Arfternoon.
I'm almost a bit disappointed, because I'd managed to write two blog entries on consecutive days, and was really hoping for a third, but it didn't quite happen. I'm the sort of chap that always hopes to get into a good routine - early nights, regular shopping, remembering to do my laundry at respectable intervals - but never quite manages it.
And it's always once I've managed to, say, get up at 7am on two days on the trot that I think to myself "Yes, finally! I've turned a corner! All these unwanted lie-ins are a thing of the past!" and then wake up the next day at least an hour later than I wanted, resulting in a frenzied gallop around the house, grabbing stray pieces of clothing and trying not to fall up the stairs.
I once worked as a senior member of staff in an independent record store, and over Christmas we would pull early shifts in order to get through the backlog of deliveries that used to logjam the staff quarters over the Festive period (there are probably many and varied stories I could tell you about the time I spent working in that lovely old shop - no longer with us and is currently a bland Virginmedia death-hole - but I can't remember any of them right now, so will try and stockpile them for future blog entries). My early-morning shift was due, and I went to bed early with that reverence you can only achieve when you know you are doing a Good And Proper Thing, you know, instead of staying up all night and playing computer games until you can hear the dawn chorus of birds in the park outside your flat (this has happened - again, another story).
That reverence is something else, isn't it? If you really want to be smug at yourself, make a cup of tea to drink in bed while you read a chapter or two of a book. That night, I did all that (I might have been trying to read Lord Of The Rings at the time, I have only ever made it to the end of the second book, and the chances of me getting beyond that have have gone past slim - I console myself by knowing what happens after having watched the films with my folks, but that's a bit like making yourself feel better about not having read Wuthering Heights by saying "Well, I've listened to Kate Bush..."), and I went smugly to sleep in anticipation of getting up early and arriving at the shop at half-six in the morning.
In much the same way that nothing feels quite like that early-night smugness, nothing matches that shot of adrenalin when you wake up and look at the clock, only to discover you should have left the house. It's as if you've actually been thrown out of bed by a mattress-mounted trebuchet. If you've ever leapt out of bed following one of those startling moments, ask yourself how you never actually hit the wall when you got up. I awoke at 8am, a full hour after I was supposed to be at the shop in the first place. I raced around my flat, picking up stray clothes and calling a taxi, with that breathy panic that you know you'll still be feeling long after you apologise to your boss. I was hanging up the phone to the taxi firm (and, unfathomably, trying to pull a sock over my head), when I remembered that my early shift wasn't today. It was tomorrow. It was, in actual fact, my day off.
So there, in three paragraphs, we have covered the key facets of human existence: smugness, panic and relief. I often feel that these three states of being are the cornerstone of humanity. I will quite happily continue to believe this until someone knocks me off my perch, but until then, I will keep excitedly chattering about the record I'm making. (Wow, I didn't think I'd be able to get this blog entry on-topic - miracles do happen!)
The excitement gathers apace. Our producer Dan re-tweaked the rough mixes from what we recorded on last weekend, and I sat down the other night to listen to them. It's all a bit thrilling, to hear someone working on stuff that I've written, to make it sound nice. It makes me think about what's going to happen with it when it's all finished, and what I hope people will think about it when they hear it. It also makes me wonder what I'm going to say about it once it's finished.
I mean, why does anyone make music? At a guess, because they have something to say, and feelings to express, because they want to be heard, because they want to move people in some way. They want to be identified with, to know that they aren't on their own. Music is that thing that, when you hear something that you connect with, makes you feel less alone in the world. That feeling when you listen to a song that makes you think "This is exactly what I am going through now," that puts a spring in your step and gives you the strength to keep moving forward, is invaluable. Nothing matches it.
So we'll keep going until it's finished. And I will keep talking about it. I don't want to give too much away about the record, but if I'm going to tell you anything about it that will leave you intrigued, I will tell you that it's called 'Unexpected Sunshine'. Was that exciting? I hope so. (It certainly bloody was for me, leastways!)
I shall go now, I plan to watch a Rich Hall DVD and get a good night's sleep, as Angela is coming round to practice some songs. Wish me luck, and let's hope I don't need my bed-mounted catapult come morning...
Lots of love,
John xxx
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