Watching the early Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown has altered the perspective on a singer songwriter I never really understood or resonated with. I still don’t. It seems incongruous the reaction from audiences as Zimmerman announces his presence across New York and then the globe. A voice of a generation emerging from the shooting of Kennedy and the Cuban Missile Crisis. A voice of the people who couldn’t really connect with anyone personally, relationships destroyed by his desire to create, the importance of voicing the creative product over spending time with partners. A complete blinkered drive heading one way down the highway straight to the creative space, casualties splattered on the pavement around him joining those static and rolling stones. The film doesn’t dive into his backstory, provide some sort of connectivity with family, upbringing, education or socialisation but just places Bob in Greenwich Village, with the fellow cats, shades on, cigarettes smoked. That’s how he got such a gravelly voice, alongside the passive smoke from everyone else who was lighting up. It’s what’s missing from our popular culture nowadays. No one smokes, all pop artists are generally squeaky clean, autotuned to robotic AI perfection. Dylan was anti AI although just as anti-social. In modern day New York he could open up his computer rather than searching for key changes on his guitar, speak into it, say “create a song in the style of Bob Dylan talking about how the world is heading for yet another disaster, this time with captains Trump and Musk at the controls rather than Khruschev or Nixon. A hard drives train is going to fall in place. Why are so many revered artists such c**t* in the real world. George Michael or Prince, lovely geezers. Laurie Anderson, brilliantly creative artist who still lives on her main hit O Superman, Uh uh uh uh, oh mum and dad. In a wonderful Desert Island Discs, Anderson talks about her amazing family, starring at school, the creative process and spirituality. Dylan smokes, looks moody and mumbles alongside his guitar. A great songwriter who appears to have come from outer space, inventing his own backstory, a carnival of smoke and mirrors. Someone no one will ever know.
I love the winter break, a chance to stop, get ill, listen to podcasts and read. A chance to reflect on your top 20 books, albums, events, moments of the year almost past. Former conservative MP Rory Stewart is increasingly fascinating, a life spent trying to gather all information, to walk and connect with as many people as possible. His latest podcast, The long history of Ignorance, resonates in so many ways, especially episode 3 where he talks about ignorance behind creativity, the pure space where innovative work comes from which was the core theory behind my book Blank Canvas.
Why do we create stuff? Is there some inbuilt need to innovate, solidify your place in the world by manifesting? How creative practice connects to the brain is fascinating, the need to redevelop something fresh and original. Every day I have an innate need to do something creative, engage with the playful and free part of my brain. It doesn’t have to be for a long time, just at some point my inner self finds peace finds its tranquil home through scratching the creative itch.
I sometimes forge the time to create pieces of music, hours spent slaving over a hot computer based Digital Audio Workstation (DAW), perfecting sections on my computer, listening over and over to the same section, distorting reality, a sample of a Buddhist chant or the gentle lapping of the sea. Although I don’t really have the attention span for attention to detail. I love developing the structure, creating the whole outline, building up parts but then you need to go back and alter elements of instruments, hi hat positioning, the velocity of the odd kick drum, automation across your strings pads, hone the reverb until it sounds glassily transparent, build echoes onto certain moments so that that they last just the right amount of time, don’t mask or clash but aid the flow. I love creating melodies, interlocking parts that flow off each other. Rhythm less so. I like a pulse, a beat, but I keep missing all those intricacies that make up a great drum track. Creating the music is one thing, but then what happens? In previous eras you could go to your local studio, record some live parts over the basic structure, mix, master and create an artefact. Get friends to help in creating cover images, get your vinyl from the Czech pressing plant. Burn straight to 1/4-inch tape then Digital Audio Tape (DAT). Avidly, we created packs and sent them off to our favourite DJ’s and record shops. If it was any good then it got played. Not necessarily in large amounts but there was some traction, a point to the creative process, validation and the thrill of your sounds heading off into the ether. Nowadays I am increasingly thinking about the pointlessness of sending music out into the world. It is a saturated market, flooded by accessibility. The point of releasing music is generally about the self, satisfying a personal need to let the world have your piece of art, more flotsam to spin around digital highways, polluting, blocking up the cloud. The conundrum that the top 100 albums feature regular favourites such as the Beatles, Stones, Neil Sedaka and Nana Mouskouri, charity shops the new record stores. Spotify has endless music. Everyone can get their music on the platform; the gatekeepers have been sidelined at this point. Emancipation for good and bad. Although you now need connected humans, DJ’s, label managers, to make an impact. To get plays, streams, downloads you need a record company or influencer to catch onto your track, to like it in a way that connects with their other material. Music promotion companies such as Label Radar or Groover provide this service, enticing you to pitch your music to an endless supply of record companies. It does work. Some of my tracks get taken up and then you are onto stage 2. Promoting your track. Friends and family will sometimes listen but reaching