2019: Year in Review

2019: Year in Review

I began the year with a wondrous hangover. My friend cooked me a breakfast I almost had to reject. We then spent the morning watching back-to-back episodes of Bad Education. Did this augur well, or ill?

The world around me, as it happened

As current affairs unfolded through the year, I looked on mostly with a sense of impotent horror. Would we leave the EU without a deal? No. Would we leave with a deal? No. Would parliament make up its mind? No. Would May survive? No. Would parliamentary democracy itself survive? It began to look doubtful. The parliament of 2017-19 was so foul that it needs its own name to mark it out for posterity. There is the Merciless Parliament of 1388; the Rump Parliament of 1648; I suppose the parliament that ended in 2010 will be known as the Expenses Parliament; this one needs a fitting name as well. Here are some of my suggestions:

• Deadlock Parliament
• Parliament of Fouls
• Dishonourable Parliament
• Parliament of Liars
• Defectors’ Parliament
• The Parliament That Could Not Make Up Its Mind

Suggestions on a postcard.

The low point was after the Supreme Court overruled the Queen and sent the parliamentarians back to discuss Brexit some more – because, after three years of talking and voting for deadlock, they needed more time to talk about deadlock. Only, they chose to discuss something else: themselves. In scenes of fury and self-righteousness, parliament made itself irrelevant like it had never been before, and I hated the MPs for it; I hated them the more that they pitied themselves.

To cap it off, they refused for weeks and weeks to dissolve themselves.

With the election December, for the first time since 2010 we have stable majority government: the next five years will be without a major election or (one hopes, as one looks to Scotland) referendum. We have had, in the last five years, two referendums (both traumatic) and three general elections. That is too much for us to bear.

Personal objectives for the year that has passed

In my last review, going into 2019, I set myself six objectives, which I totally forgot about and ought really to have pinned to my bedroom wall. As it is, here they are, assessed:

1. Get the novel drafted to a standard that I can send it to an agent. Verdict: No. Utterly FAILED. I was too daunted when it dawned on me how much work needed to be done, more than mere tinkering. I have started, though, belatedly.
2. Get a story or poem published somewhere. Verdict: FAILED, but not for want of trying. My energies dried up with continued failure. I am less sure why my stories were not taken, for I thought they were interesting. My verse is too traditional to be of much interest to the gatekeepers; local poets have effectively said as much.
3. Get fit, not so much to lose weight as to tone up and be healthy. Verdict: Mixed. I seem to drift in and out of fitness. I was doing well with Parkrun in the Summer into the Autumn, but a foot injury has done for that. I shall resume in the new year.
4. Finish the album of music and vanity-publish it: FAILED, because I began to question the point. But I have renewed impetus now.
5. Play live more often: SUCCESS. Of all the objectives, this was the least likely, but I am in a band now, and the next year looks promising for us. 
6. Watch more local rugby: SUCCESS. The easiest to achieve, of course. I have adopted Tonbridge Juddeans as the club I support.

This time last year; and since

I began this year optimistically. Work was going well. I had my first flat. I had achievements I was justly proud of. Not much has changed since then. I still live in the same place, work in the same place, mix with the same friends. The year has been less about progress, more about stability, and in pursuing a life outside of work (but not always knowing how).

There have been some changes. I have continued to lose weight – and this continues to be expensive. But I think I have rediscovered the art of buying clothes. When I was bigger, I unconsciously opted for darker, drab things that attracted no attention. I am now aware of a desire for the opposite; to wear eye-catching, even daring things that I would never have countenanced before.

Added to this, I am also more aware of how welcoming my home can be for others. Especially with seating space and a large kitchen. I have started taking an interest in cooking and hosting, and I am shortly going to buy a cookbook – my very first! Probably Nigella.

Writing

Creatively, I am much stalled. I had a novel which I knew was miles away from being good enough; yet I was so blinded by what I had produced that I could not see how it ought to be. That problem now is solved; at least, I think so. I have radically altered the design; now, I just need to ‘action that’. Some of the pain will be in devising new passages; the rest of the pain will be in butchering and deleting much of what I have already slaved to achieve. Heart-breaking, in a way. But necessary.

