september

September marks the end of beds. The fall of rain. The switch to darkness when I wander home from work, the start of lights on for motorways. The end of laughter down the hall and protein shakes in the kitchen. The sunglasses are out of my bag, instead replaced with an ever-present umbrella. I remember a younger me who came to relish September, the promise of fresh starts, breakfast in coffee shops. New pencilcases, walnuts in salads, poetry readings, looking forward to winter coat weather and frosty hands on playgrounds. I do not relish those things anymore.

This September is different. Journeying halfway across the world to solve a dilemma I do not fully understand. Sifting through my belongings and photographing them in the hope that some stranger may want them in their hands instead. Confronting the cold in my heart, the grit that has not really lodged since last November. The long game of scheduling when I would rather just write songs all day, songs I can not write because nobody wishes to hear. The pain sure to be stirred by the arrival of orange on the trees. Committing my frenzied, troubled thoughts to tape and airing my hard-won work to a discerning and unwilling audience. Worrying about fronting poorly-attended gigs. I’m restless, and there seems to be little left to come. Maybe this is the danger of living constantly in the moment, or just a comedown from summer, or just spiralling thoughts on a rainy Tuesday night whilst the boys move out.

(Picture c/o Royal Opera House website)

This week I was back at home in London following a week off to recover from illness. I tried very hard to schedule in a minimum of work but still seem to be out of the house most days! By far the best thing I have done this week was see the recent production of ‘The Wasp Factory’ at the Royal Opera House and is an adaptation of the book of the same name by the late, wonderful Iain Banks. I’m normally very critical and am rarely “blown away” by anything, whether it’s art, music, theatre, games, books etc. ‘The Wasp Factory’ is one of my favourite books and of the few books that has “blown me away” but given that large amounts of the book are long anecdotes retold by Frank, the unreliable first person narrator, I was skeptical as to how well the book could be adapted for the stage.

However, I thought ‘The Wasp Factory’ was astoundingly good and I can’t remember the last time I felt such an impact from a show. Bold, striking, brave, innovative and extremely powerful, I spent the entire performance entranced and barely able to process what I was seeing. After the show had finished I just felt an overwhelming ache and numb shock; how can I make performances like that? How can I be in that show? Where can I learn to do that? I should have liked to have seen it on an even bigger stage with the orchestra hidden, projected backgrounds and a longer, more violent ending – but it was still completely magical.

It’s very rare for me to feel that kind of kinship with a work. I often think that’s why I create songs and music and concerts; because the ideas I have in my head so rarely exist in the physical world. That’s not to say there isn’t a lot I enjoy, but it’s so rare for me to find something that just chimes with my own ideas and feelings.