Thirteen Years – “A Long Time Coming”

2017 Governors Ball Music Festival - Day 3

The only time I have ever seen Tool play live was at the Download Festival in 2006. I’d gone to Download with my cousin, Mark, and we camped with a few others that I knew to varying degrees. I remember when we got the tickets and the line up was announced I was immediately excited to see Metallica, couldn’t believe I’d have a chance to see Prodigy, and hugely anticipated seeing the likes of Deftones, Alice In Chains, Korn and so on.

Headlining the Friday were Tool. I really only knew a few songs; ‘Sober’, ‘Parabola’ and ‘Schism’. Past that, absolutely nothing. I’d always thought ‘Sober’ was an incredible song, but the other songs seemed to go over my head a bit. I remember going to the pub a few weeks before the Download weekend and some of the guys I was going with saying, “Tool on Friday but, you know, seen them once and it’s always the same.” Nothing was really making me think, “Tool are a band I need to invest in.”

But, despite it all, I did. On a day out in Norwich, we popped in to HMV. They were selling the album ‘10,000 Days’. The artwork was unlike any I’d seen before for a CD, with what were special 3D lens type glasses that enabled the pictures in the booklet to almost come to life, showing you more than if you just looked at them normally. It was a work of art. Out of interest, I decided to get it. I remember asking my Dad to put it on in the car, and vividly remember him saying at some points “They’re really trying to rip off Pink Floyd, there.”

I enjoyed it. I wasn’t overawed by it, but I seriously appreciated how good an album it was technically. When Download came, we decided to watch Tool on the Friday night.

Tool 2

 

Thirteen years on, there are a few bands I remember from Download. Strapping Young Lad were hilarious and brutal, Metallica were sensational (but ‘fashionably’ late), Korn were fronted by various different people as Jonathon Davies was ill, Prodigy was the most insane gig I’d ever seen…and Tool. They were just cool. Visually stunning, the sound was amazing…but it wasn’t that that got me sucked in.

Stood in front of us was a guy that looked to be in his early twenties. Short dreadlocks, back pack on, stood alone. And he was break dancing.

Break dancing. To Tool. In the middle of a field in Derbyshire.

It was as hypnotising as the visuals on the screens. On stage, Maynard and the band had their stands – they rarely moved from their areas – but here was this guy, break dancing at a heavy metal festival. I watched in awe, and started to really listen to the music and, in that moment, I got it. The rhythm, the beats, the differing time signatures…you didn’t mosh to Tool, you felt Tool. This music was something else.

In a way, it’s such a shame that it happened in 2006. Nowadays, in an age where stuff like this is just recorded and put on YouTube, you can guarantee it would be online…but in 2006, all of that was still relatively new ground. The flip side to that is, for all those that argue the point that they need to record so they have the memory of the show, this is proof that you really don’t. That moment stayed with me, I still remember it, I can still play it in my head…and I enjoyed the moment far more than had I been stood there holding my phone recording it.

Tool 5

Following Download, I went back to ‘10,000 Days’. It was like I was listening to a different record. I felt the music more, I got the lyrics more…I started to get it. I understood just why those that love Tool really love Tool, and became enamoured by it. I couldn’t wait to hear more.

But, Tool aren’t like any other band…in my hope for a follow up to ‘10,000 Days’, I was left wanting. The band continued to play and tour, but no new music came. I delved in to the older stuff but I craved more.

One of the things I truly loved about Tool was that you could see, and hear, the growth of the band through their albums. The sound changes, the complexity of songs…the experimentation in noise…I just wanted more. Greedy, really, but that’s how it was.

As time went by, life went by. I went to uni, I graduated from uni, I had a long term relationship and saw it end, I got a job and progressed in to management, I started another relationship, I had two kids…life changed.

Within that time, also, I suffered the personal devastation of my Mum passing away suddenly in 2015. Nine years after ‘10,000 Days’ had been released. But, with that tragedy, came a new level of understanding for the album.

Tool 6

I’d always loved “Wings For Marie (Part One)” and “10,000 Days (Wings Part Two)” as a couplet…but I didn’t feel them in the same way as, say, “The Pot” or “Right In Two”. When Mum passed, the first time I went back to listen to ‘10,000 Days’, I remember sitting with my headphones in and just being heartbroken by the lyrics and the emotion to the songs. Both songs focused on the passing of Maynard’s mother, and I was blown away.

In grief, you feel a lot of different emotions. There’s the sadness, but there’s also anger, frustration, guilt – a reluctance to accept. When Maynard sang “Ignorant siblings at the congregation gather around spewing sympathy; spare me. None of them can even hold a candle up to you” I started to really get it. One thing that always sticks in my mind around my Mum’s funeral was having a distant relative asking me to make her drinks, clearly not having any idea who I was, and then after the funeral offering me a hug before not saying another word to me all night. I felt an anger towards it, and you do feel sick of these people…inside, it feels fake.

I also felt real anger at the time as I had people trying to preach religion on to me. I have never been a religious person, but in turn I just felt anger – a real anger at ‘God’ – how could anything like this happen to my Mum? Why did she deserve it? Hearing Maynard sing that his Mum should “shake her fists at the gates” just seemed to connect to me even more. But, through the sadness of the song, to the anger, it ends on acceptance. It was an acceptance that took me a long time to feel…I sometimes, even now, fall out with that acceptance. But these two songs were a journey in grief – and a journey I could relate to.

After that, Tool were more than just another band to me, and their music made more sense. They are a journey band. I feel that, the older you get – or, more so, the more you go through in life – the more you start to understand Tool. From the angst in the first records, to the development – you grow up with these records and they grow up with you.

And now today, finally, thirteen years later, a new album has been released. ‘Fear Inoculum’ is tremendous. When I think back to the not long turned 18 year old I was in 2006, I know I wouldn’t have been ready for this album. It’s not an album to listen to and expect to understand immediately. It’s another step in the journey.

Tool 3

To go back to what my Dad said when he had ‘10,000 Days’ on in the car, and compare to Pink Floyd. I love Floyd, but even the great albums – ‘Dark Side Of The Moon’, for example – take a few listens before you find those stand-out moments. They’re albums that demand time, demand a few listens before you can judge…before you notice all the little details.

On the title track, Maynard sings “long overdue”, and, initially, I felt like it was a little comment on the length of time leading to this record. As it is, I don’t think it is ‘long overdue’ in the slightest. “Fear Inoculum” isn’t an album to introduce new fans to Tool with, it’s an album to listen to in order to take the next step in the journey. The natural successor to ‘10,000 Days’ – we’ve all got older, the band are in their fifties, the songs have become mellower…but still with that bite, and still with that sense of build, tension and excitement that Tool do so well.