Away from prose, I got involved with the local poetry society, but I am ambivalent about it. They have very well organised monthly meetings with high-flying modern poets, usually dividing the evening between an open mic and the guest slot. But I was not inspired by any of the guests. The low point was when two of them, on a joint ticket, recited their collaborative project inspired by Brexit. It became a group therapy session; for those of us not grieving, it was uncomfortable and a bit insulting.

Music 

Arcadian Dawn's first gig

We are Arcadian Dawn. We had our first gig, as a supporting act, in early December, and we were good. We had only had four rehearsals, but four was all we needed: when it was over, the whole thing felt to me as though it had been a real moment. We know we’re onto a good thing, so we are staying together going into the new year. This is what I have wanted for a very long time. I have been searching for other musicians online, but it’s worse than online dating. At present, we are doing covers, but I and one of my bandmates both write original music. For this reason, I now have added cause to get my demo recordings finished, for now there is actually a chance of some of them being played.

Outdoor pursuits 

I began well. In February, I walked around Bewl Water, which I think is 13 miles. I even filmed my day. But I never made a video of it, nor did I do anything greater than a day’s walk this summer. I regret that. The greatest achievement was in August, walking from Tonbridge to my friend’s place in Maidstone, where he put me up for the night. I traced the route of the Medway and saw it in its full Edenic beauty. I had often thought Kent was overreaching slightly when it bills itself as ‘The Garden of England’, with the obvious resonance of Eden; yet I saw it, on the approaches to Maidstone especially.

I wrote a number of pretty verses about the River Medway, before and after this walk. Together, they are basically a pilgrimage text and a love letter to Kent. I dedicated one of them to the outgoing GCSE students, who were good enough to tell me they liked it. I am doubtful any of it will ever see the light of day in publication, not for inadequacies, but because nothing I write ever finds favour with other poets. I am not modest; I know what I write is technically accomplished, but out of step with the times. This year was not my year; perhaps with some luck, I can begin to be published in the year ahead.

Resolutions and objectives for 2020:

1. NO dry January
2. Observe Lent: give up coffee (did me the world of good last time)
3. Reach a decision about the Reserves
4. Keep up the exercise routine
5. Do a proper walk of several days, across some county or other
6. Get the novel done
7. Get published (prose or verse)

The Echoes Sessions

The Echoes Sessions: Easter, 2017

This performance of 'Echoes' is the culmination of a week's work on this piece of music.

Our Arrangement

This performance is based upon an online backing track, which itself is modelled upon Pink Floyd's performance at Pompeii in 1971. Our drummer and bassist were unavailable for these sessions, but as the vocals, guitar and keys are the most complex parts in this song, it was still of value for Adam and I to get them right between us.

The digital stage piano emerged as the preferred key instrument for this piece after we decided we needed organ or synthesiser voices on the overdrive parts in the funk section of the song. Previously we had been mic-ing up a grand piano but it didn't cut through very well in the mix and could only do one thing. There are no piano parts for the keys on the original rhythm section, only organ parts, but we liked the jazz feel that the piano gave to the arrangement whilst the guitar is in support.

Of my two guitars, the best for this piece is Edgar, the Telecaster. He can play a characterful rhythm as well as a soaring lead, which suits what we were aiming for in this song: for the piano to lead in some parts, support in others, and vice-versa with the guitar. Cassius is very effective on rhythm, sitting lower and more discretely in the mix than Edgar, with a shimmering tone. He also has the advantage of having a floating bridge, enabling heavy use of the vibrato during the overdrive sections. However, the tone was less pure and, when leading, less soaring than Edgar's with less sustain. He did a respectable job of it during a rehearsal the previous day, but Edgar's voice is the most pleasing for this piece.

