Wednesday 4th March

150304

DUMP THE DARK STUFF WITH THE BINS:

Knee deep in bad news radio morning, a heavy sheet of negativity
drawn over our nation again, again. Some mornings I can laugh off
this obsession, some days it feels like I’m going down with global
dark-stuff-flu. Held down, feel the badvibes, beaten into submitting
to the gloom, infected with fear & suspicion.
In this life I don’t seek negativity, don’t crave it to justify my
insecurities. I gravitate towards positivity, people who raise
themselves up, face towards the light, Spring bursts out the ground
& does the same, it must be the natural. Being pumped daily with
bad news is against nature, marathon running in lead boots.
I take the bins out, crunch through morning frost in the sun, buds
erupting to meet the light. Knuckles numb, I slip a camera out &
look around, see the world for the first time, again, again,
count my blessings, sober, still alive, shower off this dark radio
dust & go in search of the bright stuff. In the back of a car,
East London bound, production rehearsal, pre-Dubno-tour.
The company of friends, old & new, riggers, truckers, Sound & Lighters,
pulling together to transmit good news….people still coming together
to celebrate what’s good about people. Watching Essex out the window,
slip past easy in the sun, in-ears in, listening to Nervous Conditions.

(K)

Tuesday 3rd March

150303

LAST REHEARSAL IN ESSEX BEFORE…:

Weird light illuminating Essex, feels good, something different,
a light on the verge of casting strong shadows, but not.
A smudged charcoal sky, blue but not quite, grey but not quite,
solitary clouds creep low to the horizon, trying not to be noticed.
Essex looks ready to be filmed, body feels ready to rehearse,
still coughing, but slight, low to the horizon, trying not to be
noticed.

(K)

Monday 2nd March

150302

LAST REHEARSAL IN ESSEX BEFORE…:

Weird light illuminating Essex, feels good, something different,
a light on the verge of casting strong shadows, but not.
A smudged charcoal sky, blue but not quite, grey but not quite,
solitary clouds creep low to the horizon, trying not to be noticed.
Essex looks ready to be filmed, body feels ready to rehearse,
still coughing, but slight, low to the horizon, trying not to be
noticed.

(K)

Sunday 1st March

150301

100%:

Beautiful day, Essex with the roof off, sailing into the wind,
body creeping back on line. Fell asleep in the sun, listening to
BBC radio 4 Just a Minute, it ain’t Rock-n-Roll, but it’s
high octane food for the soul, 100% luxury direct injection fuel.

(K)

Saturday 28th February

150228

THE CURSE OF MUSIC:

The Beautiful dirt you leave for me to find, is a paper trail
I follow, into the far north, working with brother Fred Gibson
on a songwriting master class with the youth of another town,
each one inspiring in their own right, pumped on enthusiasm
for the thing I love & how do I express the gratitude I feel
to be in the presence of their passion for music, going public
with their ideas, no matter how embarrassing, to see each one
overcome themselves reminds me of the kid I was, crushingly
self conscious, introverted, shy, unable to converse, couldn’t
meet anyone new without turning inside out. Music, was the only
route out’ve the dark hole, still is to this day & today,
listening to all these young dreams laid bare in company I was
lifted. Courage like that is an honour to witness, filled my
tank up, took me right back to the root of why I chose this road,
or did it choose me?, Lucky to be still here not only with loyal
friends of years, but welcomed into their circle of inspiration,
& new friends found along the road like Fred – today.
Wish you could’ve been there, heard their songs, every one of them
from the heart. Personal is the only way forward, no time to waste
on a life of imitation, sing what’s going on with you.
The more personal it is the more universal it becomes.
As we left this house, early in the rain, car loaded with studio
& more than a little trepidation, we both turned to one another,
bleary & spontaneously burst into grinning,

“I bloody love music”

Start the engine.

(K)

Friday 27th February

150227

REHEARSING REVERSING A HEAD FOR REHEARSING:

Everyday as I gain consciousness, words start to form into
sentence structures in my head, the dust of the night evolving
into sounds, beats, rhythms that speak. First one of the day
is, “Hey, I’m alive!” next. “What a beautiful day!”,
rain or sun, doesn’t matter, this default setting ensures
the head is pointing in the right direction.
Today, still recovering from late winter bugs, rehearsals
affected, though not enough to worry, coughing & spluttering
in the shower, the words get mangled up with negatives, the
self-centred stuff of old-scholl thinking that breaks through
like radio transmissions, criss-cross cutting up positive grooves.
Find a room, sit down, open a window, breath, slow down, switch off,
listen, bird song, wind, rhythm of flight, animal, machine,
planes coming into land & leaving, sun reflecting off the tips of their
wings, cars in the distance, whispering, winking glass eyes in the sun,
everything moving in it’s rhythm, everything in it’s place.

(K)

Thursday 26th February

150226

FOLLOW DIVERSION SIGNS, RESURFACING IN PROGRESS:

Burning the candle at ends it never had, reversing health
regeneration with tech overload, work-on-work, late nights
& a little cherry of stress. A thin cold wire is being drawn
through my head, I pull down the shutter in the passenger seat,
you drive today. The presence of phones makes me nauseous,
I lower the window, cold wind full in the face, the first feel-good
of the day. Simple is the way to the healing.

(K)