‘It’s as still a night as I’m ever likely to see. The sky is clear and cloudless and the moon shines in a low radiant crescent that pierces the darkness surrounding it. The crickets chirp and click invisibly and far off dogs bark and howl at unseen stirrings in the night air. I’ve been walking alone on the old dust road that runs from our host’s house to the neighbour’s place where I have been living this past week. There is an overwhelming sense of calm that comes from being alone in such a wide expanse of land. Some people would perhaps find it creepy, a little strange or spooky, finding the temptation of imagining unseen dangers in the night air, whereas the stillness simply makes me feel still. The far off lights of other houses appear as dots in the great emptiness and although I cannot see the road clearly, the relaxed pace of my stroll keeps my footing sure.
London is very far away. It’s not that I’m on the other side of the world – the plane ride was just over two hours. No, the distance is not a physical thing. It’s the flip side – the other end of a spectrum – the extreme that London presents as a great lumbering monster of stress and activity, of equal parts excitement and horror. Concrete and grey walls, with the horizon blocked on every turn by great monoliths of stone and glass, of windows that look out only to see other windows, and giant billboards trying to sell things that no-one needs to people who damn near kill themselves scrambling to find the means to attain such things. This place inspires awe because it is so peaceful, quiet and hidden away from the world.’
It’s an interesting fact that when looking for inspiration, most musicians reach for the iPod. In fact, it’s actually quite baffling. At those times in our life where it feels like the well is running dry and we are finding it hard to connect with music (be it our music or the music that we listen to others make) a lot of people just bang their head on this locked door. As though my love of music has become jammed in the pipe, so if I shove a load of music in after it, that should somehow unblock it. It does work. Sometimes. At other times, (and these are dark times) we find ourselves detesting the sound of people playing – we resent the lack of connection, the fact that something which made us feel so much before, now makes us feel…. nothing. (Or close to it) These times come for every musician, from Mozart, to Steve Gadd, to you and I.
When this particular demon comes knocking on your door, don’t invite him in and fire up the iTunes. Get outside – run past him. Go meet people and look for things. Open your eyes. If you live in a busy city, go somewhere so quiet that you can hear yourself breathe. If you live in a rural area, go stand in the midst of a city so manic in pace that you feel like you are standing between the cogs of a giant, monsterous robot. I went to Spain recently to train Chinese Kung Fu (June 2009) – we lived in the mountains of Malaga for a week. We trained every day, ate food, swam and enjoyed a slow and simple pace of life. I didn’t learn a single new thing about music that week and played a very small amount on a beaten up old Spanish guitar that couldn’t keep more than 2 chords in tune. And yet, I came home with a refreshed perspective on life and music. I was so moved on a lone walk home that I immediately sat down and wrote the excerpt above.
Remember – our music is a reflection of our lives, in all of the joy and sorrow that we can experience. Life is complex, tragic, beautiful and inspirational, all over the world, all of the time.
You just need to make sure that you go out and find these moments. They aren’t hiding in your bedroom with you while you sit alone and practice. That is only one part of what a musician’s life is made of. Take care of that and then get out of the house.
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I like this post a lot Dave. I can absolutely relate to times when no music seems to turn me on at all.