Thirteen years has felt like an age and so much has changed but listening to ‘Pneuma’, listening to the majestic ‘Culling Voices’, the absolutely incredible 16 minutes of ‘7empest’…’Fear Inoculum’ came right on time.

And who knows what the next step on the journey will be?


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A Hero, A Fallen Idol – My Trouble With Morrissey

As a teenager you’re almost molded by the people around you and by the people you look up to and I was no different. Many of the views I held were founded by my idols…they put the idea in my head and I carried them on, such is the way. A massive voice to me, one of my biggest idols, was Morrissey.

There were certain parts to Morrissey that I couldn’t quite grasp – example, for as much as I am always moved by ‘Meat Is Murder’, I’ve not felt the urge to become vegetarian – but for the most part, I found many of his opinions to be one’s I could approve of. I was never a Royalist, and hearing “The Queen Is Dead” was confirmation that I could never be a Royalist. Seems daft, really, but that’s how it was. I also read his views of Thatcher and Tory Britain and became moved by how against it all he was. Manchester was not a place to be during Thatcher’s time, and Morrissey made that clear. I started to read up on the politics and, starting from his outspoken views of Thatcher, I found my political leaning.

The biggest thing for me with Morrissey was, and always will be, his lyrics. I absorbed them. He was singing words that sounded like they were made for me, words that resonated so much and so well that the emotional connect was like no other. I loved Morrissey, and this was real love – his lyrics changed my life. How many people have that sort of impact on you?

From his interviews, I started to delve in to the works of authors he discussed. Oscar Wilde is an author that I maybe wouldn’t have taken to as much if not for Morrissey. As it turned out, Morrissey talking about Wilde got me interested in him and I was genuinely excited for the fact that I got to study Wilde at university. It was this love of Wilde that played part in me wanting my son to be called Oscar. But the love of Wilde may not have existed were it not for Morrissey.

My first moment of conflict with Morrissey came through an NME interview. The front page had the heading “Bigmouth Strikes Again. Oh Dear, Not Again…”, and featured a quote saying, “The gates of England are flooded. The country’s been thrown away.” The slant was that Morrissey was racist and opposed to immigrants. I read the interview and felt that, with context, it didn’t read like that (it just seemed that he was saying some immigration is good but it should be controlled) but, overall, the interview displayed beliefs that were no longer intertwined with mine. The idol, my idol, was drifting somewhere else and it was to a place I couldn’t go.

As it was, Morrissey ended up getting an apology from the NME for that article and that cover. I remember reading at the time and having people question me on him, declaring Morrissey as racist due to songs like “The National Front Disco” and “Bengali In Platforms” – but I never saw those songs as anything more than Morrissey, an expert writer, writing from the perspective of another person. When he sang “England for the English”, I saw it as writing as a character. Did I think Morrissey believed that? No.

The real tipping point for me came in 2011. News flooded in of an awful terrorist attack in Norway, with 76 people – mostly children – killed by far right extremist Anders Breivik. It was truly horrific. And then Morrissey compared it all to the slaughter of animals for McDonald’s and KFC. “That is nothing compared to what happens in McDonald’s and Kentucky Fried Shit every day.” I was appalled.

I’d always respected Morrissey’s veganism, and understood his view of “Meat is Murder”. Or, at least, I thought I did. For if that view ultimately leads you to believe that the ‘murder’ of chickens is comparable to the murder of children…I just can’t understand that. I certainly can’t agree with it. Suddenly, for the first time, I found myself unable to defend him.

Despite this, I still had his music. Nothing could take that away from me. And when Morrissey’s autobiography came out it was essential that I had it. The autobiography was, I thought, brilliant. Some of it incredibly quotable. Not an easy read at times – the joys of no chapters – but it was enthralling. If nothing else, ‘Autobiography’ reignited the love. He’d messed up with his comments on the Norway attack. We all make mistakes, don’t we?

Time moves forward, Brexit becomes topic. I voted remain, and truly believe that remaining in the EU is better for the UK, but I accept that not everybody will feel that way. When it comes to politics I like to hear all opinions. I think there are points to be heard for every side and I think that, as a people, we should be prepared to listen to the opposition and be prepared to change our minds if the opposite argument is actually valid. However, I’m also a firm believer in research. And through research I discovered more than enough to understand that Nigel Farage is not the voice for me. It broke my heart somewhat when Morrissey declared that he liked Nigel Farage “a great deal” and then put his weight behind Brexit. It felt like a defeat. But this is politics, we can’t all be the same, and it’s his right to have his own views and beliefs…but then he defended Tommy Robinson, and you start to question where his beliefs come from.

Tommy Robinson, former leader of the EDL. A man known for targeting Muslims and other minorities. A criminal that incites racial tension. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. And then, in the same piece, Morrissey declared support for For Britain, a far right political group that are Islamophobic and made up of former EDL and BNP MEMBERS. And why? Because of animal rights, apparently. But, deeper than that, is the real possibility of something more. When I read Morrissey’s interview and the answer, “Halal slaughter requires certification that can only be given by supporters of ISIS, and yet in England we have halal meat served in hospitals and schools! UK law is pointless!” I was gobsmacked. It screamed ignorance. Whether you agree with the act of Halal meat is one thing – to say that those that follow Halal are all ISIS supporters (at a time when ISIS were incredibly present), was incredibly offensive and an insanely unfair comment. Morrissey is a smart man, and he will know what those sort of comments will do. It’s fine him now saying he “loves his Muslim friends”, but those comments feed on the people that, like me, had their views molded by him. For some, they’re blinded by it – his words are gospel – and this ignorance will, sadly, be ignored.

Of course, it doesn’t stop there. He claimed, in the same interview, that Hitler was left wing and that the word ‘racist’ was meaningless. His argument being that “When someone calls you racist, what they are saying is ”hmm, you actually have a point, and I don’t know how to answer it, so perhaps if I distract you by calling you a bigot we’ll both forget how enlightened your comment was.“” It was evasive, and it’s a common escape route for people in far right groups that are challenged. It turns those calling out racism in to attackers, rather than victims, for example.

With Morrissey now openly wearing a ‘For Britain’ badge, the controversy starts again. But this now isn’t new, this is just old. It pains me beyond belief to say that Morrissey, an idol and a hero of mine, is so far detached from the man I loved for singing “it takes guts to be gentle and kind” that I just don’t feel the ‘love’ anymore, or maybe I do, just “slightly less than I used to”.

But, vitally, where the love of the man has declined and gone, the love of the music remains.

I was discussing Morrissey after the image of him wearing the ‘For Britain’ badge appeared online and the question was put to me – “How can you listen to his music and not think about him and the things he stands for?”

It’s a good question. He is standing for the complete opposite of my beliefs now, some of which genuinely upset me. I viewed him as a hero, but would struggle to now. So how do I look past it? For me, it’s about separating the art from the artist, and allowing the meaning that the art has for me be the leading factor.

