Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, Attitude & Aptitude, Bands, Bangkok Shakes, Childhood, Dad, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, Music, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Nottingham, Otis
You know those time capsule things that were all the rage for a while?
Where people bury artefacts from their life with the sole intention that it is dug up 20+ years later for people to marvel at. Or be confused by.
I always liked the idea of it but never got around doing it … mainly because I imagine the outtake is massively underwhelming unless you’re directly attached to it.
Well, I’ve been proved right … but in a way I love and am amazed at.
As many of you know, I was in a band called Bangkok Shakes.
Thee were 2 iterations of the band – with different singers and bass players – with the 2nd version almost becoming something of some note.
Till it didn’t.
Anyway, while I had a huge amount of fun – touring and recording – the fact it all ended when I was 23 or 24 means I only think about it when I occasionally pick up a guitar and play a few of the songs we wrote.
Enter my mate Sam.
I love Sam.
He’s a brilliantly annoying person … and I say that with utter love.
He also buys more ridiculous shit than me, and that’s saying something.
And yet despite his natural tendency for mischief and mayhem, he’s a wonderful, kind and caring human. Or he is until he gets something in his head, and then no one is safe.
Oh the stories I could tell …
In fact, I bet the people at Virgin Broadband are still counting the cost of trying to mess with him because he’s like a crime-fighting cockroach who won’t give up. Or die.
But his behaviour is not always acts of commercial terrorism, as I was soon to discover.
You see one day, he woke up and – for reasons only he will know – I was in his head.
Or specifically, Bangkok Shakes was.
So he decided to go on one of his legendary explorations resulting in me receiving a Whatsapp from him that said, “this is you, isn’t it?” with a link attached.
Ignoring all safety protocol, I found myself on Youtube, staring at this.
This shocked me for 4 very specific reasons.
+ The song it relates to was one I wrote in 1991.
+ It’s a song I didn’t know was anywhere near the internet.
+ It was a very early demo of a song we did, not the final recording.
+ The handwriting on the tape IS MY HANDWRITING. MINE! WTF?!
But wait … there’s more.
You see, I was so shocked that I put a screenshot of the Youtube page on insta regailing the whole story.
Enter Gareth Kay.
Now I love Gareth too.
He’s very different to Sam [thank god, ha] but as wonderful.
Gareth is a music obsessive so imagine my surprise when a day later – after seeing my instagram – he sent me an email with another link in it.
And yes, I pressed it without any consideration of network safety.
Except rather than take me to Youtube, it took me another site altogether … a fan site … a fan site featuring not just the stuff Sam found, but the ENTIRE GROUP OF SONGS FROM THE SESSION WE DID IN 1993.
Not only that, it also showed the inner sleeve of the cassette the demos were in … where I’d carefully written out all the song names and info of the recording. Including the ‘then’ phone number of our drummer, Jason!
Now I was properly flabbergasted.
How?
Why?
Where?
Of course I downloaded the tracks and while they sounded a bit pants – made worse by the recording coming from a tape that was obviously old and a bit screwed up – it was an utterly joyful experience.
A chance to revisit my past.
To be taken back to another time.
Where life was only about excitement, hope and energy.
And while I know we made a better version of this demo – and made a shit load of better songs after it – it was something very special for me. A reconnection to something that was incredibly important to me. Something I hoped would be the foundation of my entire life.
But how did this tape end up on this blokes website?
Well, it gets weirder … because this bloke is based in Perth, Australia.
He loves 80/90s rock and trades tapes from that era to build up his collection … which means that a tape that I helped create and wrote out in Nottingham, THIRTY ONE YEARS AGO in Nottingham, England, somehow ended up in the possession of a person literally on the other side of the planet who decided he liked it so much, he added it to the internet.
And I couldn’t thank him enough.
Not just for the memory and the connection to my home and history bu because I remember everything about that recording …
After spending a month in hospital because my retina in my eye continually collapsed, this was the first thing I did ‘back in the real world’.
It was a Sunday and I remember our singer – Joe – bitching about having to carry my amps into the studio as I was not allowed to lift anything heavy for a few months to ensure there was no strain on my eye whatsoever.
