Vignette IX

You know,I just want to say this.  Although seeing my considerable record of failure in the past it's no surprise I'm leaning towards keeping this one under my hat.  

I'm sure the educated can make a guess; all entires on the back of a postage stamp to the usual address.  

Ok, deep breath.  Here goes.

You know what, I think I'm in love.  But just a little bit.  There's no education behind it.  Purely an intuitive conclusion.  Which may, of course turn out to be completely wrong.  But that's what it's all about, isn't it?  The beats skip and I feel that long-forgotten flutter.  I then immediately check my specs for rose tinting on the lenses, but I wouldn't be much of a cynic if I didn't as a reflex.  

Time to break the rules.  Shift expectations, and change the world.  

The Shape of Things to Come

Time for another episode of my life!  It's like I Hate It Here, with a little I'm so poor and depressed, topped of with pop culture references and then just a smidgen of wow hey there's this girl.  META.

I managed to go for the entirety of October without writing and publishing an entry here, and we're over halfway through November with almost the same statistic.  Basically, 3rd year has turned out to be what we in the trade call a shitter, much like the step from GCSE to A level really.  Last year, quite basically, fucked me up, and to be perfectly honest I'm very lucky to have stepped back onto campus let alone stay.  I'm going to make the best of a bad job, and clear as much of this mess up as I possibly can.  I have no idea how many weeks are left to term...about 4?  Makes sense; Spamcroft doesn't finish til the 19th of December, and term only just behind on the 17th.  I've got a horror story of things to do in that time, and most of this includes getting up early and eating regularly, the latter of which is usally one of my skills, the former famously a non-entity.  

Due to my complete inability to budget, I am down to YOU ARE FUCKED into my overdraft. Man, debt never got so self-perpetuating!  Zomg.  Actually it's really bad, this stuff is just slipping through my fingers, certainly not dripping any more!  Drat.  I don't know, it could be worse, but at the moment it's flat out bad.  Importantly survivable though, and a damn good character building experience!  At least, I'm sure that suffering builds character, right?  

Over the past term I have been asked to continue for an entire cantata, learn a new piece for a recital in 3 weeks, learn my sung recital in 2 weeks, play hymns, organise and direct a choir, direct evensong, be the librarian for the UEA choir, not kill anyone...&c &c.  You get the point.  Yes, I'm sure some of you losers out there will see all this off with the tipping of your voluminous hat, but for some of us this is difficult.  Very difficult.  I recieve no sympathy, because I don't ask for any.  Academic and musically based tasks can be shifted under my own steam with effort and that's it.  Making sure everything else is in ship shape is another matter though.  Work just about comes in on the radar, but I'm the tiniest bit behind (but constantly trying to not be), that 9am start on a Monday never gets any easier, does it?  YES I KNOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE 9AM STARTS EVERY DAY OF EVERY WEEK.  Jesus Christ...

Dissertation-wise, I actually feel pretty happy though!  I'm writing an incredible beard-scratcher about the English Pipe Organ in the Eighteenth and early Nineteenth centuries.  I'm going out on a massive limb and say that in comparison to Continental building fashions, the English Organ was basically anomalous, but the developments that took place are a worthy addition to the international tradition of Organ Building.  Basically, due to the short length (10k-12k, bibliography and footnotes included), I will only have room to write about two things, which are the main focus of the anomalous trend anyway, the Swell Department and the so-called 'Iron Pedal, the Shifting Movement.  Registration aids never really caught on in the big continental schools like they did in Blightly, and enclosed departments even later...except for the Iberian school?  Much research is needed.  But it'll be good!  Honest.  If you're into that sort of thing though.  

