How on Earth did I get here?
Running down a dream: The early years
Dad would be driving, mum sat up front, as we carved our way through the hills and hamlets of North Wales. Me & my sister sat in the back, not so much taking in the scenic vista as fighting an epic battle for back seat territory. “Don’t you dare cross the imaginary line of no mans land and have the gall to set foot on MY side of the car!” On our way to Bala lake to camp for a few nights and swim in the cold but invigorating waters. Ahh Bala Lake! Shangrila!It was like the Bahamas to us!
As we set off on our journey dad produced that good old family favourite in the form of a tired and over used cassette tape – Tom Pettty, Full Moon Fever. Cue much excitement from the back as me and me sister argued over the relative merits of side A or side B. "lets hit the road!" exclaimed Dad, as he inserted the tape into the decrepid and squeaking cassette player. To this day I’m sure my mum was secretly winding it up with a spanner as we drove!Whack it in and Bob's yer mothers brother – holiday tunes abound!
To a collective chorus of Free Fallin we snaked our way across the landscape and towards our glistening destination. We passed quaint hamlets, wigwam settlements and overindulged hippy convoys as we travelled, encouraged along by Tom, who could always be heard over the anguished cries of back seat battle! But wait, what’s this, the albums finished, what now? Bob Marley? UB40? The Boss? Suggestions welcome. Talking heads came the cry from my sister. Road to nowhere it is Joked dad!
Teenage Anxst
I was hipping, hopping and never stopping. Then I was reaching for the lazers when I should have been in bed. Then I was a long haired melancholic indie brooder!Then I removed the pigeon from it’s hole and decided that “if it was good, it was good!” Just as in most areas of teenage life, it took no short effort to find my place in the world which wasn’t only acceptable to me, but more importantly, to how others percieved me. A good place to start in my identity building exercise was through music.
My bes t pal Doug was cool. He was a year older than me and from the big city lights of Newcastle. I was just a simple country lad. Our mums were best pals and colleagues so there was almost no option for us but friendship, Either that or sitting silent together as our mums smoked dope and listened to Tracy Chapman downstairs.
Doug also had a cassette which he smuggled upstairs and into the Alba tape player in my room. NWA? I queried? No idea mate! What followed was a revelation to my young ears – Gangsta Rap!! Crikey Moses! Wowser Me Trouser! There was coarse swearing that i’d never heard before along with vicious anger towards the state and oppressive system imposed on the artists. Of course I didn’t really get that narrative, I just liked the shouty bits!
When my mum found out she seemed to have reimagined and intensified the concept of a bollocking but it was too late, I was hooked! From them on I was in the game, an angry hip hop pioneer, rebelling against a system I didn’t really understand.
As time went on and I gained an understanding of the stories being told and my tastes and influences matured. It turned out I didn’t think that crude swearing, horredous sexism and talking about guns was the way to solve all your problems. I found that there were more nuanced stories in the genre and gravitated towards them. I began to make sense of the anger, opening my ears to the more eloquent stories of the fight against racism and the oppressive state. Public Enemy were my favourites and Chuck D is to this day my hero. Malcolm X became an icon to me. I read the book, watched the film, had the cap & t-shirt and all the cool soundbites. I of course embraced it “by any means necssary.
So here we are – which is also a song I love
I’m more comfortable in my skin these day, without the need to keep square pegging round holes. I’ll be moved to tears by the orchestra and their goose bump inducing sibelius performance. Just as likely as I’ll rave my way across Berwickshire listening to ear splitting dupstep as I cycle. I’ll do my food shopping to the folk rock maladies of the Decemberists, of whom you must try. Or i’ll sit quietly at home reading, the songs of Abdullah Ibrahim giving me his view on the world. South African Jazz? That wasn’t in the original plan for my identity but there you go! The world is remarkable. I’ll make you a CD if you like.