reading about my favourite books, so…)

The Song I Listen to When I Miss Home

Helpless – Crosby, Stills, Nash, Young. This version is a live one, performed by Neil Young and the Band, the night of the Last Waltz. I can’t explain why – as I’m not from Ontario, nor anywhere near it – but this song screams ‘home’ to me. It has, like all of my beloved music, a lot to do with my dad.

The Song Which Means the Most to Me

I hesitate to say ‘favourite song’, because I love so many that I can never truly have a favourite. This one is up there with many others, including Procol Harum’s Whiter Shade of Pale, and it will always occupy a central spot in my heart. It’s Who Knows Where the Time Goes? by the irreplaceable, unmistakable Sandy Denny.

The Song Which Sings Freedom

Years ago I worked in a job I didn’t like much. Every day at 1 pm, I would be released for lunch and I had Nick Drake’s album Five Leaves Left in my CD walkman (oh, how cool I was!) This track, Time Has Told Me, was the first one, and I can’t hear its opening notes, even now, without thinking of freedom and a weight lifting off my shoulders.

The Song I Have Listened to Most Often

In my final year in university, one album got me through a very tough time. I lost a lot of friends, I faced tough exams, and I struggled with a lot of personal issues, and I had Jeff Buckley’s Grace on almost permanent repeat. So, any of the songs on that album would do as my ‘most listened’… but the title track, Grace, is the one I like the most. So, here you go.

The Song Which Makes me Yearn to  Sing

I learned to ‘sing’, if you can call it that, by listening to music as a kid. Nicolette Larson, Linda Ronstadt, Crystal Gayle and most of all, the monumental Joni Mitchell shaped my dreams of what being a singer meant. My voice comes nowhere close, but a gal can dream.

The Song Which Reminds me of my baby

I’m never not thinking about my baby, of course. But, even years from now, this song will bring me back to our earliest days and months together, and it’s one I still sing every bedtime. Thank you, Mama Cass, for your voice. You’ve given my baby and me some very beautiful memories.

The Song Which Raises My Neck Hairs

I don’t know if it’s the intro, or the opening vocal, or just… everything, but this song makes something in me thrill. I never tire of listening to it, and I will never stop missing David Bowie. Here’s his Sound and Vision.

And, there you have it. There are ten thousand other songs I could have picked, for ten thousand other reasons, but this selection will do for now. Happy listening…

 

Many Ways

Yestereve, as my husband and I sat reading Proust and Kafka side by side on our antique leather sofa, one of us happened to switch on the demonic gogglebox in the corner of the room, purely by accident of course. The programme which appeared on it was entitled something like ‘X-Idol All-Singing All-Dancing Contest Factor’ and it featured several people who were very (very!) young performing popular musical hits in front of a panel of judges.

I’m sure you know the type of show to which I am referring. Don’t pretend you don’t, because – frankly – nobody believes you.

My better half and I looked a little like these two fine gentlemen as we watched…
Image: muppets.wikia.com

I wasn’t paying full attention to the screen, because I was lost in a book (in fact, this is true, but I don’t expect you to believe it); however, after a while I put down what I was reading and started to focus on the TV. It wasn’t because I was so intrigued by the cutting-edge, brand-new, thrilling format of the show (zzzz….), but because I couldn’t believe the way these young, talented people were talking about themselves.

‘This is my last chance,’ some of them sobbed. ‘I’ll never be able to do this if I don’t get through today.’ ‘My whole life depends on this.’ ‘I don’t know how I’ll go home and face my family if I don’t succeed here today.’ ‘I want my family to be proud of me.’

Image: onesinglevoice.com

I felt so sorry and sad to hear them talk like this, and I couldn’t understand why they were putting such pressure on themselves. I was horrified most of all by the fact that they were all so young.

I remember being sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. I remember how I was desperate for life to start, and how I felt like every second spent not doing what I wanted was a second wasted. I remember having dreams and ambitions and drive, and I remember more than anything wanting to make something of my life, to get away from everything I’d known up to that point and move to another place, begin a new existence, and meet new people. I can completely understand the urge, at that age, to get started, to stop wasting time, to break into the thick of life and immerse yourself in it. It’s an exciting time, for sure. But what you lack at that age is any way of knowing how much time you have, just waiting for you to turn it into something amazing.

I just wish someone would take those young people to one side and remind them that there are a million different ways to reach your goal, and not winning a TV show is not the death of your dream. I also wish they’d try to explain to them that, when you’re sixteen, you can literally do anything you want. Your life is barely begun, you have so much time, and you can shape your future whatever way you choose. I also wish that the young people concerned would listen, and understand – I know, when I was that age, the advice of anyone out of their teens was considered less than worthless. That doesn’t mean it’s not worth hearing, though.

