In A Good Way

MARLBOROUGH ROAD MASSIVE

For those of you reading this that don't know me well enough by now, i have to make something very clear about myself, I love music. I love to listen to it, I love to play music and I love to share music. That's why I DJ, as an expression of that love and a deep wish to share the music that effects me, in what ever way it does so, with others.

For me, the Marlborough road 'happening', on the day of the royal wedding (in case you don't know!), was such a spontaneous and uplifting time of sharing such music, that i just cant stop thinking about or talking about it. For a few short hours on that Friday, whilst some people in other parts of the country where celebrating a fairly important marriage, I like to think that the overwhelming majority of the people on Marlborough Road where celebrating being a community of diverse people, from the very young to the young at heart, in the only way they know how. By singing, dancing, smiling, eating, drinking and being merry. All of this done with a strong sense of peace and solidarity.

However, the only sadness is that both the authorities and the media wish to paint it with a much darker brush. For them they saw it as broken glass and taser guns, where a member of Parliament laments the demise of 'normal' inhabitants, others as somewhere that was a scary place to be, and where if media photographers pick up on the cigarette end of a story, all they will get is pictures of rubbish. There is always going to be a bad element in all walks of life, and the Friday's celebration on Marlborough Road was no exception. No one will condone the action of the smallest of minorities taking upon themselves to inflict damage or harm to anybody or anything, and we all know the world we live in is far from perfect. But i feel it is totally unfair that the overwhelming majority of 'normal' people that flowed along the street that afternoon should be tarred with the same brush, for one day in how many years, or decades even, the people reclaimed the streets for nothing more political than a celebration of life.

For me , the day was a restoration in warm, creative, and above all positive anduplifting human spirit, where it was possible to enjoy a few hours in the sunshine being happy together. Lets hope that we don't have to wait for another royal wedding to have a chance to express ourselves in the same manner again.

DROWNING NOT WAVING

How is it this box I'm in is getting smaller?

How is it I'm in this box in the first place?


The air in here is dank,


The leaden light in here hurts my eyes,


The smell of piss and body odour is overpowering


How do I get out of this box, and in to the fresh air?


Does it take ME to break the seal?


Do I have to wait for help?


Is the box actually real?


Or is it of my own making?


All I know is I didn't plan to be here,


I don't want to be here any more,


I need brightness, colour, warmth,


To feel the sun on my face.

SOME OF DEM DEAF AND SOME OF DEM BLIND

Maybe it's the timing, maybe it's my frame of mind at the moment, maybe, like one's sense of smell or one's sense of taste, my sense of sound is actively inciting emotions and feelings upon me, suggesting a time and a place in my history, and in this case, inducing a stage of lament. A lament for the past, for my youth. With this sense of sound, which is so evident in music, my thoughts and reflections are rose-tinted for the good old days of my youth , in the seventies and eighties. After just over two months of being blog writingly barren, the motive for finally putting my fingers to the keyboard was, yet again, music. What a hold and an influence it must have on me, music is , and always has been, pervasive in my life. Shaping my moods, my internal atmosphere. There are times, very rarely, when i cannot listen to music at all. I feel those time are usually when i am so emotionally spent that music is just too invasive or painful to even hit the start button on the CD player, when only silence will do. But, at the moment, it is a softer option of that extreme, the sad lament for past, things lost and things never to return. But, then again, the more i think about it, the more i realise that not only music seems to reflect my moods at any given time, but can also influence them. How many times have you actively chosen a piece of music to change your mood? I know it must be thousands for me. And with instant access to music on the Internet, it's so easy just to play your fave tunes. I even stumblingly tried dj'ing and mixing with two windows of You Tube the other night, and it worked (sort of!), got the toes tapping anyway!

So, it appears that music is a two-way street, it can influence and much as we can influence our selves by the choice of music we listen to. Not exactly a Revelation, but i know what I'm going to do now, put myself under my own influence with the use of music, I'm going to revel in the energy, the excitement and the life and hope for the future, that we all drew upon from the music of our youth. So, with a middle-aged-bone-creaking rebel cry i will sing to you, 'go tell your friend, we come again, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, another one bite the dust, some of dem def and some of dem blind, some of dem satta and looking for a sign, Nothing never done before the time, time, time'. 8-)

And The Next

Here I am,
Right now,
Right here right now,
And I'm panicing again, Is this really it?
Is this what it's come to?
Drifting aimlessly through the ether,
Picking up cigarette ends,
Seeing if I can get them to light up,
Get a hit,
Get some smoke down into my lungs.
Chasing dreams,
That turn to screams,
In the middle of the night,
My head,
My heart.
Hot sweats on cold nights,
Fear of the light,
Of fight or flight,
Of the night,
Of the day,
Of the way,
It's come to this,
Of the piss,
Of the hiss of stream,
That kills the dream,
That starts the scream,
I hear what you say,
As you start to sway,
It's the way,
It goes, I say,
this day,
And the next,
And the next,
And the next.

DEAR DIARY

I guess that writing a blog is just like writing a diary, but without a lock on it. Obvious, I know, but it wasn't that many years ago that a diary would be written to be kept a secret. Or was it? Has the Internet, and more importantly, the blog, given everyone the free rein to expose their innermost thoughts and feelings in a very public arena? I know my writings are specifically written for public consumption, but also, in some instances, intended for specific individuals. Lets face it, if a blog is just a public diary, it's only right and proper that one should carry on a thread of tradition, and write about the people and things that one knows and emotionally impact upon our lives. It is probably even more of a diary writing tradition to be cryptic about certain elements, mainly people, when writing a blog. I know I do.

