I’ve heard your heart is for taking
and all I need is this night
if I leave, don’t get a fright
I’m just a bird, passing in flight.
Your eyes are slate grey
in the light of early dawn
sitting with a tender heart
and a hand reaching out for morning.
If I may, I’ll take a seat, my love
if I may, I’ll take a light
your eyes are sending waves, my love
and this cigarette’s gone out.
Let us talk of coming days
while people come and go
I’d like to come and stay sometime,
dip my feet in snow.
If you look closely, you can see the child I was before the city.
Manchester is what flung me into adulthood. Before this, I had no idea how many people there were in this world. So secluded was I, tucked up in the South-Western corner of Scotland, that I spent most of those seventeen years chasing fairies and leaping around fields like a lunatic.
Rumour has it that when I was a baby, the wind was once so high and my body so light, I flew. You heard. I was lifted up into the air like a little leaf, holding my mother’s hand so I wouldn’t fly away.
Galloway was magic.
I remember swimming in waterfalls and falling asleep in long meadows, hair sticking up at right angles. Not a care in this old world.
There were several companions; my brother of course, we pretended to be Hobbits or Rivendellian elves, dashing the hills, attacking any and all enemies (mainly gorse bushes and the occasional invisible Ork.) Creating dens in the undergrowth or down by the old lightening-struck tree. Sometimes fishing (we’d throw them back in of course,) sometimes running, sometimes hiding. Then there was Bronwen the cat. She liked to follow us around the fields sometimes. She would come sloe-berry picking with us at the bottom of the hill. My brother and I used to pretend she was our protector and she would lead us into battle. And of course, there was Kelpie, our prize wolf. Or as you would see her, a dishevelled rescue lurcher; half greyhound, half Scottish deerhound. She cost me my first baby-tooth! It was dislodged from my jaw with as much elegance and velocity as a champaign cork. That is to say, it hurt. A lot. Blood everywhere. It was my own fault though, I should never have put the lead in my mouth.
And later, brother and I respectively found music.
He, before I.
I because of he.
What child doesn’t want to be like their big brother? I imagine quite a lot, but I did.
Now ever since, I’ve tried to row myself back to my little island of a childhood, in my mind. Sometimes a shot of mindfulness meditation and my imagination just won’t cut it.
It’s then I find the need to sing. It sounds cheesy as hell but it’s sometimes the only thing that keeps me sane. Or insane, it’s much the same. I could go back, physically I mean, but what use is the countryside when you’re my age? Now is the time I should be around cities and life and people. There is a lot of good in the city, it just takes some time to find it.
I just need eyes that can see.
I’ve got the solitude I craved.
I gave up everything just for a slice of the peace of mind I once had.
There is a new sky above me, a new ground beneath my feet and the postman calls with unknowing beauty.
No television makes for wonderful meditation. I can hear words start to have more meaning as they swim around my head freely, once more.
My feckless neighbour plays their stereo loud and suddenly we’re all dancing in the street.
I stole this pen because I disliked the way Joan smiled.
And it’s darker than when I started to write, it’s getting too dark to write. The sky is moping a bit too much today, I think it’s attention seeking. Do not pay it any mind.
The ironing board in the window across the street looks like a giant cricket.
Had a blast, filming with the folks at UNILAD Sound!
Here is the finished result with my song ‘The Past is a Funny Old Town’
my child of snow
you arrived as I grew cold
but with you with you
little dancing shoes
and a silver ribbon bow
I grew warm grew warm
as i heard you laugh
and did you hear my heart sing
i know i know
you’re just aflow
like the river through my heart
you go you go
just as you came
my ancient work of art
you go you go
just as you came
my ancient work of art
It’s hard to get to sleeping when your head is buzzing around.
I tried to write a new song, but my confidence is whack – as ever! It may get better in time. I did a wee recording of it on my iPhone so I can return with a fresh brain.
Write apathetic, edit sober… that’s the saying, right?
I will show you, in time. It may be a good one.
I went busking the other day, on a sort of whim. It turned out to be the most enjoyable day I’ve had in a long time. A lovely street artist, by the name of Elton Darlo sketched me playing in St Ann’s Square. Soon to be a painting.
I will post on here, if I come across the finished product.
I wish the moon was full. There is no nicer feeling when you can’t sleep than to leave my curtains open and let the dappled moonlight bathe my body. I meditate myself into a near-sleep state. It’s the best I can do in these situations.
Tomorrow I am off to Doune The Rabbit Hole Festival in Scotland.
Bye for now.
I sat down with Toms Kaugers, the brains and wit behind Manchester Music Podcast where I discuss my approach to music, my early life, the future and more.
It was an absolute dream of a day!
Have a look…
Excited to share this with everyone.
A lovely live session of my new song ‘The Past is a Funny Old Town’
Filmed by the boys at Store 57 Productions within the beautiful walls of Fairfield Social Club…
It’s my pleasure to share with you a live video of my new song ‘A Whisper of Light’ shot by the wonderful Sycamore Aerial Film and Photography.
It was a super lovely day spent rambling through fields of snow in the winter sun.
I sincerely hope you like the result.