There are many ways of doing the funk section. Pink Floyd's studio version is sparse at first but becomes fuller, with a relentless, hypnotic beat underpinning it. In Pompeii in 1971 and Gdansk in 2006, the emphasis was more upon overpowering improvisational sections, especially Gilmour's, alternating between the organ and the guitar. Their otherwise unnotable rehearsal in Toronto in 1987 took a different stance, emphasising the rhythm guitar and setting the lead overdrive parts lower in the mix, with the organ more dominant and lending a lustre to the lead guitar when Gilmour took over. We decided the approach we liked best was their 1987 version, which felt more like psychedelic funk than rock, and we took many ideas away from it as well as adding our own ideas on how it could be done differently.

How We Did It

The Journey

From our first 'Echoes' session

We had been mucking around with this song for some while. Knowing it well as I do, I assumed my performance would naturally be up to standard. It came as quite a blow, then, when we filmed ourselves playing without a backing track, only for me to realise that my playing was not up to standard on review, for two main reasons above all:

1. I did not play in time
2. I had misconceived how to execute the funk section

I spoke to a close friend of mine about these problems. He said he had had similar experiences when he had been studying music at Conservatoire, and that he had realised back then that he had to put his love of the piece to one side, in a way, and aim for what he called an 'out of body experience': divorce yourself from enjoyment of the music, lest you bash your way through it in a fit of fun; rein yourself in and focus instead upon precision, execution. 

I took this advice on board. 

I later shared with Adam how I would play the rhythm differently: less of a rock riff, more of a slick soft funk, lower in the mix and in support of, rather than competition with, his piano parts. The overdrive sections would need to be toned down as well: still dominant, but more predictable, less improvised and better mixed with a new organ part in order to give the audience an experience of a euphoric rush, rather than being just an opportunity to show off.

We made a demo track based on a backing track we found online, and were immediately thrilled with the result, deciding that this was it, this was how we wanted to sound. We could not wait to hear how it sounded live.

From our third 'Echoes' session, this time with Cassius

Whilst Edgar was waiting for new strings, on the 11th of April we reconvened, this time with Cassius, and used the same backing track. When we reviewed the film footage, it was obvious that it worked and that we had found the right approach, for us at least, for this song. I proposed we convene again the following day to record the performance properly and produce a video.

The Recording process

In order to aim for a good quality music video, we had to record the sound separately from the video and then edit the two together. 

The video is recorded on a mobile phone. The quality is not what we had hoped for, but there it is. That is the reason the footage is in monochrome: it disguises the picture quality. We shall have to use something else in future. Nonetheless, rendering it so does lend it the atmosphere of an early 1960s performance, which is no bad thing.

The audio is recorded on a portable digital recording unit, 'the black box', which can take down tracks separately from each other, much a like a recording studio, which is why the audio sounds so slick and 'studio' quality. There had been three tracks recorded: keys, fed directly into the box; guitar, which was picked up with a mic at the amplifier; and vocals, which is why I have two mics in the video: one for the PA, so that I could hear myself, and one for the black box. Unfortunately, the vocal mic did not pick up any signal, probably due to a faulty wire or connection, which is why the video only starts just after the second chorus had ended; it had been our intention to present as much of our performance as we could, but this fault prevented us from doing so.

Final Thoughts

We are very pleased with our performance on this video, and hope in time to be able to perform it for real. We are confident we have found an arrangement that is at once true to Pink Floyd's composition as well as one that is distinct and right for our own sound and style.

2016: The Wonderful Year

2016: The Wonderful Year

As told by a cast of many and featuring Edgar, the electric guitar.

2016: As told by Dekker

I borrow the title of this piece from Thomas Dekker, who wrote a pamphlet, thus titled, about the year 1603. In this context, the adjective 'wonderful' did not carry its positive connotations of something memorably jolly or praiseworthy, but was rather more descriptive: something to wonder at, be astonished by; something notable, not necessarily in a jolly way. 1603 saw plague in London, the death of Elizabeth and the accession - but not the coronation - of King James. Not, then, a settled year.

2016: As told by everyone, it seems

2016 would also seem to a be a wonderful year: a slew of high profile deaths; God knows what atrocities in the middle east; Brexit; and Trump. One tweet in particular, I thought, captured the prevalent mood, at least online.

