Soundtrack

Music is…

Making it.

I am learning “Dock of the Bay” on the piano. I love the lyrics. The chords are all major chords. The first four are G, B, C, A. The change from B to C drives me wild. I remember years ago spending hours playing E minor and B minor on the guitar. The pleasure of the difference between the two chords seemed endless. A glimpse into the chasm - of the transcendence of mechanical repetition, obsession, hysteria? Is that what people call mental masturbation? The excitement is vaguely sexual. The only limits were sore fingers and having to stop to do something else.

Trying to get the hang of the chords, I hit a wrong note and it was jarring. It seemed to be my right hand that was wrong. I looked at the keyboard and surprise, it was the left hand that was not right, but it made the right hand, which was right, sound wrong. Reminded me of Françoise telling me that when the musicians play a wrong note, it sounds as if the singer is at fault. This is not to say the singer is never at fault! Years ago, I recorded Sunday morning coming down

(Kris Kristofferson) for my sister, who was still speaking to me at the time. As usual, I went over the top with the backing vocals, and my guitar playing is crap.

I don’t do it because I believe I’m good at it. I do it because I love doing it, I feel compelled to do it, I am unable to passively absorb uplifting experiences without producing some kind of humble response - to all the musicians, artists and writers who have given me a thrill, incredible sunsets or breathtaking landscapes. A belief in the need to propagate the spiritual value of art with a small “a”.

Listening to it.

At the moment, a song that never fails to make me quiver with emotion is Damien Rice singing The Blower’s Daughter.
Glory Box by Portishead is another track I feel reverence towards. My favourite singers include Chet Baker and Diana Krall. The Buena Vista album affects me so deeply I believe I must have been Spanish in a previous life. And I don’t have words to describe John Martyn and what Solid Air added to my student days. Tom Waits’ Saturday night still holds a thrill, stopping on the red, going on the green… A marvellous evocation of those rare moments when everything seems to be going absolutely right.