beyond is so difficult, battling the tide of artists who have also released music that day. Estimates range between 60 to 100k releases per day. Every day. Still, you turn on 6 Music and Marvin Gaye is thoughtfully crooning along. Wonderwall is still building. The Smile continue to sound like Radiohead, but without the iconic songs. The Gatekeepers have shut the door and thrown away the key for infinity and beyond. Wham! and Last Christmas the two top documentaries. Nostalgia, nostalgia. So, should you keep making music I hear you cry? Maybe there should be an amnesty, no more music until we have filtered out all which is blocking, a year of silence to contemplate, think where creativity is taking us all. A year for everyone to prepare, restart culture. To try new instruments that have never been part of your world, the true blank space of creativity. Innovation through ignorance. Musicking is personal, moving your head from thoughts of Top of the Pops and stardom to a process, going through something cathartic. You need to make the music for yourself, to get what is inside out. The pure self. Anyway, I still check my Spotify streams, have extreme pleasure when it says that someone is listening to my latest track Rise up by Inochi. In-Oh-Chee. Japanese for life energy, I think. Check it out on all streaming platforms. So maybe that is the point, personal satisfaction that someone somewhere gets it, gets you. Listens to you. Reads your words. Takes time to connect their life with yours. Or maybe it’s just a release, an internal burden which needs to be set free. Our lives are time stamped by the creativity of others, remembering different eras, innovative sounds or combinations of the audio and visual, stopping us in our tracks, providing new directions and thought processes. Picking a random book from the shelf of a library stack that alters your thinking, the ideas of others taking centre stage and manipulating your life in a certain direction. We need creativity to keep us sane, provide a reason for being. It is one of the most important elements so should be embraced fully, hugged to death, translating thoughts from your mind into actions. I am interested in bringing culture and creativity to rural locations, having moved from the city during the Covid pandemic, Stewart Lee’s sketch where he has friends who move to the countryside, to live an idyllic life but the reality is extreme boredom. They enquire to friends, please come and visit; bring coke. He has only a horse to talk to now. The buzz of the city replaced by peace and calm only works if you can have a balance. A vibrant life where the beauty and purity of nature and culture intersect. An internal smile. My research is based on exploring the infrastructure and innovative ideas you can collate which forms a rural scene or scenius, finding the people and locations, stories and place. A collective will to develop culture, a blank canvas on which anything can be drawn. No competition. If you create it they will come, bringing thoughts from everyone’s head into realisation. Collective intelligence and ignorance brought beautifully together.
Standing in space. Wide open away from any barrier, wall, manmade or natural object. Humans have a strange desire to be next to or under something. Taking a pee by a lonely tree. Creating an arch for your wedding, framing the lovely couple within the view. Grounding them. Why not have the wide expanse of the Arizona Desert rolling out before you, untethered, unleashed. But you take a picture by the only cactus within 20 miles. There needs to be a prop. Something to contextualise your presence on earth. Which makes it all the more bizarre that we seem so obsessed with travel into space. Space Twitter or X as it is now called. Putting the first people on the moon in 1968 then just waiting around until 2030 until we do it again. Apollo disasters halting any idea of mass migration to outer space. Elon Musk and Trump hoping to control the planet by regulating the space all around. They will charge us to breathe air before you know it. There is a fascination to searching the solar system, looking for likeminded inhabitants. So far though no one has turned up, except perhaps the clangers, trumpeting around with almost discernible presence. A fascination to look on where we all reside from a vantage point, from above, all trying to be gods, what an unbelievable waste of time and money. Fools fantasy. The planet is dying, yes, but rather than rush for the escape pod then surely it needs some TLC. People need help. Not some hair brained multi trillion dollar experiment. Imagine what you could do with the money. Applying for some small creative arts funds takes weeks of your life, jumping through ever decreasing hoops until you are squeezed by a Boa Constrictor. Review after review then your bid is deemed worthy of submission. Weeks of waiting, heart beating faster when any email pings into your inbox with the message “the quality of applications was very high…..”. And then, oh sorry you haven’t been successful this time. Please resubmit though, changing all your budget forecasts and being more realistic with your project aims. Be more realistic. Blimey. Fortunes are being spent propelling people into other orbits. You want me to be more realistic and less arty? Space travel is the ultimate rich persons folly. Pure art. Pointless. An inevitable outcome of greed and power searching. Can’t we just be happy in our communities rather than trying to form a space station on the boiling mess that is Mars. I mean a Mars a day helps you work, rest and dream of flying into the great beyond. Refugees, fleeing war torn nations battle across lands, rejected and looked down upon before reaching waters edge, crammed into flimsy life or death rafts, desperate for a life on earth. Do their kids wonder about life on mars, do they look at the moon and wish they could set foot on it or do they just wish for a safe place. Home. Not under siege. A place where they can exist. Not heading to some otherworldly final frontier but to real end points. Spaces to live within. A tree.
