The notes app on my phone is flooded with ideas, lyrics, lists etc. My handwriting is so bad that I struggle to make any sense of it. At school, they’d give me extra time in exams due to my inability to effectively wield a pencil. This extends to cutlery, which I avoid using in front of people I’ve just met. And instruments, which I play with the dexterity of a drunk toddler, bashing an action man into a bowl of Weetabix.
Amongst other reasons, this kept me from keeping a log of a time in my life which I knew would be fleeting. The sort of days you wish you had on DVD, to watch on the days that you’re glad you don’t. I’d dedicated most of my life to being in a band and had romanticised every aspect of the process. It was the sort of devotion I’d heard others talk about in interviews and short inspirational videos, in films and on television, in books - that sort of thing. I wanted it for myself, and I wanted it badly enough that I made every major life decision with music in mind.
Documenting my own cliched pursuit of rock stardom felt childish at best, and self-indulgent for sure. Even now on reflection, I wince at the thought of glamorising my life beyond reality. Like I think I’m suave, or exceptional. I don’t know if this is a common feeling for those who write, or more of a me thing. Like I said, I’m new to this.
Deep down, I’m as earnest and sincere now as I was at the start. Not entirely jaded by setbacks, shortcomings and other losses, I feel extremely lucky to have devoted as much of myself to my passion for as long as I have. Especially as it grows harder and harder to sustain myself, earn enough money to live and to give as much to music as I can bear. It’s a privilege to afford whatever free time I have left, spending it with my friends doing something we dreamt about as children. Not everyone has the chance, and not everyone lives long enough to see these things through.
The truth is, when I’m not writing songs or playing music, I’m searching for anything that offers me the same level of catharsis. Experiencing gratification to the degree that being in a band does has made me a fiend for contentment. Like a dog choking on its collar at the smell of sausages. The Jacques is like a meat market and right now, we’re eating prime beef.
We may have had a lifetime’s worth of memories and experiences, but this time around feels optimistic, productive and particularly enjoyable. Maybe I’ll write some of these memories here, I’m not sure. I always believe that our best song is our next song, the one we’re yet to write. I hope to one day look back at this time in my life with the same fondness. I can’t go back, and in many ways, things are better now than I dreamt they’d be.
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