And what about the most predictably ponderous part of my life?  What of that capricious and alluring female form?  Well, what of it indeed.  Current results are...hmm...Confounding.  I'm still having that same old problem of mixing messages and misreading signs.  Just like always.  At least some things never change, eh?  Tcham, to hell if I know!  There is one in particular (isn't there always?) who has really got my attention.  Without even trying, obviously.  There are points if you can guess, but I doubt anyone will, especially if I keep this cryptic enough...heh heh.  But it's strange, I have began to treat this girl slightly differently to others without even realising I'm doing so, in fact I found myself reacting mentally to my physical actions in a rather surprised way.  The long and the short of it is I have no genuine idea whether it'll go anywhere or if I'll get the "That's so sweet but..." line (oh how I tire), but you know, I feel a little closer to an actual human being than usual, and that makes me happy.  Who knows where anything else could go.  If I do indeed try, it means stepping up onto a supernatural stage, where truly I am an alien in foreign lands.  But as we all know, all the world's a stage and the rest...the rest is vaudeville.  

More time, and a little patience will tell.  Maybe some self belief won't go amiss either.  You know what he says...CREDO!

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

End of the Month Syndrome

Alright.  Basically the last week and a half has been...crazy.  It's swung wildly from the sublime to the ridiculous without any warning, and is pretty much likely to continue in this fashion for quite a while.  

In short, I have had literally two of the best days ever within almost a week, I've been given a new name, and I'm trying to divert the Apocalypse.  Oh.  And I'm still very worried about my little brother.  And a little bit hurt.

Obviously this summer on the whole has been testing time for me, what with the depression and the unemployment and having to watch every penny and so on and so forth...and now I have to start thinking about going back to Norwich.  I don't really want to go back, and I certainly don't care for going back, but untold danger will ensue if I don't go back when I 'should', as I'll miss the start of choir term (...) and get it in the neck from a certain director and quite possibly lose the will to carry on.  I have bigger fish to fry though, and I doubt there could be any real threats made.  Definitely no promises.  

Last Monday I went to see Streetlight Manifesto live.  That's right.  LIVE.  In Derby.  More to follow.  Today, I went to Skegness with Mother and my Close Company.  SKEGNESS!  It was Awesome.  More to follow similarly.  I've seen my youngest brother off to Windsor for a year to be the Organ Scholar there, and will be making firm plans to see him when I'm settled in halls...and when he's settled in his apartment!  We're all so proud!  He is truly the master of us all.

However.  Life defining live music events and seaside trips aside, I'm coming to the end of my limited tether as far as life at this exact moment is concerned.  I'm beginning to wear out as my Chutzpah begins to wane, and what with a weekend flyover to Norwich for work before my Halls contract starts and having nowhere to stay is taking its toll.  I just hope I don't get a phone call before I get to make the one that might save me.  And to add to this I get the horrible feeling that someone else very close found his "group of friends who..."  Obviously, we're not right for him anymore.  I have let him down.  How though?  I can't make him want to talk, but you know, I can't help but feel hurt.  Just a bit,

Although.  Consider well that his musical life at university is roughly opposite mine.  Back at my old School, they still talk about me, and they remember me as the man who could do everything, and do it well.  A confident and skilled performer, at the top of everyone's list for anything.  Norwich?  I feel little more than a statistic.  Ouch.  

Anyway.  It's not so much time of the month but the end of the month.  And almost the end of the Vac.  It's hardly been a holiday this year sadly.  I've only got one more year and as long as I get back to the grindstone but keep my head above water, I can graduate successfully and actually make positive progress!  I will be making plans to permanently escape Norwich as well.  I do not see myself in Norfolk in 5 years, let's put it that way.

Oh, and I had a haircut as well.  So you know, it could be a lot worse, right?

Wherein I become an Archeologist

You can pretty much take the title at face value; this week I've been rearranging/clearing/sorting my room.  Admittedly I could try harder, liiiiiike instead of doing half the things I've done this past week I could have spent the entire time cleaning up &c &c, but you know me.  I don't like change.

It's been quite the journey of discovery.  Most of the detritus in my room as a whole is arranged in layers, or Strati, coincidentally the name of one of my favourite albums ever.  In fact, the initial move to clean up was based on my losing of two vitally important and imported artifacts, the 2003 Gameboy Advance release of Fire Emblem, imported just after its American debut in early February, and the aforementioned Strati, Stemage's debut solo album of 2006.  With the safe return of these two, progress has ground slowly to a bit of a halt, but upon my own mother's threats will resume with gusto in the morning.  

