Another fine came in the post today. If we haven't had the pleasure of sharing an address, you might be unaware that this is an alarmingly regular occurrence in my life. By the end of last year I was seriously considering seeking out yet another job purely to subsidise my decadent fine-centric lifestyle before deciding that perhaps I should just try and not acquire the fines to begin with. Until today, I was 3 months sober but a few things have knocked me for six recently and the subsequent chaos is normally signalled by the unwelcome arrival of an ominous white envelope on my doormat.
I’ve come to expect the arrival of these periods of fogginess that make me want to Ostrich – to stick my head in the sand, or my pillow as I don’t live upon a sand dune or a beach. My emotions and administrative processes start to feel scrambled and unworkable like old Christmas lights that you try to untangle before collapsing into a puddle of tears to the soundtrack of Mariah Carey’s sweet sweet riffs. The last few weeks have been a bit of blur and most have passed horizontally. When a low feeling is so familiar it feels tempting to try and think yourself out of it but I have learnt that it’s better to let it overwhelm me, to lay low for a while, like a rock in a river, knowing that I will always come out the other side.
And also, to write about it. But I have spent the last few weeks flirting with old ideas, trying to amalgamate old poem scraps into something cathartic and true, to no avail. And when this doesn’t work it feels even more distressing. My brain is going a million miles an hour in all different directions, looking for answers and coming up with red herrings and broken threads. When I write a song that I’m proud of it’s because I’ve managed to articulate how I feel about something and there’s a deep catharsis in that. I feel very lucky to have an outlet for all the big feelings but when that channel feels blocked there’s nowhere for those feelings to go. The Christmas lights remain tangled and I collapse into aforementioned puddle of tears.
There’s something about finishing a creative project that also feels like grieving. Even though releasing music is a long and sometimes stressful task, it provides a purpose and path as you focus on sharing rather than creating. Performing the songs I have written allows me to relive the original catharsis and release I felt whilst writing them. Last week I played a lovely gig at the bookshop where I work and although it felt impossible to pack my things and put on a smile, I am so grateful I did and that this is my job. I always feel apprehensive to play these songs when I’m feeling raw. A lot of what I’m feeling are things I talk about in my music and sometimes, when I’m flying low, they feel too close to the surface. There is great joy and excitement in having the space and time to be creative again, but the expanse also feels overwhelming especially as I feel unable to keep a train of thought coherent enough to fill the empty page. The patterns and feelings seem too familiar. But if there’s truly nothing new to say why do I feel this untreatable heartburn that I know is only remedied by writing?
In the absence of creation, I find myself indulging in consumption (wine inclusive). Reading and listening to artists who made sense of their world in a single poem or verse always remind me of the importance of creating. Through their work, they ensure no one is left alone in the fog, without the comfort of good words or music, whether overtly wisdom-ridden or otherwise. I never met my mother’s mother but I have her old Joan Baez Greatest Hits vinyl and this is my favourite song she sings from it. I always have Kris Kristofferson’s words in my head as I wander through a murky patch reminding me to ask for help, lean on my friends and not try to understand and solve everything – not tonight.
I don't care what's right or wrong
And I won't try to understand
Let the devil take tomorrow
Lord, tonight I need a friendYesterday is dead and gone
And tomorrow's out of sight
And it's sad to be alone
Help me make it through the night
In the words of Laura Marling, I began ‘clearing all the crap out of my room’ yesterday to try and shift the mist, shed the skin, try to pick up my guitar and begin detangling. I have no idea what this next part will bring but I promise it will be duly published on my Sobstack so you don’t miss a beat (or a weep hehe).
This year I’m on a quest to try and support myself more through my music and writing in the hopes that I can dedicate more time to both. In light of this, I have switched on a paid subscription to this weekly blog which you can sign up to below if you would like to, and are able to, support me on the slightly mad mission to being a full-time artist. Thank you for being here.
Meet you on the stage
26th March - London @ The Lexington (supporting Dilettante)
Time to put the craft to work.