One of my favourite films is ‘American Beauty’. I also love ‘Seven’. Kevin Spacey is, obviously, a main actor in both. His alleged acts of sexual abuse won’t stop me enjoying those films. It doesn’t mean that I support him. I just don’t view the characters as ‘Kevin Spacey’.

With Morrissey, it’s even easier. I don’t need to think about Morrissey when I listen to his music. For me, as the listener, I now own those songs. ‘Asleep’, ‘This Charming Man’, ‘Life Is A Pigsty’…those songs belong to me. How? Because of the meaning I have put to them. The emotional connection I have between myself and the songs is purely that – it’s between me and the music. I’ve created my own personal meaning behind them that doesn’t need to link to Morrissey. And that’s simply how I continue to love the music of the man, whilst continuing to no longer agree with him. I know that won’t be for everyone, but the songs mean too much for me to just let them go.

And, finally, if nothing else…you can always think of Johnny Marr.

Our Secret Tongues

An admission: I had never given Frightened Rabbit much time until Scott Hutchison was found dead. They were a band that I’d heard of, a band that several of my favourite bands and artists discussed as well as friends and fellow posters on Facebook groups I am on…but, for whatever reason, I never gave them a chance until Scott went missing.

Since that awful day in May 2018, and particularly over the past few months, Frightened Rabbit have taken over my life somewhat. Not since Biffy Clyro or The Smiths have I listened to a band and felt an emotional connection like the one I do with Frightened Rabbit. They’re a special band, and Scott Hutchison was a special song writer.

My first sample of Frightened Rabbit came a couple of years before Scott’s passing. An indie compilation I’d downloaded featured the song ‘Holy’ – a brilliant song – but, as is the way with many compilations, it became background music to me. The compilation album was one to go on if people were round or housework was being done.

Looking back, that was a bit of a travesty. ‘Holy’ has become a go-to song for me, one that contains lyrics that I relate to massively – particularly if I think to years gone by. The final refrain in the song feels like it was written for me…I just found it a couple of years too late:

I don’t mind being lonely, so leave me alone
Are you, oh, so holy, that I’ll never be good enough
Don’t care if I’m lonely, ’cause it feels like home
I won’t ever be holy, thank God I’m full of holes.”

This is now a very constant theme between Frightened Rabbit, Scott Hutchison’s lyrics and me. I find I relate to them so much that I’m moved by their music more than I’ve been moved by music in some years. For many others this is also the case. Scott’s lyrics speak to people, connect with people and they offer comfort.

Scott Hutchison suffered with depression, an illness that he openly discussed in interviews and through his lyrics. Some people may argue that other bands and artists have written about depression and anxiety and they’d be right, but with Scott it was a bit different. This guy was baring his soul regularly and in doing so he was doing two things. He was opening a connect to those that suffer with depression and anxiety, and he was also displaying that it’s okay to talk about these things. It’s important. It’s also important to have a male role model voicing this because there have not been enough voices.

A look on the Samaritans website shows desperate statistics around suicide. In the UK, men are three times more likely to commit suicide than women (in Ireland its four times more likely to be a man). In Scotland, suicide rates in young men in 2017 had increased for the third year in a row. There are many reasons why a person may feel that suicide is the only option, even if those reasons don’t seem logical to everybody else. I’ve discussed on this blog before that suicide is an end to an illness that someone hasn’t recovered from and I still believe that, but it doesn’t need to be that way. With men there is still that macho culture whereby a stigma exists against mental health and I’ve even witnessed when other men have mocked people for being depressed. The end result of this is that it leads to other men being hesitant in discussing their illness, their issues, and ultimately leads to an increase in drastic final actions. Where else do they go if they’re ashamed to seek out help and, more importantly, how much worse will those men that suffer feel by feeling that, on top of everything, they should be ashamed of themselves for feeling like they can’t go on? This is why people like Scott Hutchison are so important – he’s opened doors, encouraging men to talk, showing that we shouldn’t be ashamed to feel that way.

However, it wasn’t enough for Scott. He used his Twitter account to write, “Be so good to everyone you love. It’s not a given. I’m so annoyed that it’s not. I didn’t live by that standard and it kills me. Please, hug your loved ones.” and a final, “I’m away now. Thanks.”. Three days later, Scott was found on the banks of the Firth of Forth dead. He was 36. His light had gone out, and for many people that voice was gone.

I remember at the time reading one person argue that Scott’s death showed that talking had little impact for depression but to think that is to look at depression in the wrong light. If a person with cancer dies it doesn’t mean that every person with that cancer will also die, it just means that, sadly, the illness beat the other person. Medication works better for some than others. It’s the same with depression…it needs to be viewed as an illness to understand it, and it needs to be understood that what works for one doesn’t necessarily mean it will work for the other. By talking a person takes a first step to trying to find a way to recover. Talking is the start, and that’s something men have not been comfortable doing. It’s why Scott helped so many others, even if ultimately he couldn’t save himself. He allowed others to feel they could take that first step. When Scott sang about speaking in “our secret tongue” in the song, “The Woodpile”, I have always tried to interpret it as a way of expressing opening up about emotions. The things people don’t talk about, the feelings that we so often keep secret.

In retrospect, listening to Frightened Rabbit is sometimes incredibly difficult. The song ‘Floating In The Forth’ is about suicide and even poses the question, “is there peace beneath the roar of the Forth Road bridge?” which is haunting when considering where Scott was found 10 years later. One of my favourite songs, “Swim Until You Can’t See Land”, is also quite haunting to listen to when you consider the lyrics…but it would be unfair to focus on Frightened Rabbit and Scott’s lyrics just for that.

The magic of Frightened Rabbit, the power of Scott’s lyrics, are that they give you hope. The lyric many go to now, from the song ‘Head Rolls Off’, is “While I’m alive, I’ll make tiny changes to Earth”. Everybody will have their own interpretation of these words but, for me, I listen to that song and think about it stressing the importance of making the most of what we have, and doing what we can to make an impact. Much like I found myself connecting to The Smiths and feeling comfort because they made me feel “not alone”, Frightened Rabbit have the same effect…but lyrics like “make tiny changes…” give a motivation that Morrissey’s lyrics don’t. They give you hope that there is a meaning. There is more.

I found Frightened Rabbit some years too late, but it hasn’t lessened their impact. They are one of the most important bands of the past decade but not many will know them, which is a complete injustice.

The ending may have been sad, but Scott’s lyrics and words live on. They remain important. They still give hope. They still give comfort. They’ll still help countless people.

And, at the end of the day, that’s how Scott Hutchison “made tiny changes to Earth” – he made other men feel like they could talk about their battles and demons. Although he couldn’t save himself he saved many others.