On 1st December 2016 I took the train from Bristol Temple Meads to London Paddington. It was one of those beautiful rare clear cold sunny vibrant winter days, one where the trains ran on time, everyone had a seat and enough room to spread out. I was very excited. At 11.47 precisely I was transported to the ornate iron and glass door of a mews house in Ladbrook Grove. Just about to knock on the pane I see a figure furtively rustling around the colourful and bright studio space. Picking up objects, transferring them, bustling around with what seemed like an ever enlarging grin on his face. A medium set bald guy with a kind of beard. Ah Brian, there you are. I was transfixed. I wanted to keep just watching. I did for about 11 minutes before I walked away a few stops and came back to the door to knock. Brian was welcoming and lovely, making me a large cup of his wizards tea.
During our session, artist musician Brian Eno demonstrated Chaos Theory with his 2 handed pendulum, where simple motion on the first one creates infinite non repeated movements on the second. So, a little nudge one way can send all kinds of confusion across the next, thereby subordinating populations. Collective consciousness came through in punk, hip hop, techno, jungle etc.. through commonalities of fashion, style, music, art, taste, lifestyle, place, rhythm, dance. There are instigators, those key people who lead the collective in a certain direction. We are all swayed in some way, which can be a positive in cultural scenes but have global destroying effects in political spheres.
Brian Eno hanging out with the German electronic musicians of Kluster, provided the time and space for creative exploration by dropping out and living in their Kommune for a while. London squats were the beating heart of the emerging punk scene, and within Western Europe.
Our connections to our lands, our ancestors, spaces and places, kneeling in the soil, digging the garden, the new rock and roll as Cosey Fanni Tutti and Kim Wilde continue to show. I’m sure Brian Eno potters around hot tomato plants, winding them carefully up their strings, reaching to the sky. Little glowing red orbs gradually appearing. The Farmers Boys and Girls in their Norfolk greenhouses. Sets of allotments are the socio-cultural space for the new creatives, or the old creatives who need to be in touch with their land, the city dweller who yearns for the countryside, everyone effected by global cost of living crises, where pulling up your evening meal from the ground can offset ever rising food prices.
Roxy Music keyboard knob twiddler Brian Eno learnt about the power of humour through his art school adventures with tutor Roy Ascott. His first lessons at art school included devising personality tests, where students had to enact the opposite traits they normally displayed. For chatterbox Eno, he had to remain silent for the sessions and let other people lead projects. When becoming a record producer, Eno introduced concepts relating to getting artists out of their normal comfort zone so that they would maximise their self in performances and composition ideas, without the usual routines or trappings. The Oblique Strategy cards he created with artist Peter Schmidt contains humorous, tasks such as play with your non dominant hand, do something boring or emphasise the flaws, whilst also suggesting role play ideas to bands including pretending to be an alien funk band from the year 2055.
Brian and I had a good chat. He showed me 2 floor standing safes, saturated with notebooks, relaying pictures and concepts from years of doodling and thinking. A time bandit. Brian got on his fold up bike and scooted off for a meeting with George Monbiot. See you again Brian.
