The Wait of the World

Success is relative. It is what we can make of the mess we have made of things.
- T.S. Eliot

I remember thinking once, whilst poised playfully at the top of the loomingly lush, grassy green hill at my local park, that: if I were to roll down it - on my side, sausage roll style - there was a distinct and definite possibility that I'd find myself splashed or smeared in dog poo. And as I toyed with the idea; my arms rhythmically swaying, ready to propel, I thought about the countless times as a child I'd catapulted myself down this very hill, carefree and thoughtless as to the perils of the possible poo-poo. Hundreds, if not thousands, of rotations, and not a single hesitation…so why now? Why suddenly was I more concerned about the risk of ruining my clothes than I was about the timeless hilarity of diving down the hill? The fact that I’d dawdled at all upset me deep inside somewhere, but it did get me thinking. At 20 years of age, had I finally succumbed to what people refer to as ‘growing up’?

At twenty-years-old, most people don’t even make it as far as the hill, let alone contemplating lunging down it again, and their reasons for abandoning vernal behaviours such as this are their own, and no doubt varied. But, irrespective of the reasoning, the disheartenment I felt that day within myself and for myself has never really gone away, and is certainly applicable to most ‘grown-ups’ I know or have met in my time. For me, it was that I had gone to the trouble to do my hair and dress smartly; rolling down the hill may undo all the work I had done, and I still had much of the day to go in which I wanted to retain my look of respectability. And since then, faced with similar and equally juvenile situations, I have seen my friends deny themselves the laughter and adventure for equally ‘adult’ reasons. They consider the possibility of defacing or harming themselves; the cost of new clothing should they soil /tear/stain/set fire to their current ones; or they worry simply that people will be judgemental, and with these niggles firmly fixed about their beings like some societal chastity-belt, they walk away from the giant pile of wood-chippings or dangerously high tree branches…but not without a visible mist of dejection or melancholy meandering beside them. You’re told far too often as a child that your years of youth are the best you’ll have, and to cherish them, but to paraphrase George Bernard Shaw, youth really is wasted on the young. And, before we know it, we replace the swingset with a beer garden picnic table, and the bat and ball with flat, flavourless liquor.

Three years on from that moment on the hill, and I feel the rest of life slipping off the same way those cheery childhood jaunts do. Something as enjoyable and frivolous as a barbeque becomes a battle of organisation and cost, and rather than just ‘carpe diem-ing’ the dungarees off of each sunny day that dances into view, we have to hope we can book the day off work, then find enough friends who can do the same. And then, when it’s all fallen through like shoddy upholstery and you spend the sunshiny day at your desk, you can be sure your next day off will be the one wrapped unreasonably in rainclouds and riptides. Eventually, we all seem to grow tired of this turmoil-trodden boardwalk splintering into our psyches, and so we settle for not doing things quite as often as we once did, until eventually it’s easier to just hang up the hammock altogether and settle for the bed of nails. However, it would seem, in at least the majority of these cases, that it isn’t just the fact we ‘grow up’ that sucks fun from our vocabulary. Instead, it would appear that it is the necessity of responsibility and need of money that instigates this required ‘growing up’ and this in turn straps us firmly to the torture rack.

Currently, in my own life, I am stuck in a bit of a sadistic revolving door when it comes to the work vs. career situation. And, as to be expected, money is the concierge. For most of my life, each step I’ve taken towards the ever-ominous Future has been an obvious one, and one that I’ve smoothly switched to when required. Following school I attended college; I picked what I deemed to be the best college for me within the local area, and chose subjects I enjoyed or excelled in. Following my time there, I was given advice as to which university would best suit my desire to be a writer, and proceeded to get a place there too. But now my three-years have come to an end, I have found myself in a garden of forking paths, if you will, as to where I should stomp next. Unlike courses which lead directly into a specific area of work or employment, a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing doesn’t really lend itself to any one field at all, and this has left me with a feeling not dissimilar, I imagine, to agoraphobia. I love to write, but I also love music, acting, singing. And, without a direct path to pursue as my ‘next step’, I feel torn and pulled in several directions at once, but all the time aware that I can’t really back out of my retail job, which keeps me afloat economically. And as I spend one day attacking the writing prospects in my life, and another making the most of my musical affiliations, I have come to realise that I am soon going to have to pick a single avenue of these entertainment options, or else fail to develop a career in any. What it has also made me realise is that these things that I once found to be escapisms, hobbies or pastimes, are now also under pressure to be money-makers. In the same way that rolling down the hill began to hold a lot more weight than it used to, it would seem my escape routes are beginning to merge with my career paths, and once again I can feel the enjoyment and frivolity of each area starting to fluctuate. Once again, I am left with a sense of disheartenment.