(Click here to watch the music video for their song “Head Rolls Off” – and then, please, dig further and listen to more.)

Mindfields

The Fat Of The Land came out when I was only 10 years old.

The 10 year old me was listening to pop music. I’d grown really fond of Madness, and was sucked in to the excitement of the Brit Pop battles of Oasis and Blur…trying to sing Oasis songs with my best Liam Gallagher impersonation. But that was it. Other than that, you were looking to whatever was in the charts…at that point it was The Spice Girls so, secretly, I add, I was listening to them, too.

I remember the first time I saw and heard Prodigy. Top of the Pops, ‘Firestarter’. My Dad had heard it on the radio and was saying how amazing this song was and then it was on TV. A black and white music video, in a tunnel, with Keith Flint dancing and shouting his vocals. I remember thinking I’d never seen anything like it before.

The ‘Firestarter’ video got banned by the BBC due to complaints from parents saying it had scared their children. The video didn’t scare me but it did make me take notice and it has always remained one of the most memorable music videos for me.

Ultimately, the thing that made the ‘Firestarter’ video stand out wasn’t the music – as brilliant as it was, and still is – but actually the performance of Keith Flint. I’d seen clips of, say, The Sex Pistols but Flint was different. At age 10, Keith Flint was the most punk rock person I had ever seen. The devil horn hairstyle, the crazy dance moves, the clothes, the make up…I was enamoured by this person.

I always found it odd that the video for ‘Firestarter’ was black listed. There was nothing scary about it to me, it was just punk. And dance. I soon discovered ‘Breathe’, a video that I thought was creepier than ‘Firestarter’ but fewer people seemed to agree. From those two songs and videos came my introduction to ‘Smack My Bitch Up’ – a music video that, even now, pushes boundaries and a song that, even now, causes such controversy.

Prodigy were a dance band, but they were more than just that…they were the most punk rock band I’d ever seen, with Keith Flint, the most punk rock man I’d ever seen, leading the charge. I remember getting their 1997 album ‘Fat Of The Land’ when I was just shy of turning 11 and listening to it all through. It was like nothing I’d ever heard before.

My love of music is something I often think I got from my Dad. In the car, he’d put on Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Billy Joel, Elton John and so on, and talk to me about the gigs he’d been to. It got me in to rock music from a fairly early age, even if my preferred style was pop. I look back now and think of my Dad introducing me to Prodigy and it makes me laugh a bit. From an outside perspective, to go from introducing your son to ‘Piano Man’ by Billy Joel to ‘Smack My Bitch Up’ by Prodigy…it may seem a bit odd. But this is how I was raised with music, and another reason as to why I think I like music of so many genres.

All of my Dad’s favourite music had their “angry” songs, protest songs almost, but none of them had the raw energy, anger and aggressive feel of the Prodigy. I loved it.

Keith Flint as front man opened my eyes to a vast surrounding of music I’d otherwise ignored. I often think that had it not been for Flint, for Prodigy, I’d have never listened to some of the punk that I adored in my later years, never had listened to Nirvana, never had listened to punk and metal. My musical tastes would be completely different.

On hearing Keith Flint had passed away, aged only 49, I find myself thinking of that first time I heard ‘Fat Of The Land’, and feeling massively grateful for the lasting effect it had on me with my taste in music.

I saw Prodigy perform live only once, at the Download Festival in 2006. It was insane. They headlined the second stage while Guns n Roses headlined main. It felt like more people had come to the tent for Prodigy and the mix of people was unbelievable. Metal heads, ravers, punk rockers…it was a musical free for all. And when they started the whole tent went berserk. Energy like I’ve rarely, if ever, felt at a gig. People climbing the rafters. The whole place a mosh pit.

My cousin and I lasted a few songs before we had to go. You could feel the mood turning on the night and the band were having to stop performing to encourage people to stop climbing rafters. All in all, it was a recipe for disaster. A mix of ravers and moshers, in a tent too small. But Prodigy were immense. Keith Flint parading the front of the stage sticks in my mind. This man, the first person I saw that made me think “punk rock”, is in front of me and he is still the most punk rock person I’ve ever seen.

That mix of people, that impression of Flint, is part of the reason why Keith Flint is an icon. There are very few people that could bridge the gap between dance, electronic, punk and metal like Keith Flint did…and there may not be many that do it anywhere near as good, with such ease, ever again.

To hear that Keith Flint took his own life adds to the sorrow of the day and he joins an ever growing list of musicians I love that have taken their own lives; including Kurt Cobain, Chester Bennington, Chris Cornell and more. All men. All men that other men would look to as a voice – be it a voice to help them release pain, or sadness, or anger…or just a voice they loved.

Suicide is the biggest killer of men aged under 50 in the UK. Bigger than cancer, bigger than road accidents, bigger than heart attacks. Suicide. And with every Chris Cornell, every Chester Bennington and now with Keith Flint we’re all left with it there in front of us. Depression doesn’t care how successful you are, how loved you are or about what you have…but, as men, we struggle to talk. We struggle to admit. Why?

Stigma plays a massive part. With every famous suicide I still see comments online of how selfish the person is, how someone has taken the easy way…”the cowards way”…and it’s all unfair. Suicide is not cowardice, it’s an end to an illness for someone that hasn’t got better. I see comments of “they don’t think about their loved ones”…but I’d argue the contrary and encourage people that believe that to think this way. A suicidal person always thinks of their loved ones. A suicidal person will believe that they are doing the best thing for those people because, and this is the biggest issue, a suicidal person believes more than anything that they are a burden, they are a problem and that everything will be better without them.

Stigmas and attitude can only change when we begin to try to understand. At 49 years old, Keith Flint has added to the number, the already huge number, of UK men aged under 50 that choose to take their own life. Of all those people, how many could have been avoided had more people taken the time to understand and be there rather than pass quick judgements and create stigma?

This is the male problem. And with every famous suicide, the focus comes back. But how sad is it that more death, more pain, is needed to make people reflect, change and talk?

Keith Flint is an icon, and a man I feel I owe a lot to as I know it was him that made me become more open minded to other genres of music and groups of people. The Prodigy and Flint really did take me to another dimension.

And now I hope his passing serves as not just a reminder of his brilliant music, but as a way to make more people become open minded to mental health, removing the stigma around it and maybe give someone the courage to talk to somebody else instead of meeting the end.

Songs That Changed My Life Pt.3 – Keep Your Head Up

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“All I was searching for was me…”

A fact of life is that we all change. Whether it’s due to events that have happened, people you’ve met, relationships formed, decisions made…we all change. Sometimes that can be for the better, sometimes for the worse, but all these changes go in to creating the person that you become. It’s not very often you meet anybody who, aged 30, would say “I’m still exactly the same person I was when I was 15.”

