01 Beginning Notes

This is a set of songs which might be described as the first album. It’s when I first picked up a guitar and seriously attempted to express myself. Naïve yes, earnest definitely, but with a little charm, I think.

1. Thamesong

Thamesong is first because it’s the first time I can remember trying to express something in words and music. I had been to London for what turned out to be a pointless interview. I wandered down to the river, looked down at the browney-greyness and saw some plastic bottles amongst the rubbish washed up at the side.

That resonated with me. I didn’t know what I was doing. Life had just swept me along and would sweep me along for a while yet. There was also the ghost of the evangelical – the guilt of dragging others along to some unspecified doom.

2. My secret garden

This is rather a clumsy metaphor for the person inside. It’s all here: the self deprecation, the prickly guardedness, the yearning for the loved one. There’s the occasional pleasant turn of phrase but all a little worthy, not helped by the relentless verse after verse structure.

3. You’re always there

This is my first conscious effort at a love song. Also the first time I was sufficiently confident to sing a song in public. As was noted at the time the words are ambiguous: is it the human or divine lover? Assuming anybody cares I’d say it was 70:30 but what do I know? At the time there was next to no chance of a human lover.

Looking back this was quite an ambitious song about intimacy and, in my ignorance, I didn’t make too bad a job of it. Though I remember someone experienced in this things remarking that it was a little idealistic…

4. You remind me

Continuing the theme of simple structures this is a two chord effort but I still like its simplicity. This time it’s unrequited love, not so much that the person didn’t want me more that we shadow boxed round each other for a while and then went back to our corners before anyone could get hurt. Once again note the self-flagellation in the last verse – an insurance policy against disappointment.

5. Lady Mary

Our family house backed onto a convent and in the winter you could clearly see a statue of Mary, which prompted this. On the surface it’s a simplistic critique of the elevation of Mary by the church. I think it’s more about my wanting to recast the Mary/Jesus relationship in human (and sometimes sentimental) terms. And let's not forget the oedipal undertones.

6. Your life

So what does a closeted student know about the pressures of working life? He thought he knew something and to be fair he wasn’t entirely wrong.

7. You’re always there II

The sequel; or a variation on a theme. Much more like 50:50 on this one. Better than the first, I think, it reminds me of tiredness and quiet triumph. No love interest on the scene yet.

8. Fire of your friendship

For reasons I can’t remember I went home from college for a brief visit towards the end of my last term there. On the way back I saw a railside fire from the train. This resonated with feelings of leaving and not seeing friends again, but still somehow carrying their friendship. A friend and I performed this not long after. A recording of that occasion contains my pretentious introduction: on the upside it has my friend’s very musical contribution.

9. I Corinthians 13

Imagine my surprise when I turned my attention to Paul’s most famous piece of writing (the RSV version) and discovered that it lends itself to regular versification. Nothing has been added or discarded, just a few judicious repeats made. I don’t know why I attempted it, possibly as a gift for a friend’s wedding. It may trivialise great poetry, but I like it.

10. Bright new morning

More unrequited longing bringing back memories of seeing the sky through my student window. One morning, possibly a Saturday, it was richly blue, the birds were singing but I didn’t have you.

11. The singer

The singer was Harvey Andrews and he really did move me. It came at a good point in my humble writing career. I rarely went to concerts but I knew some of his songs so I went along. It wasn’t the songs themselves that made a great impression (though I would recommend them to anybody) but the idea that personal feelings could be turned into a universal language. That they could be articulated not by clever phrasing but by melody and rhythm.

The rest is not yet history.

12. Tears come easily

This was written for a show and it speaks for itself. I like the woman in love/girl in rags combination but it’s all rather humdrum. Don’t you think?