However, despite feeling sometimes that hitting rock-bottom is inevitable, and that eventually there will be nothing left but a ringing in my ears, reminiscent of the crazy party that was once my life, it is actually far from the gloom that occasionally fogs my view. Sure, life can weigh down on each and every one of us at times, and it does often feel like there’s little or no respite or escape to be had, but what we can always rely on – if we allow it to be there – is our sense of self, and our desire to smile and have fun. Even if I have to work gruellingly on a novel, with the completion of each page tainted with a feeling of expectation or necessity of its successful publication, or even if I’m critical of every word I sing knowing that it must be something truly astonishing for me to ever use it as a stable income, what I will always be able to do is shut my door after a long, hard day, and belt out a song for my own enjoyment. What I will still be able to do after I find myself with a speeding ticket (thanks a lot, variable speed limits…) is sit down and write a poem just for me that gets the grisliness off of my chest. And, what I hope we are all able to do, in spite of what anyone else may think of us, is metaphorically throw ourselves down our own personal hills, and to laugh at each and every stain and snag we encounter along the way. Yes, people may look at us with a sense of distaste. And yes, we may not be adhering to whatever mundane social codes have been set in place. But what we are doing is keeping a firm grip on our imaginations, on our adventurous, curious, playful sides. We are allowing some of the animal that we are deep inside to live outside of the zoos and cages we are thrown into as we come of age. And, most of all, we are being true to ourselves. If we want to run around in the rain and kick puddles, why shouldn’t we? If we want to climb trees to dangerous heights and jump out, who’s stopping us? And if we want to spin uncontrollably down dog poo-plastered hillsides just because it’s a sunny day, then why on Earth shouldn’t we? It can be a long and demoralizing wait at the bus stop of life, holding out for the bus to our true calling or perfect career, and the weight of that delay can be crushing – but only if we let it. Our job – our real job – is keeping the sun shining, even if there’s nothing but black clouds.

Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet. The question is: which person are you going to be?

Here's an old article I wrote that I felt needed to see the light of day again. Every now and again I wonder what happened to the music scene I grew up with, and this is what happened when I went to investigate. Enjoy!

Close your eyes for a moment...

If you’ve done that (aside from not actually being able to read this), what a lot of you will hopefully be more aware of is sound. Whether it be the light sprinkle of conversation as you drink your latte in the cafe, the toneless tread-milling of motor-engines as you sit, motionless, in your car, or just the timeless ticking of your household clock, sound is everywhere. And whilst some sounds can sound very disagreeable or even dissonant to us, others are like summer sunshine on our skin – or the ear-equivalent, at least!

Okay, now I’ll close mine... What can I hear? Well, as it happens, I can hear music: a track recorded at a live gig by my favourite band. I’ve got the studio recording of this song too, but for some reason, the live one is so much better. I don’t know if it’s because of the atmosphere, the crowd singing along, or just because it was a damn good performance, but there is something about live music that the studio just fails to capture on that 12cm circle. For me, live music is the summer sunshine, and I know I am far from unaccompanied in my veneration of this vocation. From the vast venues with the big-hit bands, down to the local lads-and-ladies who belt out a tune in my home town, I can’t get enough of live music, and, having been in a band situation for drawing on a decade now (and having played music for almost two), the whole live music scene is not only something I enjoy, but something I deeply care about too. As a child, I would play my violin at music concerts, and sing in all of the local theatre performances, because, even then, the buzz of live music was dazzlingly apparent to me. As I grew, so too did my musical preference, and, in 2001, I found myself in my first rock band playing my first real gig in a local small-time bar. Granted, it wasn’t Glastonbury, but it certainly shared the same shade of magic I’d witnessed at the gigs I’d been to – albeit in a smaller dose. From that moment on, I was a slave to the stave, and living for my love of ‘Live’. And, back then, I was far from alone in my loving. But lately, I’ve noticed the crowds at the local bars and clubs are diminishing, and it’s disconcerting to say the very least...