Humorous as this is, it also seems to tell a truth that 2016 was a particularly fatal year; but you have to buy into that truth before this tweet become meaningful; and I do not particularly buy into this truth at all.

2016: As told by me

Truth be told, I have had a great year, and I don't think I'm the only one. My career goes well, my relationships are solid, and I am finding more time (at a squeeze, admittedly) for music, reading and sport.

Beyond my own circumstances - for it wouldn't do to crow - I do not find this to have been the news-disaster year of common repute either. The celebs who have died are of a generation; that generation is now going to start passing away, and keep going well past 2017:

Thou know'st 'tis common: all that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.

Syria is undoubtedly ghastly news; but every year has bad news. This is the real low of 2016, but it does not mark this year as being especially vile, for the war has raged a long while now.

I did not wish for Trump to win, but there is a feeling in me, deep down, that the American voters understand Trump and Clinton much better than we do; I cannot judge them for their choice, nor do I pretend to understand the likely consequences. But as I look at America now, divided unlike it has been in many years, and as I look at the wreckage of Obama's non-leadership abroad, I cannot weep for the Democrats or the repudiation of the things they stand for; nor can hide my anxieties for what Trump means for the future of NATO.

And as for Brexit - well, like 1999 and 2012, that's another Armageddon that has failed to materialise. The reaction to the vote has been disappointing, with some people absolutely determined to see catastrophe unfold and for Britain to disintegrate, just in order to vindicate a smug smile and one of those 'I told you so' gloats. But I can't help but feel immense optimism. The vote itself seems to have breathed new life into our political process; the divisions that have been exposed have forced a long overdue national self-reflection, uncomfortable though it be at times; and given how unsuccessful - and worse - the EU has shown itself to be, how can it be that we can't survive without it? I am convinced we can do better than survive - we can flourish; but we could do without the dreary carping and whining, thanks.

2016: As told by Edgar, the electric guitar

Meet Edgar, the latest addition to my family:

I am most grateful to my father for gifting me Edgar.

Edgar is a Fender Telecaster (MX Standard, for those who know). Edgar has a beautiful voice, and he can really, really sing.

The story of Edgar's name will shed some light on the year that has passed, more meaningfully perhaps than all the straightforward stuff I have written above.

Edgar's serial number begins with MX16. I looked up the coding patterns and, sure enough, this means that the guitar was built in 2016, so this year is his 'birthyear'. (Wonderful year indeed!)

Hitherto, I had long been scratching around for a name. My custom is to name my guitars like I name my cars: after characters from Shakespeare's plays. My older guitar was an easy case, for his lean and hungry looking body shape ideally suited Caesar's description of Cassius's 'lean and hungry looks': so, Cassius it was.

But look at Edgar. He's beefy, but stately; muscular and athletic, but also comfortable and smooth. I thought of Prince Hal; but inexplicably, he just isn't Hal.

But then the mood around this year fell upon me, and I was put in mind of that most distressing of tragedies, King Lear. Basically, most people die; Lear having first gone mad and left for dead in a howling storm, and Gloucester having been blinded and attempted suicide. But at the end, there is a small band of survivors, on whose behalf young Edgar, who endured and survived betrayal, a man-hunt and near fatal exposure to the elements, speaks the closing lines:

The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most. We that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

These elegiac words, so tenderly phrased, seemed to me more apt a summary of the times than any sneer, whine, rant, GIF, meme or any other cyberflotsam I had seen drifting around the interweb. After an especially fatal time, Edgar here acknowledges the passing of a whole generation, and not just a particular band of characters. His imperative that we must express what we 'feel' rather than what we 'ought to say' acknowledges also that the times have changed, that the ground has sifted, and that those surviving must face facts and take it all in hand, as ordinary protocol will no longer suffice. The fact, then, that Shakespeare has a young man speak the final words of the play is an expression of optimism, for the burden now falls to young Edgar and his generation, and Edgar acknowledges the future as his, with humility.

So, Edgar it is. Wonderful year, i'faith.

Wishing everyone a happy 2017.