All the contestants on this particular show wanted to be professional recording artists, and all of them were hoping that their individual skills would be good enough to see them advance through the competition to the ultimate prize of a record deal. I’m sure some of them also wanted to take advantage of the expert mentoring offered to them by the established artists who take part in the show, year after year, and – perhaps – some of them just wanted to be on TV. These contestants are not people who have been working for twenty or thirty years in the business, who have struggled to fill venues, who have played in bars to audiences of four or five, who have had to put up with catcalls and abuse, who have lost bookings, put every penny they have into their career, and live their lives on the road. They are not people who have been worn down by the industry, who have had every last drop of their youthful idealism ground into the dirt by the relentless effort of trying to make it, and who have given their music career every ounce of their devotion and effort. Those are the kind of people who might be able to say ‘This is my last chance’ or ‘If I don’t make it on this show, I know the dream is over,’ and from whose lips it might sound legitimate.

For a person of sixteen whose only prior experience is singing in their bedroom into their hairbrush, the concept of ‘last chance’ shouldn’t even come into play.

But then, these young contestants can hardly be blamed for thinking the way they do – all their lives, these shows have been the biggest thing on TV. It’s not surprising that they think entering one and winning it is the ‘only’ path to success. But if someone has every shred of their self-worth and self-belief wrapped up in winning a TV show – which, I’m sure they don’t realise, is primarily a vehicle to make money for its producers, not to make them into stars – and if they’re knocked out of the running, it’s clearly going to have a terrible effect on their mind and their mental health. I find that thought chilling, and very sad.

I know some contestants enter these shows year after year after year, and each time they ‘fail’ their confidence takes another knock. Eventually, they won’t have any self-belief left, because they’re trying to succeed in an environment which is not geared towards helping them to achieve what they want. Not winning a competition like this is not ‘failure.’ Instead of pouring their hearts into entering the same competition again and again, I wish some of these young people would just make music, if that’s what they want to do. Record yourself performing and upload it to YouTube. Set up an artist’s Facebook page, Twitter account, Tumblr blog, whatever it takes – and build an audience. Get gigs. Get paying gigs. Buy more equipment. Put a band together. Go on the road. Find a friend who’s good at computing, and ask them to make you a website. Find a friend who’s arty, and get them to design your merch. All of this can be done – and it’s amazing how much people want to help when they see you chasing your dream, and working for it. When I was a teenager, all of this could be achieved, too – but it was much, much harder. Nowadays, the internet makes all things possible.

Not winning a TV show which is designed to make money for everyone but the artists who pour their hearts into it is not, decidedly not, the only way to make it in the music business. Every single contestant on those shows has it within themselves to make a success of their career, if they’re willing to put in the effort and use a little imagination. It’s never ‘too late’. It’s never their ‘last chance.’ Their families are already proud of them.

All that pressure, all that stress, and all that incredible emotional pain they’re inflicting upon themselves is damaging, horrible to watch and utterly unnecessary. We’re in the middle of Mental Health Week, and so there’s no better time to remind people that there are lots of ways to get there, and they have plenty of time to make the journey.

Also, I’m never watching another TV talent show. I’ll happily stick to Proust and Kafka from now on, thank you very much.

Image: 123rf.com

Rock and Roll Weekend

You know what’s worse than a rainy Monday morning? A rainy Monday morning that comes after a weekend of great joy.

Put glasses on this dog, and you’re looking at me.
Image: hdwallpapersfan.com

This past Saturday, my lovely brother decided to treat our family to a spectacular night out. First, he craftily arranged for us all to be in Dublin, on the pretence that we were going to have dinner in honour of Father’s Day; once we were all assembled, he then sprang a surprise. We weren’t actually going to have dinner, as great as that would’ve been just by itself. No; instead, we were going to a concert. He’d bought the tickets weeks in advance, and had been keeping the whole thing top-secret.

But this was not just any old concert. We were going to see Neil Young and Crazy Horse.

This pretty much covers my reaction to the news!
Image: sheknows.com

So, as I’ve said somewhere on the blog before, my dad is largely responsible for my musical taste, and my brother’s. We listened to a lot of classic rock growing up and Neil Young was (and is) the primary musical pillar of my life. So, as you can imagine, to see him live was incredible. Back in 2001 my dad and I saw him in concert, just the two of us, so it was fantastic to catch another live show, along with my mother and brother this time. It was the best Father’s Day gift anyone could have imagined. Kudos to my brother!

The show was amazing, even though we were frozen solid (not an uncommon thing during an Irish summer!); the band played for a solid two hours, and some of my all-time favourites were given the full-on live show treatment. We heard ‘Powderfinger’, ‘Cinnamon Girl’ (I nearly jumped through the roof when they burst into the opening chords for this one!), ‘Hey Hey My My’ and, for an encore, ‘Cortez the Killer’, one of the highlights from my favourite album, ‘Zuma’. All in all, it was an excellent show. There was a bit of the old ‘rock god noodling on the guitar aimlessly for forty minutes, just because I’m Neil Young and I can do what I like’-itis, but I easily forgave that. It was fantastic, and I loved it, and I was so happy to be there with my family, too.

The legend himself…
Image: kitguru.net

After a gentle Sunday morning, we spent most of the day together before the inevitable parting of the ways. I hate that bit, you know? Actually, I’m not going to dwell on it, lest I start getting blue again.

Anyway.