Why can’t I just sit at home and exist. What drives me to make some sort of mark on the world, create a lasting legacy, be constantly active, a diary full for months in advance, no time just to sit around and think. It always seems to be the way, agreeing to things without really first engaging the brain. A desire to do stuff, to be helpful, to explore ideas and put on events. Why can’t I just say no or keep my powder dry. Surely it would be easier just to sit on the side-lines, let other people run events but maybe that’s my nature of being an artist. One of the organisers. I’m not even sure it is one of my strengths. Well actually wooing is, so getting people to do stuff, to work with people, help, facilitate, be the natural number two. Peter Taylor to your Brian Clough. There is nowhere to go after over promising. You have put an idea into some else’s head and to stand and deliver. Or else try and back down gracefully without losing face or reputation. Keeping your mouth shut, thinking about things before promising. Review the logistics, the costs, the possible scenarios that could unfold in your head. It’s generally better to under promise, set expectations at a base level so you can gradually work up, surprise people, start to reveal the full extent of what you hope to achieve. Or don’t even say anything, keep your powder dry, have thoughts running around in your head that can stay there, under control, a multitude of concepts swirling within the brains matter. Is it a need to be liked, an area of conversation or just a desire to collaborate, support projects. By saying something it means you really have to deliver, it puts the concept out in the open. Surely this can be a good thing though as it counters inertia. Provides the possibility of creating something great, making a change, a mark on the world that delivers happiness to yourself and others once you have battled through the stress of putting the event on. If you don’t go out there and put your head on the line then you are not a competitor. You are someone happy on the side-lines, which is fine. Some people need to be the creators, innovators, those who push things forward and support a change in the world. Over promising is their reality. Realising dreams. Is there any point in any of this though. I mean we all shift off this mortal coil. Famous people are dying all over the place. Geoff Capes, iconic strongman of early TV. Seemed like a lovely bloke. He will be remembered. DJ’s Janice Long and John Peel, an anarchic Top of the Pops double act, laughing, joking, no longer here. A young guy from pop reality stars One Direction, plummets to his death from an Argentine balcony. Going in one direction, down. Quite youthful world cycling megalith Sir Chris Hoy, terminal cancer. All that healthy exercise and being superfit leading to inevitable doom. Maybe he should have just sat around smoking fags. Same result. You see people heading off for their daily jog or skulking around corners with rollies dangling from their mouth. Which one are you, what path do you choose. Lady Di. Princess of the people, changing the world, battered in a Parisian underpass alongside son of rapist, Dodi Al Fayed. He should have been the one in the car. Justice. If there was equity and fairness in the world then all those out exercising, eating healthily, being kind to the planet, one or no car families, care workers, doctors and nurses, nutritionists, musicians, actors, authors, recyclers, councillors, counsellors, cancellers, administrators, supporters, non-hierarchical activists, and famous shot putters should have the longest lives. We should know how long there is. Surely that’s fair. Otherwise, really what is the point. To be remembered? To leave a mark? To have in some way helped to make the world a better place through selfless behaviour? It is within your own heart and soul that this probably needs to occur, by doing stuff, creating events, putting your neck on the line, trying to improve other people’s lives, being proactive and making a difference is probably worthwhile. You might not get a medal but there should be peace of mind, inner comfort, a warm glow emanating from you, understanding that you have maximised your time on earth, nothing has been left undone or unsaid, like riding through the final 10 minutes of a spin class, pushing until the end, warn out but satisfied that nothing else could have been done.
7th March is world book day, the opportunity for all those with young children to spend hours scrabbling around to try and match up to their neighbours attempts, whilst the kids hope they wont be too embarrassed by it all. What fun. Like National Women’s Day or Record Store Day or Black History Month, these are all worthy concepts, supporting better lives for all. Really, though, everyday should be World Book Day. Everyday should be equality of opportunity for all day. One Day should be watched every day.
In supporting the adult focus to WBD then please have a look at my first book, Blank Canvas, soon to be followed by Creative Spheres, deep, playful, anarchic, experimental and entertaining explorations of popular culture, with creativity centrally placed.
Now time to dress up as my favourite cultural icon …..
A fresh looking Brian Eno at Watford Art College (Mid 1970s)
I am part of a fantastic line up of presenters, exploring the intersection between art and punk, on the afternoon and early evening of Wednesday 20th March at University of the Arts London (LCC campus – Elephant and Castle). It will be dynamic and exciting, intellectually stimulating and with some punk academic attitude.