It was a quick session, designed to try out a few songs and be used to play to a few promotors we knew – but never for wider public listening – so if someone told me then that 3 decades later, I’d be listening to it on the internet from New Zealand, I’d have said you’re mad. And not just because no one would know what the internet was back then.
It was pretty emotional to hear it … and to play it to my family … because it represents a time where pretty much everything from that era has either gone or been left behind.
+ My parents were alive when we recorded that.
+ Dad hadn’t even had his stroke at that point.
+ So Mum was still working.
+ I lived in my family home.
+ I had no idea I was going to leave Nottingham.
+ I was working, but we were being courted by record companies so I thought things were about to change.
+ My wife – who was in Australia, a place I’d never been to at that point – would have been 17.
So Otis was -21, hahaha.
It was a chapter of my life that was wonderful, but I thought fully closed.
And while that door has not been smashed open, listening to those songs on that wonky tape cracked it open a little.
Which is why I laughed when Sam then came back again with another link … this time taking me to a page of old gig dates, where on Saturday 17th of some month and year, we played at the then iconic Narrowboat [RIP], scene of some of the best nights of my life.
We often look back at life with rose-tinted glasses.
Reimagining our history to be something more than it was.
But on this occasion, it was better than I remembered.
Not because of the music or my overly fancy handwriting … but because it allowed relatively new friends to walk around my old life … to let them inadvertendly know a bit more about the person they’d only casually heard about in convesation … to give me the gift of shining sunlight upon a time of my life I’d almost forgotten … a time of my life that was deeply important and special to me … one I never thought I’d be able to expeience again, let alone be able to finally share with the family I love.
And it’s because of that I want to say a huge thank you to Sam and Gareth, they may never know what they have done for me.
Just like that guy in Perth who somehow got a tape I wrote out in my bedroom in the early 90’s in West Bridgford, Nottingham.
They say elephants never forget, but neither does the internet.
And while that might be scary for some, it’s made me realise that maybe the time capsule is an even better idea than the worldwide web.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Context, Emotion, Friendship, Love, Mum, My Childhood, Parents, Paul, Television
I know, the title of this post must freak you out.
Frankly, it freaks me out as well.
Seriously … what is going on?
First I have lost a ton of weight.
Then I have started wearing shoes. AND SOCKS. COLOURFUL SOCKS.
And now I’m being positive? What the absolute fuck?!
The good news is all you have to do is look at the posts of last week and see that my default remains a sentimental, sarcastic, mischievous piece of shit.
Thank God.
But today is about being nice … and let’s face it, we all need it on a Monday.
So as a kid, I grew up watching the TV show, ‘Happy Days‘.
Many of you who read this blog – if there’s any of you – may be too young to know what the hell I’m talking about, but if you recognise the picture at the top of this post, or the name ‘The Fonz’, then that’s what I’m talking about.
While Happy Days was set in the 50’s, it was from America [which immediately made it cool in my eyes] and bridged the gap between kid and adult entertainment.
I used to watch it with my Mum and I still remember one episode where she laughed at a scene in the restaurant to the point tears were rolling from her eyes.
For that alone it would always have a place in my heart … but the reality is, like The Wonder Years that came along later, it was about relationships.
Relationships with family … friends … maturity … individuality … responsibility and life.
Sure, it did all this in a more light hearted, less poignant way than Wonder Years … but it was still there and I loved it.
The reason I am saying this is because of this …
That picture features one of the characters from Happy Days called, Potsie.
He was a funny character … good natured, enthusiastic but also undeniably naive.
Anyway, the photo shows him – aged 73 – getting married.
If that wasn’t lovely enough, he had recently beaten cancer, so it was a double celebration.
But even those 2 pieces of brilliant news aren’t the reason I love this photo so much.
The reason is that the other man in the photo, is his best friend Don Most … who was also his best friend in Happy Days when he played the character Ralph.
This news made me happier than I ever imagined.
Sure, I’m a sentimental old fart … but I was quite emotional reading this.
Maybe it’s because I am about as far away as I have ever been from my best mate, Paul.
Maybe it’s because the conflict in every aspect of life is starting to get me down.
Maybe it’s because it connects me to the times I would watch that show sat next to Mum.