My late teens to my late twenties was a period of huge change for me. As mentioned in previous blogs, I spent most of my teenage years as a very shy, very quiet boy. When I had finished at sixth form, my next step was to go to university. This was the message that had been almost forced on to me by the school I was in; to not want Uni as a next step was to want failure. Or, at least, that’s how it felt for me.

It was completely wrong. By the end of sixth form, aged 18, I felt lost. I’d had enough of education and I didn’t feel ready for University, but I didn’t feel that there was all that much to keep me at home in Lowestoft other than family. Job wise, there wasn’t much to go for and then there was the fact that several of my friends were heading to different Universities up and down the country. Feeling forced in to university gave a feeling of hopelessness when, deep down, I knew I didn’t want to go but was being told that other paths meant a poorer life.

I contacted the uni I’d been accepted in to and asked to take a gap year. I worked three jobs, at one point all at the same time, and began to build in confidence. I almost exploited the fact I had friends in uni by going out on several fresher events even though I wasn’t a student. I was enjoying the uni life but without the lectures or the student debt and it was great. The gap year was enough to make me decide to go to uni and embrace the next change to my character.

Going to uni was an experience I will never forget and one that I absolutely loved. By the end of the third year I felt I’d developed in to a different man, a more confident person and someone that had ‘a plan’. I knew what I wanted from life, whereas three years prior I had no idea. Uni allowed me to meet some great people; some of whom became some of my closest friends.

Before uni, I’d not really had any relationships. Two weeks in, just turning 20, I was in a relationship…a relationship I stayed in for nearly 10 years. Going back to what I said at the start of this post, people change and after several turbulent years full of personal struggles and tragedy on both sides it was enough. I certainly wasn’t feeling it any more and a culmination of those tragedies – Mum passing away, for example – and a change in my own emotions towards the relationship as well as other factors just made me feel it had to end, definitely before we were married. In all honesty, I’d fallen within myself for much of the last year or so of the relationship and as bad as it sounds stayed in it for perhaps longer than I should have. It was easier that way. I stayed at work longer than needed, went for drinks with fellow colleagues and just stayed out of the house. I was unhappy but afraid to really do anything or even really face in to it.

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“I spent my time watching the spaces that have grown between us…”

When I moved to a different work place I started talking to one of the team leaders and developed a great friendship. I found a person I could confide in, a person I felt comfortable talking to about my own personal ‘demons’ and unhappiness. It opened my eyes when we talked about issues in our relationships as I realised that many of the things I felt were wrong in hers were actually wrong in mine. It was easier talking to her purely because she had no relationship with anybody in my inner circle so honesty became really easy. Neither of us really had anything to lose by being honest to each other, but we gave each other a person to talk to about things that were deeply playing on us – something that I think neither of us had beforehand.

On the day that I ended the relationship I drove to Bakewell in the Peak District and, as ridiculous as this may sound, I took a notepad and pen and just wrote out all of my reasons for wanting out. Despite knowing I needed to leave, the fact was that I’d been in a relationship for a third of my life and I knew that by actually leaving I was taking a giant leap into the unknown. It was scary, daunting and I had no idea how things would go. I’d contacted my friend, Dan, and sorted out a place to stay after.

Even though I knew I was doing the right thing for me, there’s still a hardship to ending any relationship and this was no different. I felt fortunate because I was still able to confide to the team leader at work, as well as speak to some of my other closest friends. I decided to take a step back from many of my University relationships and in time deleted much of my social media presence. This was a time for me to look in to myself, rebuild myself and develop new relationships. This was what I needed.

In that time, music continued to be a massive life saver for me. I devoted a lot of my listening to Ben Howard and, in particular, the song ‘Keep Your Head Up’. The chorus of “Keep your head up, keep your heart strong” was, and remains, motivational to the point that I would listen to the song at the start of every day to lift me up. The team leader I confided in was going through her own issues at home and we would share this song with one another. It was our mutual anthem. Our uplifting chorus. The motivational message we both needed.

Keep your head up, keep your heart strong.

How did the song change my life? It helped keep me above board during one of the most tumultuous periods of my life. Sofa hopping, staying in hotels – even contemplating quitting my job and moving back to Lowestoft with my Dad. Those eight words were what I needed.

Eventually the team leader ended her relationship, too. After a few months we decided to try as a couple. My life changed again, for the better, as it became clear that I’d met the person that would be the love of my life and, sooner than either of us would have thought, the mother of my children. The girl that was there for me when I needed to talk is now the girl I share my life with. Sometimes, life does work out.

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Swimming In Darkness

There is a lyric in “Keep Your Head Up” that goes, “I tried my best to embrace the darkness in which I swim”. It’s a lyric that I relate to on several levels.

I’ve always struggled against low mood. I find it far easier to see the negatives than I do the positives. Self doubt is always intensely high for me and I over think absolutely everything. A by product of my over thinking is anxiety. I get anxious over anything. For example, if somebody messages me with just an “OK”, I’ll think something is wrong and I’ve maybe, somehow, upset the other person. Things said to me, whether in jest or in seriousness, can stay on my mind not only for days but for months or years. It takes a lot to really fight against the emotions that come with these issues but, over time, I’ve been able to learn how to control it and be alright. The support I get from Lori, my fiancee, is a massive help, and music is another help for me – music is an energy that helps me and that is why I believe that these songs helped changed my life. It may sound OTT, maybe it is, but I don’t know who I would be without songs like ‘Keep Your Head Up’ or the music of bands and artists like Biffy Clyro, The Smiths, Jeff Buckley and Nirvana.

Once Lori and myself had settled in to a relationship (which was incredibly easy – I do believe we were made for one another), we were placed in to a situation that neither of us could have ever foreseen.

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My friend, Dan, who had put me up when I ended my previous relationship must have found himself swimming in darkness and, sadly, unable to control it. I detail the story of what happened in my post, ‘Tales Of The Unexpected‘.

From the moment the police came in to Lori’s flat, I sank deeper in to my own darkness. I always feel selfish saying that because the emotions I felt will have been nothing compared to the family of Dan’s murdered Dad, and there is no way that I would ever want to pretend my emotions would come close but I was distraught. I’d lost my best friend in one of the most horrific ways, realising I didn’t really know the guy at all, and due to that my self doubt, my insecurities…they all grew out of control. How could I not see it? How could I be so stupid, so gullible as to believe all the different stories? Why didn’t he tell me the truth? Why couldn’t I help him to get better? Could I have helped to prevent it? Will Lori leave me because, honestly, police raiding your flat because of your new boyfriend’s friend isn’t a great start…I was scared. I was confused. I was a mess.

Keep your head up, keep your heart strong.

