Campus Residence Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

So.  Nelson Court, eh?  A ground floor, en suite flat in a (mostly...) quiet corner of campus, with 8 freshers.  This is where the real work begins.  Or has to begin anyway, if I'm ever going to salvage anything out of these three years...

I write this in the midst of one of my famous bad weeks.  As a sufferer of depression, I usually put up a pretty good front, but like always, when one little thing goes wrong, it all goes down hill after that.  Let's take this morning, for example.  This very morning.  I managed to wake up at half past four, on the dot.  No joke.  The next three hours were spent trying to get comfortable, and importantly keeping my eyes shut...but to no avail.  I've now been up for oooo...far too fucking long.  This has taken its toll on my already tenuous sense of humour and world-famous short fuse, and I'm now channeling my brother on the Tea-intake front.  Not that that's actually a terribly bad thing...as long as my teeth stay this side of yellow anyway.

Today's stint in SocMart (Society Market?  That'll do) in the LCR basically finished my poor sanity off, having repeated the same thing over and over again about UEA Choir to everyone that came up to me...ARGH.  I was there for five hours straight, had one pint of Abbot Ale (When the student is ready, the Master will appear), one pint of Coca Cola (savour the flavour of capitalism), and one toilet break, after which I went for a wander round the LCR, having actually not seen what else was going off.  Add to this the lecture I missed yesterday, and the half seven start I've got tomorrow morning, I really should have made more of the lack of activity I was so bored by Wednesday-Saturday of last week.  Well, I say lack of activity.  I mean, of course, other than having Mother dear run me about sorting stuff out and moving me in.  I ended up going out four nights in a row, but managing to find a friend behind the UEA bar on two of those made it a little better, to say the least.

So now what?  I'm still sorting out books and arranging the space allocated to me.  I usually manage to over-steam the shower pod and run out of breath (hilair, I know) if I'm not careful, and shaving has become much easier with the liberal application of both new blades and a large mirror in the en-suite.  Thankfully the new glasses have been a hit!  I don't think anybody has seen the metal frames (outside of Spamcroft anyway), and to be honest I rather like the plastic ones more, even if they do rub against the back of my ear in that annoying way.

And tonight?  Early to bed.  I AM SUCH A BORING MAN.  I have an Organ lesson at Spamcroft with the enigmatic J of N at 9AfuckingM, which means I have to be up, awake and dressed by 8 in order to make the bus into town.  Bloody hell.  This is NOT a regular occurrence, or more that I won't bloody let it become so.  On the other hand I have Chamber Choir in the middle of the day, so Byrd a5 and Anthems by the original Funky Gibbons Orlando will go down a treat.  For now though, it's just me, a lot of tea and the music of Tom Waits, veering wildly between visceral blues, spoken word and Piano based tear-jerkers.  There's so much in his music that just...reaches out and strikes me unaware.  From the Early Years' fresh voiced songs to the gravelled beauty of Picture in a Frame from Mule Variations, nothing disappoints.

So anyway.  I'm still alive, even if I am in Norfolk now.  I've lost a bit of momentum, but give me a few good days and I'll pick it up again.  I want to try and get a weekly writing schedule for this ponderous blog, probably on a Friday-Saturday sort of thing, so I can wrap a week up with an acerbic critique of the preceding, and so I can bitch about how awful having to do things over and over at choir practice was while it's still fresh.  

Everything will be ok though.  I often find the most depressing thing about depression is talking about it, so I try to avoid it.  Even typing makes it seem a little more real, so god help me each and every time I talk about it.  No seriously.  God, help me.  Although a little mortal aid wouldn't go amiss either.

Vignette VIII

It begins again.  It is time!  The rivers will run red, the crops will fail, and fire and brimstone will fall as rain.

You know what?  I'm going to take this year, and beat it.  I'm going to succeed.  Progress and success will go hand in hand this time.  

Tonight, one man went above and beyond the call of his profession and salary, and saved my career.  What happens if I let him down?  My life isn't worth living.  I won't let anybody down.  Forget myself.  So many others are relying on me to perform to the best of my abilities, here and there.  

Here is my message to those who oppose me:  Forget it.  Get lost.  Don't even bother.  

You failed to stop me because I'm coming back.  I have a course to complete, scholarships to earn, and a reputation to uphold.  I am the great contradiction, and nobody will slow me down.  

Speech Day.  The great event for the Old boys and the New Derbians.  And the Old Derbians!  An Old Blacktonian as myself can hardly keep away, and indeed, I would not wish to stay back.

Tonight reminded me of what a home I have here.  But in conversation with everyone, I found that they were going away, to all corners of the land.  While they will not be here while I am away, come Christmas, Easter, Summer Vac and next Speech Day, they will return.  And they will welcome me as I welcome them, and I will be home.  Who am I to fail my friends, my supporters, my fans and my family?  Forget it.  Far beyond pushing the envelope, I will burn it and set a new benchmark to inspire others.  

To those who are behind me: Thank you!  You haven't seen anything yet.  I will surpass your expectations and prove that I can cope. 

A great friend was in conversation about my youngest brother, who has gone on to the very pinnacle of employment for an undergraduate scholar (he's at St. George's, Windsor.  Look him up.  He is the Master of us all), about how he is so talented (and rightfully so!).  His companion was talking about how they could not believe how good my brother is!  My great friend replied, saying that my brother is supremely talented, and deserving of every accolade, but went on.  He said with a straight face and in the height of sincerity that he knew someone who could do anything.  Anything at all!  And he was talking about me.

And he is not wrong.