Music and sex go together like strawberrys and cream, Lennon and McCartney, Foster and Allen. Or more probably Blondie. Cool images on our walls, cut out centrefolds from NME, Smash Hits or Sounds, the new look, new love but it was always Debbie Harry who caught the imagination of a generation. Iconic and cool. Sex and music create some of the same internal feelings, warm and tingly as you filter sweep your Sequential Circuits Pro One. The moving connective rise and fall of an orchestral string section. Ibiza Chill Out classics. Leonard Cohen or Van Morrison in a Parisian flat on a sleepy Saturday early spring morning, the distant sound of vegetable or flower stalls coming to life, the dawn chorus. Sound, comfort, meditation, love. We experience a reason for being in the world, a natural connectivity through bodily integration, listening to the gradually intense breathing, the heartbeat changing from reggae, through hip hop, pop, techno to drum and bass before climaxing in hard core. Music is sex: sex is music. Sex has informed music culture, from the permissive era of the 1960s, sexual exploration and glam rock in the early 70s, to SEX the shop, punk and the pistols to New Romantics, the Aids pandemic spreading through London and New York gay scenes. Raves were about love, group hugs rather than explicitly sexual as energy went out on the dance floor. It was the parties after the events, the chill out rooms, the Sunday afternoons where thoughts of new musical ideas and sex started to reawaken. Love hope and happiness.
I am very excited to announce this years festival lineup, which features an amazing array of talented musicians across jazz, latin, funk, soul and blues. There will be 5 headline nights from Thursday 23rd May to Monday 27th May, with the community music stages being across the weekend. Previous festival goers will understand the extremely high quality of all acts that we programme for this event. We have had an increasingly large number of artists applying to play which has made the decision making process increasingly competitive.
The end of May is the perfect time to visit East Devon, UK. The flowers are out and the weather is usually (crossed fingers) perfect. A beautiful way to welcome in an English summer. A perfect long weekend break.
The US – Vietnam War ended in 1975 with American troops airlifted out of Saigon, ending eight years of another attempt to take aways the country’s independence, it’s freedom to exist, Continuing conflicts in Gaza and Ukraine demonstrate the lack of learning that the human population undertakes. Or maybe it is the people in power who learn. That they can do anything and the fog of information, the lack of a true story deflects attention, confuses the masses. Travelling through modern Vietnam, dodging the mopeds, it is really difficult to fathom the reasons behind the war. Reds in the beds. McCarthyism in America where a communist spread was a frightening position for Republicans and Democrats alike. Vietnam is the most beautiful and friendly country. The people have forgiven. They love Westerners whilst keeping a wary eye on China to the North. War, what is it good for. Absolutely nothing of course and you realise the sheer stupidity of trying to bomb the hell out of a diverse and opaque land where the camouflage of the jungle and the brilliant local knowledge is bounds to defeat the enemy, carpet bombing from above. B52 craters litter the land, now creating objects of war for tourists to take selfies besides or filled in as finishing lakes. Tunnels at various levels where life could go on unhindered, were the enemy could be surprised, passing hidden entrances and attacked from behind. Like in Gaza, finding ways to defeat the over powering superpower, going underground to get out of the jam.
There is the demonstration of collective strength from the Vietnamese people, a common goal to get on with life and make the most of their opportunities and resources. Legendary leader Ho Chi Minh left the country to learn about all aspects of life, from pot washing to gardening, supporting the French Communist party before returning home from hiss exile voyages to support the implementation of collective politics at home. Vietnam still contains a Socialist government with the cracks of Capitalism breaking their way through, but a common understanding and Buddhist leaning life is abundantly clear in the happiness, the joy de vivre of the people. They laugh and work as small groups, spreading out to a vital whole. Vietnam is rebuilding through its people, its verdant growth. Built on the back of a non hierarchical mixed patriarchal/ matriarchal society where women can be seen building houses and men in the kitchen. Wandering through parks and closed weekend streets in Hanoi, the lilting tones of Boney Em to One Unlimited filter through as groups of women dance in step, teenagers hang out on sultry evenings in Hoi An working on routines and theatre sketches, peacefully in each others company, not getting drunk or jacking up. Peacefully, happily together. Strong groups, strong families.
