A Song A Day For A Year

Ok I’ve missed out a whole load of weeks concerning the songwriting blog; plainly, because nothing has moved me to writing. For the past two weeks I’ve been back home, keeping busy in all sorts of ways. Just for those readers who don’t know, I’m a Christian and have been for over the last two months, so there will be some reference to God. I do hope this doesn’t halt your reading of the blog…

The past two weeks has been somewhat like stepping over really large cracks in a cliff face, filling it with seeds and hoping ice cream would grow out of it. No matter what I thought would be my Easter break it was determined to be an anchor, I just wasn’t aware of the large weight that was dragging me down. If it wasn’t for the regular contact on the part of my girlfriend India, then I’m sure I would have gone a little coocoo.

Becoming a Christian then coming home for the first time… hmm, well, what should I say? Well firstly telling everyone about this great new change in my life would be a start. God is for me, so why should anyone be against me? I’m not sure if that’s the quote but that comes up in my head every time I’m about to say it… then something happens, the lights go red, the doorbell rings, a wolf howls at the moon, longing for a mountaintop to which he can belt out his inner truths to all those he knows and loves.

My Father is a very withheld man in many circumstances. In others, he’s one of the most outgoing lively people I know, all the women love David Freeman. In my first week back we went out for a drink to his local, which from past experience, has taught me it’s a bad idea. Crowds of people flock round him, fake cigarette in his mouth pushing more nicotine into his system, while he tries to work out ‘why the fuck should I know the dart score from two months back?’

When you step into the dark of the night, who knows what thrills and what spills await you? We all swing a dark heart every now and then and for me and my old man, there was a long overdue throwdown in the wings. Drunken, screaming, fisticuff, tears, mangled memory meltdown mother****er. The content of this ‘happening’ does not need to be explicitly publicised as even though I’m writing a blog; I’m trying the best I can to hold the cards close as I can to my chest.

This echoed a time ago when I was of thirteen years and six or something months. Year 9: All my time devoted to the creation of music, my English teachers confiscation drawer full with many of my song lyrics; a couple of albums worth in fact that I would sadly, never get to see again.

At this time my Dad wanted me to buckle down, get the grades I needed to go to college and become whatever it was he wanted me to be. Well unfortunately, I was too far gone for an academic career, my life had been taken over by the guitar and the prospect of one day getting a girlfriend with a song I wrote. (This little prophecy of mine actually turned out to be true ;-)

Needless to say, my father wasn’t impressed with my exam results and stormed round to my house where I lived with my Mum and brother and demand that the guitar lessons stop for good, the songwriting stopped for good and any thought of being anything to do with music stopped for good. He tried tugging my guitar away from me, but I wasn’t gonna let go of my dreams that easy. Finally I pushed back at him, ‘I never want to see you again’ I believe I said at the time, I didn’t see him for months…

It’s the 4th July 2005. My fourteenth birthday. For the past years since my parents divorce my birthday celebrations with my father took place on the front doorstep, for my mother didn’t like him too near the house. There was a knock at the door, a man’s figure stands staring through. I thought to myself ‘the man did give me life, why should I not then be civil on my birthday?’

I opened the door and there he was, apologies written on his face. I noticed he had not come alone, because there was something leaning on the wall next to him. ‘You alright mate?’ as he always says to me ‘I’m good’ to which he replies ‘Good, good, good’ and reaches towards the thing on the wall next to him. He passes me a light brown guitar case with ‘GIBSON’ written on the front and says ‘I’m sorry’.

Moments such as these help shape you into the man you will become. It seems that the more that these hard-bitten emotional stand-offs occur, the better my songwriting gets. It’s 9:14 Friday 8th, 2011. I’ve spilt my heart out to you concerning the past two weeks of my life. Turns out I didn’t bring God into a lot, but I will now to finish. Since becoming a Christian I’ve been able to let go of all those tough moments, those embittered memories, thus my songs have, erm… a happy edge to them? I can’t really complain though, I’m in love, with the most beautiful girl on the planet and the God that gives me life :)