The ‘turds’ I must push out

This weekend has been a big one for me. Not the usual weekend at all in fact. I have contemplated my existence, the futility of it all and quite surprisingly found myself reborn.

When I was a child I dabbled with and became fascinated by anything that made a noise. I couldn’t make a sound with a kitchen utensil without imagining its huge untapped musical potential, qualities one might argue could lead a man into becoming Louis Walsh, only with it came a fascination with what others’ were doing (and some notion of what quality is – listen up Louis!). ‘Others’ at that stage in time were punk rockers, followed by electro pioneers such as Kraftwerk.

This led me to explore Cabaret Voltaire, producers like Steve Levine and ultimately took me on a path to some crazy experiences; drunkenly fronting bands, playing jazz piano for hours on end in long drawn out Sunday afternoon muso sessions, and – one of the greatest buzzes of all (because it’s really bloody easy) DJing out my own remixes and tunes to bunches of mental party goers.

I am human though. Some would say as an arty type I’m a human at the sensitive end of the spectrum too. Personal experiences with the kind of person no one should ever let into their life provided me with a daughter I am not ‘allowed’ to see and the destruction of the blind confidence that enabled me to take to the stage, to ‘busk it’, and to generally enjoy being involved in musical activities whether they were perfect, productive or had any commercial potential or not.

This weekend I reclaimed that. I took quite a risk, or at least it felt that way. I have been writing songs regularly (again) for the past few years. My use of the piano as therapy meant that my Mum becoming terminally unwell and our eventual loss of her to cancer, and (just before that) the cessation of contact with my daughter, plus a spree of disastrous relationship choices (theirs, in some cases) meant I have been practising and writing a LOT in that time. I couldn’t, however, bring myself to bare my soul. Until this weekend.

There is a fairly obvious risk/gain equation at play when the thing you would most like to see is the front of an express train and so without the benefit of youthful confidence and in the absence of any self belief I have chosen to see my songs as turds (which is just gold for any future reviewers). Not (always) because they are shit, but because they need to come out. I can make efforts to shape them but I can’t hold them in can’t do much about or regret too heartily how they turn out.

Future plans musically? I’m still making electronic music and have a list of collaborators lined up, but for now I have been ‘compose-stipated’ for too long, so there are some things I need to, ahem, ‘offload’.

The roughly recorded version of my song Missing can be found on SoundCloud.


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