The police found Dan on the night Lori and I saw Biffy Clyro in Birmingham. Biffy are an incredibly important band for me and I saw them perform both songs that I associate with my Mum (‘Folding Stars’ and ‘Machines’) together for the first time. My emotions were going. Over the next week, after doing police statements, a development would come that would change my life completely and forever.

Lori was pregnant. It was a surprise but the elation I felt was insane. People often talk of feeling the weight lift off their shoulders…that evening, I felt like I could float. I felt, as Ben Howard sings in ‘Keep Your Head Up’, the “comfort invested in my soul” from Lori and, importantly, in myself.

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“Because I’ll always remember you the same…”

‘Keep Your Head Up’ has remained the anthem that I’ve needed. It has also remained the anthem that myself and Lori turn to in unhappier times. It reminds us that things may be bad now, we may be “embracing the darkness”, but things can get better. You have to try to keep the positivity, you have to try to “keep your head up”.

When Lori was faced with redundancy, she shared the song on her Facebook. Several others also facing in to redundancy reacted with love. They all got it. They all understood, and, I imagine, it’s the song that they will have all listened to at that point and have helped them to feel, even if only for those few minutes, a bit better. Music is really one of the only forms of media that can do that. It’s powerful. It does change lives because it gives you an emotion that can change your outlook on the way things are going. What else can really do that?

In loss, also, ‘Keep Your Head Up’ has been a song that has kept us going.

The simplest message can sometimes be the most important and the most life saving, the most life changing. That’s why, in those dark moments, I try my best to remember this song and follow what it says.

Keep your head up, keep your heart strong.

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You can listen to ‘Keep Your Head Up’ by clicking HERE

Songs That Changed My Life – Pt.1

Songs are powerful. They have an ability to change emotion, an ability to make people feel safe, an ability to make people move and even, sometimes, the ability to make people stop altogether. There’s nothing else really like it.

I think that for every person there is at least one song that they can go to that, regardless of how many times they hear it, they’ll always love. It can be for any reason, too; it may remind you of a loved one, it may remind you of a holiday…it may just have an amazing guitar riff. Whatever it is, you are emotionally tied to that song. Whatever meaning it has to you, it belongs to you. That song, written by somebody that you may never meet, is an important part of your life.

This will become the start to a run of features I’ll do on my blog regarding the songs that are important to me. “Songs That Changed My Life” is titled so because, in some way, each of these songs did just that.

The first song I will talk about is one I have mentioned on this blog before, and the one song that means more to me than any other. It helped me to deal with grief, and it gave me the belief that I could “come back”.

The song is ‘Machines’ by Biffy Clyro.

simon neil machines

The first time I heard ‘Machines’ was on hearing Biffy’s fourth album, ‘Puzzle’. I’d been blown away by the album – it may have lacked the quirkiness of the first three albums but the songs were so strong and it sounded so huge that I found myself in love with it pretty much from the off. I’d always loved Simon Neil’s lyrics but on ‘Puzzle’ it was different. These were honest lyrics, these were the strongest lyrics Neil had written.

I was part of the Biffy Clyro fan forum when ‘Puzzle’ was released. Everybody knew that the majority of the album was about Simon Neil’s Mum passing away and the immediate song that highlighted that was ‘Folding Stars’ in which Neil sings, “Eleanor, I would do anything for another minute with you ’cause it’s not getting easier.” It is such an emotional song and the message was abundantly clear. For many, it was the standout song but for me it wasn’t. Initially, the song I was hooked on was ‘Get Fucked Stud’…it just rocked. It still does.

As time went by and Biffy started to grow in popularity, I decided to introduce one of my new Uni mates to the band. I lent him ‘Puzzle’ and he later came back to me talking about how powerful it was – saying that ‘Machines’, the album closer, had him in tears as he thought about his Granddad, who had not long passed away. I’d always liked ‘Machines’, I loved playing it on guitar, but I wasn’t tied to it and didn’t appreciate it as much as some of the other songs on the album. I think, at the time, I just wanted loud music and ‘Machines’, a beautiful acoustic song, wasn’t top of my list.

As time went by, ‘Machines’ slowly became a favourite. Due to my Uni mate talking about the song and his emotions towards it, I’d focused a bit more time on it and grew to appreciate just how much of a truly powerful song it was. I also felt like I finally understood the hope it tried to present in the lyric, “Take the pieces and build them skyward.” I felt like I finally ‘got it’ but, in reality, it wasn’t until the passing of my own Mum that I honestly did ‘get it’.

Mum passed away very suddenly. None of us expected it, we couldn’t prepare for it – we had five days of hospital and that was it. She was 55, a really young age, and it was really tough to comprehend what had happened. There was no way to understand it. It was life being life, and it was life being incredibly cruel. Personally, I didn’t really know how to deal with it and unfortunately ended up suffering with anxiety/panic attacks and, essentially, sinking within myself. It’s a weird thing…I’m the first to say to people they need to talk to others but, in this instance, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to discuss my emotions with family because we were all feeling it; and I couldn’t face in to talking to friends. I was hiding.

I remember the first time I listened to ‘Machines’ after Mum passed away. I was in the shower and had my music on shuffle and the live version from Wembley started. The song had taken a whole new meaning to me. The opening lyrics, “I would dig a thousand holes to lay next to you, I would dig a thousand more if I needed to” just had me. And the chorus; “I’ve started falling apart, I’m not savouring life. I’ve forgotten how good it could be to feel alive” connected to me like never before. I related to them…I felt them. This was my life at this point.

In the five days spent at the hospital with Mum she was asleep the whole time. We knew the likelihood of her pulling through was incredibly slim, despite the amazing efforts of the doctors and nurses at Papworth Hospital, but we still held hope. I’d sit with Mum…we all would…and we’d talk to her. I just hoped that she could hear anything we were saying. More than anything I just wanted her to wake up and tell me to stop being so soft.

The second verse of ‘Machines’ always takes me back to those days.

“Crazy as it sounds, you won’t feel as low as you feel right now.
At least that’s what I’ve been told by everyone.
I whisper empty sounds in your ear and hope that you won’t let go…
Take the pieces and build them skyward.”

In that shower, listening to those words, I broke down. No song had ever made me cry before but ‘Machines’ did. I realised that I’d never understood the song properly until now…I’d wished, really, that I’d never had to understand it…but here I was, 28 years old, crying in the shower to a song by my favourite band.

The final lyric to that verse, also the final lyric to the whole song, have become the most important lyrics that I know. Everybody deals with grief differently; some people just carry on, some really struggle. As sung in the chorus, I felt like I had fallen apart, I wasn’t enjoying life…but those lyrics helped remind me that life isn’t always bad (“I’ve forgotten how good it could be to feel alive”). “Take the pieces and build them skyward” gave me a sense of hope that I could pick myself up. If I had fallen apart, fallen to pieces, that lyric was my motivation to pick those pieces back up and rebuild. They encouraged me to find myself again. There are no other lyrics that have ever done that to me.