What becomes most puzzling about this predicament is the fact that we live in a time when music is so readily available to us no matter who or where we may be and, thus, should have gained popularity and mass-appeal rather than lost it. And I do believe this to be the case: from mp3 players to iPods, mobile phones to in-car stereos, internet-based music to the good, old-fashioned CD, music is forever ‘in the moment’. And now, with the ability to download tracks from virtually any annexe or area on the face of the earth, we need never be more than a small connection charge away from our favourite artist or group. No matter what your taste, or how much music your mind can manage, this readily available catalogue of tunes bodes well for the reputation and vogue of music as a whole...

So why this decline in the number of audience members at local live gigs?

I decided that, to help me understand this anomaly, I’d talk to a few different people who had their eyes, ears and hearts in various local-music venues to see whether or not it was just me who had noticed this saddening state of affairs, and whether this subsiding I’d noticed was, in fact, actually occurring outside of the gigs I had attended. After all, I can’t be at more than one gig at any one time! In my town, the number of live venues has slowly decreased over the years, forcing many of the gig convenors to hang up their air guitars for good. But, luckily for me, two familiar faces refuse to stop rocking and moshing their way through the local talent, and were more than happy to talk – make that ‘shout’ – to me over the music and give me their thoughts.

First up, there’s ‘A.K’, who is aged – and I jest you not – 47.

Yes, read it again. AK47. My first contact in the local rock rodeo has the name of a rifle as her alias. And, yes, I did indeed say ‘her’.

“I know exactly what you mean, kidd’a, and I’ll tell you what’s to blame…”

Having known A.K for the whole ten years that I’ve been involved in the band scene, I knew that, of the people still available to talk to about this topic, she’d certainly have an opinion, and one I could rely on to be of some worth.

“F***in’ society, kidd’a. F***in’ society…”

Ah…

Although I originally disregarded her initial response, she did continue to make quite an interesting statement, which allowed me to forgive the first.

“Rock N’ Roll was never about being controlled or restricted. Before, you could come to a gig, get p***ed or stoned…whatever…go f***in’ crazy” she waved her arms a bit here “and have a god damn good time. But we let the government f*** us over; bring in the smoking ban, crank up health and safety, turn us down…before it was like a f***in’ orgy, but we got lazy and now it’s like anywhere else, and you can’t just let go, can you?”

I looked around as she was saying this, and I could see the effect of exactly what she was saying. Congregating outside were a huge group of smokers, bottle in hand, having a good time – but freezing half to death. At the door, a seven-storey security guard stood in watch, waiting to dive in should things get a little too ‘rowdy’. Admittedly, the music didn’t seem any quieter than it ever had, but I understood her meaning: the whole essence of what made Rock music ‘Rock music’ had slowly been drained out of the scene, and the more I considered that idea, the more apparent it became.

A few summers back, I went with a friend to a gig called Projekt Revolution at the Milton Keynes National Bowl. An amalgamation of rock and rap bands and artists, the annual ‘Projekt’ aims to bridge the gap between these two often disparate genres by ‘mashing them up’ – mixing them together. This was the Projekt’s first time in the UK, and in the headlining spot were none other than my favourite band, Linkin Park, and alongside them, hip-hop icon Jay-Z. The day was phenomenal, but, looking back, what A.K said to me really rung true. Crowd-surfing, a commonplace occurrence at rock concerts, could and did lead to people being ejected from the bowl, and anyone being overly boisterous in the open-field areas were warned against it. At a venue that can hold 65,000 though, this really made very little difference to the atmosphere. But when you consider the same rules and regulations being enforced in a local venue that can hold no more than 200, it is obvious that interest was soon to wane.