I like to stack things.  As a recovering Tetris-addict, I love stacking things.  Thing is though, as I stack all my belongings, they (arguably thankfully) don't disappear when lines form.  Instead they teeter menacingly so I begin a new pile and often mix piles together when they inevitably fall.  Right now from my seat I can see a stack of music, shoes, lumberjack shirts and bags.  Y'know, Christmas present bags.  Not to mention the pile of all my old school books under the desk.  Oh yes.  Unless I specifically need or want to, there are no magical "Hey!  Look at this book from year 8!" moments, thanks to my tight organisational scheme.  I'm not getting rid of them, but I don't need them on show either.  There are two stacks, at least 40 books deep each if not more.  I'm still waiting for a long piece to come down.

Rearranging drawers has formed the most part of this operation so far, and a great deal of history has been uncovered in doing so!  As usual, instead of actually throwing anything out, I'm just restacking the existing contents and leaving it at that.  Seeing as I'm keeping everything anyway, there's no point in doing anything else, right?  Right.  Because I'm allowing my belongings to remain in their original states almost, I can track back to when they were originally put away, and recall exactly what was going off when, and gradually recall who and what and all sorts of things that are all connected to the particular order of this or that there pile.  Fascinating.  

Also fascinating but horrific in its own special way, is the amount of dust that everything attracts.  I have swallowed several pints of the stuff just over the last 4 days alone, some unique type of conqueror dust that chokes and blinds and still carries the smell of a former deodourant.  Mmmm.  Delicious.  This ever-increasing dust cloud has been one of the many events that I have used to my advantage in order to slow and ultimately postpone the process of reordering my personal pit.  

There is a bag for refuse though.  Some things just have to be thrown out after all this time, like broken bike lights, pens that no longer work, rubbish...you know, the usual.  Although usually, I just put all these things in another place in my room so I can keep hold of them, just in case.  Upon further assessment, my room is in essence a gigantic version of Michael McIntyre's Man Drawer, (SPOILER ALERT) in which the unlikely hero of the sketch is a man with a slight hoarding compulsion, who is called upon to use his wild and varied items to...er, do something that I have forgotten.  

Other than digging through piles and piles of books, toys and musical instruments, I also quite successfully rearranged the inside of my wardrobe, making it much easier for the unfamiliar (or just the familiar) to navigate.  My suits have been spread rather liberally around the upstairs, as there's no way they'll ever fit now.  Let's dive in to some incredibly boring/earth-shatteringly interesting/beard scratching factoids:

! Alongside my seven waistcoats, six complete suits, two jackets and thirteen pairs of trousers, I own forty shirts, including dress shirts with both full and wing collars, work shirts, ten that belong to dedicated combinations, and both black and white linen shirts.  Not to mention colour-coded lumberjack shirts (three) with their own dedicated combination rules.

" I still have custody of Anna Proctor's red Ukulele.

£ I made a pair of Nunchucks out of wood from IKEA, string and sellotape.  

$ I own eight rulers that are 12" long, and one that is 18"

% I have a drawer dedicated to plain t-shirts

^ I have kept all of my old pairs of glasses.  All 12 pairs.

& I have a bust of Luigi of Nintendo fame, which I asked Nathan to make for me in order to enter a competition, but then decided it was too nice to send off (no returns policy), so I decided to keep it.

* I really do own a copy of Super Metroid. 

()All the clocks in my room show different times.

Wow.  Don't scratch your beard too hard now.

So there we have it.  This operation will continue, at some sort of rate, notwithstanding visitors, pub trips, and days where I can't be arsed.  I own a lot of strange things, and I'm not even talking about my Transformers either.  I can see a Sega Megadrive from where I'm sat, the box proudly proclaiming its 16-bit Hardware architecture.  

And don't forget the Bongos...