‘Machines’ is more than a song to me. It’s a reminder of the worst time of my life, and a reminder that from the despair, the grief and the darkness you can build yourself back up.

(You can listen to the song – the Live From Wembley version – here)

Putting The Pieces Back Together

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For as long as I can remember music has been a major part of my life. It has been there through the highs and the lows; helped me celebrate, helped me through sorrow. Ultimately, music has been a lifeline and one of the only real constants in my life. For every occasion, a song. For every moment, a tune. For every emotion, a lyric.

When I think back through the years I can remember several moments in my life purely by the music. I used to listen to Jamiroquai in 1999 because I believed every time I listened to Jamiroquai my football team would win. I remember going to see West Brom and listening to Madness’ ‘Baggy Trousers’ with my Dad because of West Brom’s nickname, The Baggies. I remember hearing Chicago’s ‘If You Leave Me Now…’ at the age of 16 and at the most unfortunate, yet in hindsight funniest of times, as my first ‘relationship’ ended. Simply, music has always been there.

As I grew up, my music tastes broadened. I grew up in Birmingham, around a mixed race society, and although my Dad had got me in to the likes of Pink Floyd, Led Zep and Manic Street Preachers, my favoured taste was more towards Eminem, Craig David and Darude. We moved to Lowestoft just days before my 15th birthday and, through boredom more than anything, I picked up the guitar. I started listening to Nirvana (fell in love with Nirvana…especially In Utero), The Smiths and The Libertines. It took over a month to get in to school after we moved. I didn’t fit in as quick as I’d have liked, and for some time school was difficult. The music I listened to spoke to me. Cobain’s screams were my hidden anger. Even Fred Durst seemed like a voice for me to believe in.

As I made the transition in to sixth form, my tastes continued to widen. I started listening to quirkier music, started exploring weirder sounds on guitar. I would watch 120 Minutes on MTV2 religiously and Gonzo, hosted by Zane Lowe, became my gospel. It was through watching Gonzo one day in 2003 that I was introduced to a band that, unbeknownst to me, would become my favourite band, and the band that would provide me with the greatest comfort I could have in years to come. That band? Biffy Clyro.

My first sight of Biffy was the video for Questions and Answers. A ‘garage rock’ band sound to it, I initially thought it was a band in the likes of the Strokes, but I loved the song so I always kept an eye out for them. Then Gonzo On Tour, ‘Eradicate The Doubt’, Simon Neil vs a glittery jacket…I was hooked. I saw them live for the first time on their ‘Infinity Land’ tour at the UEA in Norwich. My love for Nirvana started to drown a little as I became a fan of what was at that time regarded a ‘cult band’. I soaked them in, started to learn songs on guitar, got every album, downloaded b-sides…it was, and still is, an addiction.

By the time Biffy had released ‘Puzzle’, I was at Uni. I remember forcing two of my flatmates to listen to ‘Semi-Mental’ on Zane Lowe’s Radio One Show (it was Hottest Record In The World that day), and I have been the same for every album and song since. With every album, with every success, I feel proud of this band. For several people I know who supported Biffy during the first three albums, the mainstream success disconnected them. For me, I just saw that the world had finally woken up.

‘Puzzle’ would soon become a massive support for me. Largely focussing on the passing of Simon Neil’s mother and his emotions after, I always felt it was the most personal record but I never truly understood it until after January 2015, when my Mum also sadly passed away unexpectedly aged only 55.

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I can’t begin to explain the emotions I felt at that time. I remember when I was at Papworth Hospital when we were told there was nothing more that could be done and we all left to walk around he gardens and collect our thoughts before the life support machines were turned off. I remember walking away from my family, not knowing really where to turn. I was lost. It literally felt like a piece of me had been torn out and was suddenly missing.

It took me some time to pluck the courage to listen to ‘Puzzle’. In the meantime, I’d taken to listening to Biffy b-sides. ‘Time Jazz’ became a comfort song, “Time Jazz confronts us all…It’s fine, there’s a throbbing in my shoulder, it’s fine, don’t think it’s getting bigger, it’s fine, I’ll dig it out to ease the pain, I can’t face final fortunes ever again”. I heard those lyrics and hid behind them. I took it as focussing on other feelings and hiding the pain of ‘final fortunes’, death, and found solace.

I remember the first time I listened to Machines after Mum passed. I cried. Hearing “I whisper empty sounds in your ear and hope that you won’t let go” took me back to being sat at the side of Mum’s hospital bed, telling her I loved her, even joking with her, hoping she could hear me, hoping she’d return a word but ultimately feeling like she couldn’t hear me. “Folding Stars” tore me to shreds. Even now, when I saw Biffy on their Ellipsis tour and they played ‘Folding Stars’ (first time in 7 shows I’d seen them play it live), I welled up. The lyrics mean so much to me, and suddenly every word in ‘Puzzle’ resonates with me.

The build to ‘9/15ths’ represents perfectly my slip in to anxiety and depression at that time. “How do you become one again?” was a lyric that, again, hit me. It was a question I frequently asked. I knew I was missing this piece of me, and I didn’t know how to recover. How do you recover? Do you EVER recover? I don’t think so.

For some time I worried that I’d never be able to listen to Puzzle again. ‘The Conversation Is…’, ‘Love Has A Diameter’, even ‘Saturday Superhouse’ (the lyric, “Then I see a darkness, you see a blinding light”, just made me think of the funeral) became too much for me. But ‘Time Jazz’ kept me going.

One day, when I was in the shower, I listened to ‘Machines’ again. It was at this point that I finally started to feel comfortable listening to it again. “Take the pieces and build them skywards” became a lyric of constant solace. Whereas beforehand the song filled me with sadness, suddenly I felt hope. I listened to ‘Folding Stars’ and the lyric “I hope that you’re folding stars” made me think of my Mum again, filling me with this idea of beauty. Ultimately, the songs made me feel closer to Mum. They all gave me comfort.

‘Puzzle’ became my comfort in sound. It made me feel, as a 28 year old man, that I was okay to feel down. It was okay to have the emotions I felt. The Smiths and Nirvana had helped me as a teenager during times of loneliness, but neither gave me the comfort that Biffy Clyro did in grief. They are more than a band to me. They helped save me.

There are really very few ways to say to a band how grateful you are to them for anything and I can only hope that one day, somehow, they see this and they know how grateful I am to them for unknowingly helping a young man deal with bereavement.