Following my conversation with A.K, she decided to get up onto the stage herself, and make a speech to the people who had come to watch. She spoke of how the local gig was being suffocated, and that we – “the next generation of metalheads”, as she put it - shouldn’t let that happen. “After all”, she continued, “where will the up-and-coming kids get their first break? Their chance to kick ass in the name of music?” She told us to drink, to rock out, to invite our friends. She even told us to “f*** the system”, and lit a cigarette on stage before taking a puff to the sound of applause. After that, some of the audience did ‘spark up’ inside again, but it wasn’t long before big-man bouncer came and extinguished their fire, and threw them out for underage drinking…

A few weeks later, my band were playing at a venue a little further afield, though still relatively local. Before our set, I spoke to the guy who organises gigs for the club, Dylan, and asked him how he saw the scenario. Dylan had helped organise a couple of charity events throughout the year in which my band had played, all of which were to help fund the local music scene – donating money to local radio station and the club he hired, to name but two. And this played a big part in what he believed to be the truth of the matter.

“Tonight” he said, gesturing to the fairly empty room, “Tonight is a prime example really. It’s a Saturday night, four great bands on, £3 on the door…and where is everyone?”

I didn’t know the answer, and I was hoping the question was rhetorical. We paused. He stared at me, willing me to answer with the answer I didn’t have. I said they were quite probably somewhere else…

“Exactly.”

…I thought that was fairly obvious?

“Look at it this way. The nights we get the busiest are the ones that have a point. The charity gigs for example, always packed. And that’s because there’s a reason to be here, aside from the music. Most youngsters these days just want to go and grab themselves some action, so they go to a nightclub – they don’t go to listen to the music, not really. The music is by the by. The main focus is the ‘skirt’…”

He cupped his hands about his chest, synthesising breasts, and pulled his best-perverted face. This involved sticking his tongue out, which both amused and disturbed...

“I suppose there’s just less people who genuinely want to listen to the music these days.”

At this, the first band started to play, so we watched them before continuing - they had good harmonies; you don’t get that a lot these days. When they finished their set, I told him that I didn’t agree with what he’d said; after all, if people weren’t as into music suddenly, how could downloads be explained? He thought for a moment, downed half a pint of beer, burped loudly, then said (with ale-stale breath…)

“Maybe it’s making people lazy?”

…with that, he stumbled to the bar.

Finally, I spoke to the people at the root of both the solution and the problem: the crowd. Some of the people I knew well, others, I’d never seen before in my life – probably. I asked them what they thought of the gigging scene, and whether they thought it was getting old, being replaced, or just facing some form of winter which would soon pass. And, as expected, the reviews were assorted. Some said they loved to come and support, and that they could think of nothing better to do with their weekend nights. Others said that it was an issue of money, and that they needed to save up and that gigs weren’t worth it every week. But they all agreed on one thing: that it would be a sad day to see the local music scene in small towns disappear. And, while I know that as long as there is emotion, there will be music, and where there is music, there will be someone fighting to keep it pumping from every speaker, I can’t help but feel sad that things are getting the way they are.

After all of this discussion, I’m not sure there is a sole reason for the falling numbers at local gigs. I think, in fact, it is a mixture of all of the things mentioned, and no doubt others too. Be it the smoking ban, the uptight nature of today’s legal system, the ease of online downloading, the expense in a critical time economically, or just a change in the zeitgeist, Rock music is still the freedom to not just say how you feel, but to scream and shout it for everyone to hear. And I asked you to close your eyes before, but now, I want you to open them, and not just to the music scene. No matter which scene it is you feel passionately about, be it art, poetry, sport, charity - whatever - open your eyes and support it in your local area; help it to grow, to thrive. Because our freedom to express ourselves, to enjoy ourselves, to be ourselves is always at risk, but if enough people break away from the crowd and work to make a difference, maybe just maybe…we will.