STREETLIGHT MANIFESTO

That's right.  It actually happened in this lifetime.  I went to see Streetlight Manifesto LIVE and certainly very kicking in the back room of The Old Bell Hotel, in DERBADOS!  OH MY GOD.

Ok, so, calling in for a cheeky one at the Sleaper* for a quick Pedi**, I went with Il Dottore himself to The Old Bell, now a well known 'rocker' establishment and Gig venue.  Doors at 8:30, £15 advance tickets.  Ouch?  Maybe a little but certainly worth it.  I should think that at £15 it was a snip!  Once in the back room, we observed many things: 

1) Tattoos are awesome

2) Drinks are expensive

3) They really are a white man's band

Ten minutes later the first supporting act came on, the James Warner Prophecies.  having never heard of them before, I was naturally a little skeptical, but that was swiftly blown away in waves of awesomeness, Derby banter, Drop D tuning and basically great tunes.  The set was tight and to be perfectly honest could have gone on for a few songs more, but surely this is the sign of a perfect support act?  They were headlining on the 3rd, but I couldn't get to it!  Gutted.  But I did buy their latest EP at the show, and engaged in lively conversation with their front man (handshake secured!) about all sorts of music and whatnot!  They are pretty much awesome guys!

Next up after a short quarter of an hour were RANDOM HAND.  That's right, RANDOM HAND.  What a bunch of nutcases.  Drums, Guitar, Bass, Vox and...Trombone?  You look at it and go "Eh?" and then remember that they're a Ska Punk/Punk/Hardcore Band, and then go "eh?" again and then what the even hell just go see them, they're INSANE.  They got a Wall of Death*** started with only 100 people.  It was crazy.  Standout banter moment was when their lead Vox/Trmb. suddenly noticed that the taping on the mic wire just happened to be an accurate portrayal of the Polish flag!  Who knew?  I first saw them when they were supporting Reel Big Fish in 2009 at UEA.  They are also pretty much awesome...if you like it like that.

It was during RH's set that my companion noticed that there was an orange on the floor.  That's right.  An actual orange.  Those who received the text were confused to say the least, but true story bro.  It was really there.  

On to the main event.  What we were all there for.  Like all of us.  Literally everyone.  At this point my memory tells me only a few things: I had to sit on a wooden bar and dance from the waist up because I had hurt myself that much already; Water is good; My Brother is a folk tale.  That last one makes sense, trust me.  Oh my Christ they are SO much better live...I mean, most bands are, especially Ska bands.  Ska is a live sport, evidenced fortuitously by Dance Craze, a film all about the 2-Tone scene that included loads of footage of the big names of the time live, and also had a companion LP, which I picked up in an Oxfam for like, a quid fifty?  Genius.  

There was one moment where the entire room held its breath.  One tiny island of silence in the maelstrom and miniature mosh pit that had reformed after Random Hand's concussive performance.  What could this be?  Seconds later, this happened...

I got a gun in my hand but the gun won't cock, my finger's on the trigger but the trigger seems locked.  I can't stop staring at the tick tock clock, and even if I could I would never give up.

With a vest on my chest, a bullet in my lung, I can't believe I'm dying with my song unsung; and if and when I die won't you bury me alone, 'cos I'll never get to heaven if I'm singing this song...

And at that point the entire place explodes.  And I mean seriously.  Everybody knows the words, everybody knows the timing, everybody knows when the horns stop and start and everybody moves as one.  You ever felt that feeling, for one brief second of belonging?  Check.  I can't remember all the songs in the set list now, but I can remember how much pain I was in the next day.  I spent an entire 36 hours laid up basically.  Told you I was crippled!  You know what?  It was worth it.  I don't care that I fell down every time I got up.  I bruised my feet, pulled my calves and rendered the ligaments in my ankles completely useless for the chance to see and sing and dance to my favourite band.  Worth it.

Nathan came to meet us just at the end.  He just came in and looked for the whirlwind.  Ask him!  Anyway, he stuck around and got pint after pint of water for us and got us to the taxi rank.  What happened next propels my brother into legend as far as I'm concerned.  Knowing a lot of people that run pubs and clubs in Derby is no bad thing.  Basically, with a few well placed questions and a holy mission, he got to meet the band.  WHAT.  Yep, while I was being whisked home by a bright yellow taxi (Pikachu yellow?), he met the band.  And then he got their autographs for me.  AAAAAAHHH!!!  The menu they all scribbled on is safe and sound in a pocket, and then possibly to be framed.  WOOP WOOP.

So.  Conclusion?  Best thing ever.  Bar none.  All the concerts and operas and recitals in the world that I have done and will do will never ever come close.  Sorry, but that's the way it goes.  Even though I will ever be a Songman, I know where my heart lies, and that's not a lie.   I'm certainly getting branded (inked), but probably not pierced.  The Bishop almost threw a fit when I said to him straight faced that I was getting branded, and saying it out loud the other night at HQ certainly garnered some welcome attention, so I just have to decide what I want and how it'll go.  I've got a lot of blank canvas on my back, so we might as well get a lot of coverage.  We'll just have to see.

So.  Streetlight Manifesto.  Live.  In Derby.  Almost too good to be true.  I did miss Big D and the Kids Table though, and I sure love those guys too.  Given the choice I would always go Streetlight though.  OH MY GOD IT WAS LITERALLY THE BEST THING EVER!

* The Thomas Leaper, a Wetherspoons on Irongate (A6)

**Pedigree, a fine English Ale brewed by Marston's of Burton

***A circular mosh pit in which persons involved are flung around the edge by other members of the outlying crowd