Over the past two years since, I have dedicated a lot of time in to raising money for Papworth Hospital in memory of my Mum. I’m extremely proud to say I’ve helped raise over £4,500 for the hospital’s charity and I will continue to raise money for them for as long as I possibly can. This year, I’ll be doing the Three Peaks Challenge, starting in the homeland of Biffy Clyro, Scotland, as we climb Ben Nevis, Sca Fell Pike and end on Snowdon. I will be listening to Puzzle, as well as the other hundreds of Biffy songs I have, on my way up and down each mountain. Biffy have been part of my journey, and they will always remain so.

If anybody reading this is interested in donating to the charity and sponsoring me, please visit my Just Giving page HERE and donate. I cannot tell you how much it means to me.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

And, finally, ‘Mon The Biff.
x

Kurt Cobain’s Masterpiece

Twenty years ago, Nirvana released their third, and final, studio album. Much harder and more difficult than Nevermind, In Utero is, in my opinion, the album that stands the test of time and the album that Nirvana should be remembered for.

In Utero was released when I was only 7 years old. I doubt very much that at that point of my life I was interested in Kurt Cobain or indeed rock music at all. I’m very certain that had someone sat me down and forced me to listen to In Utero I would have probably have been disgusted. A man shouting “Rape me!” down a microphone during a song? Just turning 7, I doubt I’d even know what rape is.

As I grew and my music tastes developed, and I got in to rock music, I became a massive Nirvana ‘fanboy’. I have hours upon hours upon hours of Nirvana material (some widely known, some not so widely known), and I remember pre-ordering the “With The Lights Out” boxset, with it’s funky heat sensitive artwork, spending pretty much all the money I’d save up from a Saturday job I’d been doing.

I was in love with Nirvana. Kurt Cobain had become my hero. I was in so deep I was even trying to wear clothes that I thought Kurt would have worn, and considered letting my hair grow so I could style my look on him. I could, and still can, play about 2 hours worth of Nirvana material on guitar. I was obsessed.

What got me in to Nirvana, weirdly, wasn’t an album. Wasn’t Teen Spirit (I actually heard Lithium before that). Wasn’t the Unplugged show. It was Nirvana on MTV’s Live And Loud show.

It was night time, everyone in my house had gone to bed, but I had stayed up and was watching MTV2, and they were replaying this show from several years ago. I was taken aback by the energy in Kurt’s performance, I loved the artwork on the stage (statues of the pregnant angel from the In Utero album sleeve)…and when Kurt screamed his way in to the final verse of Drain You, I was hooked.

I got every album, I downloaded really shitty quality recordings of live performances, b-sides, rare recordings and covers, but I loved it. I was discovering that I was a fan of raw, edgy sounds. And for that reason alone, Nevermind and all it’s quality ran dry with me. All ‘Top 100 album’ shows will mention Nevermind, but it’s probably the nirvana record I listen to least. In Utero is my choice.

In Utero is, and was, such a departure from the radio friendly elements of Nevermind. It sounded edgy, it sounded dirty, it sounded like a massive cry of frustration and anger. Opening with the lyric, “Teenage angst has paid off well, now I’m bored and old”, was the perfect way to go about things. In Utero felt more personal than any other Nirvana album, it felt like this was Kurt Cobain’s album. This was the one he wanted people to hear. This was the one he had worked up to.

For a mainstream rock band to focus on the themes that In Utero does is such a brave move. It’s make or break territory in some respects. Posthumously, it is entirely possible to listen to the lyrics on the album and ask yourself, “was he telling us all then?” In Utero mentions death and suicide several times, it’s not the album to listen to for a laugh, but, for any real Nirvana fan, it is the essential album.

Twenty years on, the influence In Utero has had on the modern rock scene is huge. Simon Neil, from Biffy Clyro, has the angel from the album sleeve tattooed on his arm. I would argue that the heavy, mainstream rock we occasionally hear on Radio One nowadays, with harsh screaming vocals, wouldn’t be deemed as accessible to the mainstream had Nirvana not released songs such as Milk It or Tourette’s.

In Utero has a lot to answer for, and so much to be thanked for. This was Kurt’s work of art. It is the soundtrack for my late teenage years.

And if you haven’t listened to it before, then please, I urge you, go out and buy the CD.

Missing The Point

Every so often a song comes along with a video that sparks so much controversy you often forget to think about whether the said song is actually any good. Lily Allen has released her new song “Hard Out Here”, in an attempt to ‘have a go’ at the sexism in modern pop music today, be it from Miley Cyrus or Robin Thicke. The end result, though, is a bit baffling.

I’ll start with the song. Because, I’m sure, Lily Allen would tell us it’s “all about the music” and the message of the song is actually, surprisingly, in the song. That message is supposed to be a strong statement about the way women are treated everyday, a statement against sexism, and a statement that I wish she could do better. Telling men to “forget your balls and grow a pair of tits” doesn’t really help voice the fact that there still aren’t enough women in power, and “it’s hard out here when you’re a bitch” doesn’t give much either. If you’re a bitch, then that’s probably why it’s hard. Surely women don’t like being known as “bitches”?

When I first heard the song, I had a vision of a French and Saunders sketch parodying someone like Kate Nash. I imagined Sophie Ellis Bextor deciding to release a song with swear words; to be edgy. When I heard the auto-tune in the chorus I wanted to cry.

I like Lily Allen. ‘Smile’ is a good song, ‘The Fear’ is a brilliant song…this? It’s turgid. It’s a poor pop song, but there’ll be a lot of people that will be ‘in to it’ because it’s controversial. People do love a good controversy.

On to the video, and this is where I really think it misses the point completely. It’s supposed to be a satirical video, mocking modern pop stars, such as Miley Cyrus and Robin Thicke, who essentially use women as props in their videos or whore themselves out. But, unless I’m mistaken, satire isn’t imitation, and this video, to those who haven’t ‘got the message’ is just that…imitation.

In trying to show how wrong it is that women are used as sexualised props in music videos, Lily Allen has, perhaps inadvertently, created a music video that uses women as just that. The ethnicity of the women used (and, again, I hate to use the word used but they are) is also a source for argument. Allen has defended this in a tweet, and I don’t for one second believe any racist view was intended, but the defending of a video shows something…people don’t get it. I’m one of them!

I showed the video to my fiancée, and she looked appalled when ‘Lily Allen Has A Baggy Pussy’ popped up on the video. The message of the song got completely lost. As far as she was concerned this was just a bog standard video that started well (because it does…the hospital scene is the one and only part of the video where you see the message), but lost it’s way.

Raving about a ‘Baggy Pussy’, I’d imagine, is not what feminists have in mind when they are trying to get their valid points of views across about the way women are discriminated against even today.

The song ends with the couplet “Inequality promises that it’s here to stay, Always trust the injustice ‘cuz it’s not going away.” 

Lily may have a point. More video’s like this and “the injustice” may just stay.

Adam

(If I am wide of the mark, please do comment – it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve missed the obvious)