So, it’s Monday, and it’s time to focus on the week ahead. I have several agents to query (and, a query letter to improve upon), as well as stories for a late-June deadline to tweak, as well as submission opportunities to scare up, as well as The Fear to bring under control… *cue deep breathing*

So, it’s all as normal here. How are the rest of you? I hope good weekends were had by all, and that you’re attacking Monday front and centre. Let’s get through it, a minute at a time!

 

Lost in Music

This morning, as I sat semi-conscious over my breakfast, the radio started playing a song. It was by a band called Ash, with whom I was once obsessed; the song was ‘Girl From Mars’. The song is still very enjoyable, and I would still class myself as a fan of the band, but for some reason, this morning, as I listened, the song threw me right back to the summer of 1996. And it was a little weird.

This is the album sleeve. For those of you who know what ‘album’ and, indeed, ‘sleeve’ means.
Image: coverdude.com

I mean, it’s not like I haven’t heard the song at any point between 1996 and now; I must have heard it hundreds of times, and it’s never had any unexpected effects. So, I can’t really explain it.

Listening to the song made me feel – just for a minute – that the years between 1996 and the present had dissolved, and I was living in a strange bubble somewhere between the two timelines.

As freaky as this undoubtedly was, it got me thinking about music. Music is a huge part of my life, and I always have music playing as I write. Sometimes it’s the radio, although if I’m really trying to concentrate I have to put on a CD instead, because the talking on the radio can be distracting. But no matter what, there’s always something going on in the background. Is this weird? Do you, gentle reader, do this too?

It also got me thinking about albums that I’ve loved, and music that has meant a lot to me at various points in my life. Perhaps, actually, it’s not so weird that music I was listening to at a particularly emotional point in my history should throw me back to that state when I listen to the music again. As it happens, at the time in my life when I was first listening to ‘1977’, the album on which you’ll find the track ‘Girl From Mars’ (over and over and over again, because that’s how I roll when I like an album), I was having a hard time. So, the music is encoded with deep pain and loneliness, and perhaps this morning my mental guards were down a little, so my brain got sucked right back to that difficult time as I listened to the familiar melody.

I was working in a very full-on summer job, back in the summer of 1996. It was hard, and the hours were long, and the work was dirty and heavy. My parents booked a holiday – they wanted to visit my mother’s sister and her family in the United Kingdom, and my brother and I were excited about going with them. My aunt and uncle, and their exotic, grown-up, tall and fabulous daughters, our amazing cousins, were lots of fun. We hadn’t seen them in years. So, I asked at work for that week off.

I was told ‘no.’ I was told ‘If you ignore this, and go anyway, you won’t have a job when you come back.’ I was heartbroken.

So, my parents and my brother had to go on the holiday without me, and I was left alone at home for the first time ever. To some people in their late teens, this would’ve been the best thing imaginable; to me, it was horrible. I was so lonely, and I felt a little afraid at home by myself (I still really don’t like being at home by myself!) The only thing which kept me from feeling completely abandoned was the soothing sound of my then-favourite band, Ash, whose album ‘1977’ was on constant repeat for the entire week my family was away. This morning, listening to the song, I was that lonely teenager again. I was afraid in the dark. I was abandoned.

So, yeah. Heavy stuff to be going through before you’ve even had a mouthful of Bran Flakes.

Another favourite album of mine is ‘Five Leaves Left’, by Nick Drake.

Image: en.wikipedia.org

Even though I first heard this album in my teens, the memories it holds for me are all tied up with the hardest days of my first ‘real’ job, which was in an office by the sea. It was a very difficult job, and I was deeply depressed at the time. I was, probably, at the most unhappy point in my life at the time when this album started to mean everything to me. I had a portable CD player (does anyone remember the Discman? Anyone?) and the first notes of ‘Time Has Told Me,’ Track One on this album, bring me right back to the first deep breath I’d take as soon as the office door was closed behind me. I listened to it every lunchtime as I walked by the sea, trying to calm down and get back to myself, and I listened to it every evening as I made my way home.

Then, there’s ‘Grace’, by Jeff Buckley.

Image: jeffbuckley.com

This album was played, at least once a day, for the entirety of my final year in college. I couldn’t study without it; I couldn’t concentrate unless I had the soaring beauty of Jeff Buckley’s voice somewhere close by. I still feel the claustrophobia of the old bedroom in my rented flat every time I hear a song from this album, particularly ‘Last Goodbye’. I’m not sure why that song affects me more than the others, but there you have it. For whatever reason, despite the fact that I was very stressed at the time I first loved this album, I still listen to it with huge pleasure. It’s amazing.

It’s a funny thing that in the modern world people don’t listen to ‘albums’ any more. They listen to random tracks, downloaded from here and there, little snippets of music which weren’t, perhaps, designed to be heard in isolation. People record albums as a whole, to create a feeling or a mood, to fit together as a work of art. So, they should be listened to like that, I think. I’m not sure whether teenagers nowadays would have the same emotional connection to an album, the way I did as a youngster. To music, yes; to particular tracks, definitely. But to an album as a whole? I’m not so sure.

What do y’all think? Is music important to you? Can you work with music playing in the background, or do you prefer silence? Does music get tangled up with memory for you, too?

Happy Friday, everyone. Hope it’s going well for you so far.