It is not exactly breaking news that the centuries-old art of novel writing has been used as a glorified diary vehicle, to pass on messages (hidden or otherwise), or life observations, over the space two or three hundred pages, rather than the condensed blog version of just two or three pages. We are in an age of such short attention span, with the such 'busy' lives we all lead, it is no wonder that there is such a demand for bite-sized novels in the shape of blogs. I must say that it is easier to space out to a column in one of the colour supplements than settle down with a novel, when there's some time to read. But it's a lot like snacking, there's an instant hit that fades very quickly, only leaving one dissatisfied and wanting to go back for more. Better to have a full meal that gives one a small spectrum of flavours and leaves one so much more satisfied.

There was a time when my general attention span was at 'soundbite' level only, but increasingly, i am more inclined to settle down for an evening's good novel reading rather than read a colour supplement or watch the TV. I know I'm not doing myself any favours advertising the strengths of a full novel rather than the blog's micro hit, as this is my chosen medium to do my own writing. Perhaps there's room for both, perhaps the two art forms are different? Whilst blogging could still be shorthand for a novel, there's a time and a place for both? If i read a novel i hope that i am able to relate to the characters and go on a bit of an adventure with them, and maybe giving the story some impartial analysis once it's all finished. Whereas a blog is more of a signpost for a reason, or reasons, cryptic or otherwise. Even better would be if a blog would be cryptic about me! That's it! I have yet to feel the full benefit, or curse, of a blog. As i am without any great number of friends or relatives that bother wasting their time on such unread scribblings. There are but a handful of people i know that bother. Perhaps, because like me, they are usually personal ramblings that very few others are really interested in reading.

It is possible that there is a good percentage of us out there, that are agonising about our chosen method of expression, and how it is received, what it is saying to people, whether it is pulling some emotional strings or not, most importantly, by those we know and love. We all try and express ourselves somehow, it's not only writing. I have spoken about this before, not just about expression through writing, but music, dance, whatever art form one chooses. There has been mixed, and emotional reactions. Which is what we all want, a reaction, is it not? It certainly is for me. Most of my life i have realised i need to express myself in one creative way or another, and sometimes, just sometimes, there's been a connection between me and someone else that has made it all worth it. I'm not talking about praise, although praise has a place that is good, but an understanding, an empathy, an intimacy, a movement of the heart, that is what is so important to me. It is real, it helps me understand that I'm not just stumbling along in the dark, on my own.

I know that the few published columns that I prefer to read, are usually writings that i can relate to in a rather abstract way, albeit with a recognised understanding of the writer's general emotional thrust of the piece concerned. So perhaps it's time that someone out there should write about me, that would thrill me and horrify me in equal measure. So there's a challenge, not only could someone write a blog piece that is personal to me by virtue of me knowing the writer concerned (that means start writing a blog, friends and family), but also that the writer concerned could be so cryptic about their writing that only i know that it's about me.

Go on, I challenge you, make my day, not only would I see myself in print, by another author, but also I will recognise, and be thrilled, that someone has been bothered enough to read the stuff I've written , but also reacted to it in a creative way.

Perhaps all of this expression lark, whether it's any good or not, is all about love. The love we all need or desire. Perhaps novel writing , and blog writing, is just a method of reaching out for love, expressing our experiences of love and the all encompassing spectrum of that wonderful emotion. Wonderful, that is , if you're getting it, hell on a stick if you're not. Maybe I'm just seeing all of this from my limited perspective, perhaps it is just me that is searching for love and understanding? Surely there are so many other reasons why someone would waste all this time on writing things down, that then goes out into the ether, never to be seen by anyone that might have an interest in their own involvement in the scenario. I like to think that what continues to motivate me is a thin vein of optimism that runs deep inside me, keeping me moving when all seems grey. This is , however, a two way street, there is always a possibility that you are the chink of light shining through the slate grey clouds. So go on, show me some love, write to me, about me, anything, just write.

Pressure Roots Hi-Fi meets Toxic Sound System at the Falmouth Rugby Club, Saturday 27th November

To my mind, there is nothing, other than nature itself that is more heavenly bound or heavenly inspired, than the creative endeavour and expression of mankind. Whether it is painting, drawing, building, singing, acting, music, dancing and so many other art forms, there is a colour, depth and feeling conveyed in all these endeavours that can give one the desire to be drawn deeper into it.

Music, as you may have gathered, is just one form of creativity that holds a special place in my heart. When I am moved by certain music, my desire is to be drawn into it, and share it, with equal measure.
This Saturday’s meeting of musical minds, in the heavyweight form of Pressure Roots Hi-Fi and Toxic Sound System, was a marathon length of fine roots reggae, and beyond. Two conscious rigs, weaved together with dub sirens and traditional one turntable set-ups, took their turns at half hour sets, moving on to two track duals, through the five hour set.

As moths drawn to a flame, the rhythm, richness and physicality of sound drew more and more to the dance floor, and with the change from one rig to another, the beat’s epicentre shifted the few metres from the forefront of one rig to another. Those that sought that amplified spot shifted also with sound, inspiring a hardcore few to move for hours without a break, with only the gap between records for a short breather. As with many forms of music that truly inspire movement, dance, tonight’s was no exception.

We are fortunate to have, not only one, but two home-grown high quality reggae rigs, that deliver conscious sounds, to the town of Falmouth, with a passion and understanding that deserve the acclaim they are due. Next time you see the flyers around town, or Facebook, for any of their gigs, check them out, and don’t forget your dancing shoes.