Threads

At the beginning of last month I started talking about my end of course essay. And about teaching and art practice, which I also wrote about a bit in the bloggers interview. How I constructed this essay was beginning to prey on my mind somewhat; the last thing I want to do at the moment is write an academic essay. My brain just doesn’t seem to be in the place for that anymore. But how easy it is to rattle off a couple of blog posts. *PING* light bulb moment! I’m going to write it like an extended blog post. Don’t panic, I shan’t be publishing it, as I have already established a sort of rule that the best length for me for a blog post is about 300 words. (oops, this one’s more)

As soon as this thought hit, I rattled off a reflective, chatty higgledy-piggledy 1800 words! By the time I’ve tidied it up and added some sage quotes from those much wiser than I, I’ll have it cracked. I haven’t yet put this idea to my tutor, who is conveniently on holiday. By the time I do, it’ll be a fait accompli! But it does seem appropriate to write it in this form as a rounding off of my experience.

Now…

Live music.

We need more of it.

Just as artists have started to look at alternative gallery spaces for art, where they don’t have to pay a hanging fee and extortionate amounts of commission, we need similar venues for live music. Venues that don’t charge an entrance fee that the musicians never see. I went to see Anja McCloskey at ORT Cafe in Birmingham last night. It was fab. Halfway through the set, one of the cafe staff went round with a collection tin for a whip round for the band. I put in what I might have paid for a ticket at another venue, other people seemed to be doing similar that I could see. All of this then went straight to the band. I don’t know how much they got in the end between them, as there were 5 in the band. But it went straight from the pockets of the audience to them. This shift in culture in these times has to be a good idea.

So, if you have a pub, a cafe, a bookshop, a clothes shop, a hairdresser’s, a newsagent, or even a garden shed… open it to live music, get your mates in, sell more drinks, cake, t shirts, haircuts and magazines or whatever while they are there, encourage people to give generously, and hand it over to the artists who have earned it.

P.S.

Anja is indeed playing in my shed on July 15th in Stourbridge…

see www.elenathomas.co.uk/events for details.

Running up to the performance last week, I wasn’t listening to anything else but the sound of my own voice, and the sound of my recorded sounds. Whenever I did, I found that I forgot what I was trying to do with my own piece, so I stopped. How do singers and musicians do it? How do they retain all that information in order to perform? How do they sing and play an instrument at the same time? I can’t sing and move at the same time! How do they remember more than one song at a time? Respect to them all, even the ones I can’t stand. It’s REALLY HARD to do!

So afterwards on the way home from the School of Art on Wednesday, I got into the car, took my iPod off repeat from my backing track, and scrolled down the list looking for something warm and comforting. As soon as I got to it I knew. Elbow. I needed Mr Garvey to sing to me. I started the process towards the end of “Leaders of the Free World” letting it run into “Seldom Seen Kid”.

One track is my reset button. “Great Expectations” settles my body and my mind. I physically relax into the repetitive rhythm of it, rocked in a cradle. I try to sing along. But Guy is a better guy than I. I can get to the high notes and the low notes. Given a run up, I can hold the long notes. But I can’t do it all at once. My breathing is all wrong always, and I gasp. I just think he’s great.

Next Monday I’m doing something really exciting. When I think about it I feel quite wobbly. One of our local radio stations WCRFM have asked (or has asked? They both look wrong) me to record a programme – “Inside Tracks” with Pete Whitehouse. It’s a bit like Desert Island discs, but with more music and without the hindering factors of luxury item, and having to take all that Shakespeare and the bible (surely I could just build a raft with that lot and sail home?). It has taken me WEEKS to decide on just 10 tracks. Thinking of 10 favourites is not too hard, but to try to illustrate your life, and important events with just 10 is tricky (specially at my age)…. I had about 30, then realised when I cut it down that they were all bunched up in particular times, so had to re-think many times before settling on the final 10. I have now done this, and I’m fairly content, but saddened by the fact that Nick Drake nor Elliott Smith nor John Martyn made the cut. But this Elbow track was the first one I chose – no-brainer really. In times of stress I have sat in my car after a day at work and just played it over and over. Then by the time I’m home I’m calm, my heart rate has settled, my blood pressure has lowered and I can smile at people again.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5nKS3h-Y99w

http://wcrfm.com/cmsms/index.php?page=Programmes

Well…

I did it. I have a bit of film, but I’m not going to post it because it’s so dark you can’t actually see me. But I’m going to have another go next week with better speakers and a better camera, and hopefully a better performance! It was good to do it, and with a helpful audience too. Elements of my performance were perceived as “nervous” at the beginning. What I was aiming for was the depiction of a woman growing in confidence, to be able to state her thoughts. They just thought I was nervous at the beginning. So… how do I confidently portray a lack of confidence? I shall post again about this, and I will show the next bit of film if it works out, as I would really like to perform for my final show/assessment and will need some solid feedback please!

It felt like the right thing to be doing though, and I shall work on it more.

I didn’t forget my words, although I did hide a lyric sheet under my shoe just in case!

So here I am, done all the distracting tasks, nothing left to cause any further avoidance. I have to practice this song. I have committed myself to doing a live performance tomorrow, on a dimly lit staircase in the basement of the School of Art. Hopefully the audience will be kind, they know I haven’t done this before.

In practising this morning, I have discovered my inability to count to eight (at least without moving my lips or using my fingers). Also, having done it perfectly ok four times, on the fifth run-through I forgot the words. Oh shit. What will I do if that happens? How is it possible for my brain to forget words that I wrote and have read hundreds of times and sung dozens?

I asked Dan. “Oh you forget the lyrics sometimes, don’t blink, and make something up” he said. Oh right. That’s ok then. Easy bloody peasy.

Glorious day!

I wrote on GOING PUBLIC that I had a huge list of things to do over the next few weeks. I’m surprisingly un-panicked about it today as the sun shines down on me and my shed. I’m sat up here at the top of the garden in it, looking at the sun on the daisies in the grass that needs cutting. I’m sat in the shade of it, because when it comes to sunshine, it appears I inherited the Irish genes not the Serbian. I’m pale and a bit freckly.

I’ve been to my all-time favourite shop today to buy a dress. Not to wear but to add to, embellish and embroider on. This shop is chock full of clothing and household textiles from the Victorian to the 1980s horrors I wore in my youth. I could easily spend all day in there. I knew what I wanted… ish… and tried to explain it to my husband, who helpfully would prise things out from crammed rails and say “What about this” to which I would scornfully answer “No!” I knew that I would know it when I saw it. I wanted an ordinary dress, from late 50s to early 70s… ish. It could have a slight pattern, but preferably plain. It needed to look old, and everyday. These sort of items are rare, as people just throw away or wear out the everyday, and keep the posh frocks. I found a green one that was the perfect style, but in silk. Too expensive. My mum would never have worn a silk dress when I was a child. Nor linen, too creasy. Cotton or wool mix, yes, polyester even (the horror!), but not silk.

I found it in the end. Pink cotton, pale, washed out even, with slight pit staining. It has a self coloured belt and a bit of pleating/gathering from the waist. Simple. Everyday. Once I’ve washed it I’ll take some photos. I can see what I’m going to do with it already…. But God knows when!