GoldOctober 26, 2011
This morning, I brushed my teeth with a golden toothbrush.
(That isn’t a slang term for playing saxophone, though perhaps it should be.)
It was gold-plated, mind. Solid gold could be dangerous.
It is a bizarre thing, this life, and I hope no-one ever succeeds in explaining it to me…
This week, I released a single. I’ve never done that before. Perhaps I ought to tell you what it’s like.
Lately, I keep myself too busy to get caught beneath any feeling that any side of the work inspires, and that is deliberate. But it doesn’t mean I’m unaware that what I’m doing just now, basically, is shouting my name at people, over and over, and sticking my face in their eye.
I consider it, among other things, a first-class lesson in the absurd. I love it.
I wrote the song alone, in the woods, where I could pose and play-act the wistful poet to my silly heart’s content. But it was also see the various characters involved, with a clarity enhanced by their absence.
For me, when it’s going well, you let go any aspirations of the work, in the sheer face of the subject matter of it. You resign yourself to a good piece of work, rather than strive and struggle and attain it. Songs can be lovely. They can be mortifyingly beautiful, even. But a human being is infinite, and life is triumphantly impossible.
Recently, I was lucky enough to be taken by the colossal Manchester Scenewipe to make a piece of film in Hitler’s favourite hotel, the Midland. We went there to film a performance about a group of strangers, whilst filming those same people, and their reaction to the fact that some weirdo was doing said performance in a hotel lobby.
I wonder if they felt a bit… funny.
I hope they did, because I firmly believe, we are.