Music of the Person
Music fills a different void for different people. It's role evolves as we do. For me, music has always given me a sense of identity and purpose. I poured most of my teenage life into it. I wasn't forced to. It was a calling. Every hour I could find to feed it, was found and given freely. I paid a cost in terms of personal and social development (even if its primary purpose towards my growth to adulthood was in the relationships it bore me). But this is not a tale of woe, nor is it a tale of redemption. It is the story of how music is a vehicle of emotions.
Reading my good friend Nathan Jones wonderful piece (Conjuring A Melancholic Daze) on how music paves a soundtrack to his life has inspired me to drop the needle myself.
Like many others, it was a parent that laid bare the foundations on which this account rests. My father surrounded us with a steady mix of Motown hits and singers who could sure belt out a tune. It seemed more important than any other entertainment medium, even if my father had a tendency to murder the same few albums. It never struck me that music was supposed to fit a mood, until the passing of my father's mother. Everything seemed sombre and sad in the aftermath and I didn't much like it. I was only around 8 years old at the time but I remember approaching the simple cassette player in the kitchen and pressing play. I knew what was inside. It was the same tape that had resided in there for a few months - George Benson's Greatest Hits. I hit play and the funky tones of 'Give me the Night' resounded around the room. My father came rushing out to turn it off. He gave me a stern look and informed me that it wasn't suitable at a time of mourning. I was confused but accepted it and reflected on it over the next weeks, months, indeed right up until the current day. Music was only ever viewed or presented as a positive force (including my first crush - Debbie Gibson) but here it was laid bare as almost too powerful. I'm sure George Benson would be proud.
Fast forward to my early teenage years and I felt a stirring. I wanted to be involved. There just weren't very many options for a working class family in Belfast at that time but I was fortunate to have parents who cared enough to seek out ways for me to pursue this burning. They found a way for me to learn the clarinet and from the moment I had it in my hand, I could think of doing nothing else. I practiced for hours every day. It didn't take long to mature from beginner to being on the road to accomplished. I became synonymous with playing it and performing. I was and continue to be uncomfortable with that kind of light being shone on me, but it seemed an occupational hazard that I would be wheeled out to perform at the drop of any hat. In truth though, I didn't care. I just loved to play.
And play is what I did. Every day for about 10 years. I had an almost dual life. It became clear as I reached a certain age, that while I was good, I wasn't quite good enough to do anything with it. I had numerous incredible experiences, playing in places that seemed so much grander than my background would have suggested. I dabbled in other instruments but the clock was ticking. The clarinet sits in my wardrobe to his day but my tutelage would serve me well as I was able to study many forms of music that would influence me to this day.
The musical soundtrack was wide and varied. I'm as much a sucker for a good pop record as anyone else but my musical tastes were split between two camps. What I was listening to at home and what I was enjoying when I was out. Much to my own surprise, I found as much joy in dancing as playing. It was almost the same feeling. While others around me were using chemical enhancement as a sidebar to this part of life, it was never necessary for me. The music was always enough. If the music was good, I rarely needed anything else. To this day, I cocoon myself in a private bubble as the music envelops my spirit. When the music stopped or the night ends, there was a mix of euphoria and loss.
Therefore, it was almost by accident that I discovered how powerful music would be for me. I got lost as a person in my early twenties. I had neither the maturity, drive or fortitude to succeed at life. I had lots of ability but had no idea how to channel it and that cocoon threatened to overtake me. My mental health was particularly poor, though it was never mentioned as facet of life in those days. I just felt like a failure. I identified strongly with singer songwriters who had their own personal tales to tell. I could feel the emotion pour out from them and mesh with my own emotions. Artists like Gavin deGraw and Jewel were very important for me. But one night as I was perusing iTunes I came across a female artist that changed everything. I had tried writing my own music for years but it was plain awful and rarely got further than a few lines before I abandoned that idea. I was going through a particularly tough time and was using Tina Dico's music to wallow. It was like she was writing the songs exclusively to fit my mood.
Yet, as I listened, a peculiar thing started to happen. The mist cleared and I could see how to write. I started writing a song and worked on it closely for a week or so. I can't really write lyrics so they were nothing more than mood pieces. Then I started another - and another - soon I had written about 12 songs in the space of 2 months. Alongside this, I found that the darkness had gone as well. The negative emotions were all contained in these songs and out of me. The songs weren't for publishing (although I include one below as not to seems disingenuous).
Music is many things. It is nostalgia - memories of a childhood that now seems like someone else's - it is passion; it is therapy; it is joy.
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