Sometimes I’m asked at gigs and catches me off guard. It’s always a difficult question to answer succinctly to a stranger, and causes me to stutter and stammer incoherently. “I’ve always done it”, is as lame a reason as it is true.

But to me it’s all rather obvious since it’s an internal life that gets externalised through the act of songwriting. More accurately, its expression is stimulated by the act of simply noodling on my guitar without the intent of writing a song being present at all. But once the gears are engaged, so to speak, then whatever store of resource that resides within seeps up like some osmosis into my consciousness.

What does crop up which is caused by the stimulation affected by simply improvising (say) on chords and / or melodies based on scales will depend on a multitude of unrelated events in my life – contemporary and historically. These “events” can be superficially trivial or deeply personal or even completely impersonal. I’ve written a song about a cowboy after watching western TV shows.

The extent to which they are autobiographical spans the whole spectrum from not at all to almost journalistic.

Some songs are borne out of empathy and portraiture as distinct from being vehicles for self-expression. Other songs are more concerned with the sound and expressiveness of the language used than with the meaning it conveys. Yet others are a means of catharsis. Others still are long-winded and overblown ways to tell a joke. Whatever kind of song comes about is caused, not intentioned.

What is an anathema to me is to go into the studio for the purpose of writing a new song. I don’t do that. Sometimes I will go into the studio for the purpose of trying to finish a song that is already underway – in fact, without that discipline no song would ever get completed! Coming up with new “stuff” – they can’t be called “songs” – is unconscious in the first instance.

To a future stranger, who asks, I may well shrug and say that I can’t remember: I’ve been writing songs since I was a kid and that’s a long time ago. It’s a habit - no more; no less.

        

In the early days of my project studio I had the whimsical idea that my songs would be enhanced by liberal application of hand percussion. So I went round music stores and bought all sorts of shakers and rattles and cowbells, triangles, a tambourine, a cabaasa, brushes, and several items whose names now escape me. I also took the opportunity to pick up a swanee whistle, an ordinary whistle and a mouthorgan. My brother donated a didgeridoo brought back from a business trip. These items remained unused. I never even dreamed of bringing the didgeridoo into service, particularly since my one and only effort to coach a sound from it failed utterly and in fact lasted leas than a minute.
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Well it’s good to have aspirations and goals and seek to improve your lot. But I have to say I’m more than a little ambivalent about the world view held by the ambitious type - those who proclaim a singularity of purpose and clarity of vision that (they say) are prerequisites to success. I think it might be that singularity of purpose, and a lack of an account of what the criteria for success are, that troubles me the most.

For my part, I keep a weather eye out for those folks who fail to conceal their desperation for success. Those for whom their own self-esteem is defined by the applause of others. I see them occasionally at the day-job and (sadly) more often in folk-clubs and other music venues. In a way, it’s hard to be too critical because there’s no question that you must be focused and driven if you’re going to achieve your goals in any highly competitive arena. But there are some who see and value little apart from the achievement of these goals and who notice little and care less about the impact their striving has on others. And there are those lovely people who will speak negatively of you to others with the conviction this will make them grander by comparison.
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