Or maybe it’s just because it’s lovely and reassuring to see that good, gentle and long-lasting things can still happen – but whatever the reason, seeing ‘Potsie’ happy in love, life and health has also made me very happy.
Especially for a Monday, when it’s needed most.
Now let’s hope tomorrow sees me getting back to my usual cynical-bastard-self … because I can’t deal with this sickening level of positivity either.
Filed under: Anniversary, Australia, Childhood, Dad, Emotion, Experience, Family, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Otis, Paul, Respect, Travel, Trust
So at 10:34 am today, it will be the 25th anniversary of my Dad dying.
25 years since that early Saturday morning call, urging Mum and I to get to the hospital quickly.
25 years since we were rushed straight to his bedside.
25 years since I heard my Mum gently tell him it was OK to go.
25 years since we witnessed his final breath.
25 years since my world shattered.
For the first time.
You’d think that given I’ve lived almost half my life now without him, I’d have come to terms with him being gone.
And on one level I suppose I have.
I certainly don’t carry the same level of pain and loss as I did those first years.
But in some ways, I miss him even more.
Part of this is because the half of my life without him has been the half where so much in my life has happened.
The good, the bad, the weird, the disappointing, the stupid, the wonderful, the unexpected.
Also known as the part of life where a parent discovers if what they did, helped their kids become whoever they want to be.
In my case, I’ve talked a lot about how Dad – and Mum – supported me.
Not financially – because we didn’t have it – but emotionally.
Encouraging. Listening. Enquiring. Advising. Helping.
It’s important I point out they were not some passively-engaged pushovers. Oh no. They were very engaged and any major decision or choice I was considering was always met with a bunch of questions.
But the thing is, these were never to undermine, only to better understand.
For them, the most important thing was to learn what I wanted to do, why I wanted to do it and how I had come to that decision.
That was their only motivation.
But it’s what they did next that – having become older and a Dad myself – I now realise was an act of incredible parenting.
Because if they felt satisfied I’d given real thought to what I wanted to do and really cared about doing it, then – even if they didn’t completely agree with my choices – they would actively encourage my decision.
Said another way … they trusted they’d had given me the skills to make the right decisions and choices that worked for me.
It’s why they supported my decision to not go to university.
It’s why they supported my decision to become a studio musician.
It’s why after Dad had a terrible stroke, they told me to still go to Australia, because they knew if I didn’t go then, I’d likely never leave Nottingham at all.
If anyone can think of a more selfless act of love than that, I’d love to hear it.
Of course they made mistakes.
We had disagreements.
I disappointed them more than a few times.
But if things went wrong with the stuff I was trying to do, they never said, “I told you so”.
All I was ever met with was love and support.
Sure, after some time had passed they may have asked me what I learned from what I did – or didn’t – do.
And occasionally – when Mum was out of earshot – Dad would ask what the hell I had been thinking when something had gone particularly bad/daft … but I was never made to feel I was stupid or had disappointed them, even when I know I probably had disappointed them.
It’s part of the reason I felt such an obligation to make my adventure to Australia count.
There were some tough, horrible times, not helped by the fact Dad was very ill and Mum had had to give up her job to look after him 24/7.
Yet every time I said I’d come home because Dad had got worse or I felt Mum was struggling under the weight of pressure and responsibility, they said [through Mum] “we miss you so much, but we don’t want you to come back until you’re ready and we don’t think you’re ready”.
And as much as I missed them and longed to be with them – and I feel a bit horrified to say this – they were right. I wasn’t ready. Not really. I was exploring and discovering life. Exploring and discovering me … which means they were as correct in their view as they were when they thought if I didn’t go to Australia when I’d originally planned, I’d most likely never leave Nottingham – let alone England.
Not because of guilt or duty, but – as uncool as it may sound – because I loved my parents dearly and never needed much of an excuse to want to be near them.
And despite them knowing this … despite them going through arguably the most challenging time of their life … despite them knowing they would miss me massively … they decided what they wanted wasn’t as important as what they wanted for me.
So with a breathtaking amount of love and sacrifice, they encouraged me to leave my family, my home, my city and my country … believing there was more for me outside of Nottingham than Nottingham offered for me.
Just to be clear, we loved Nottingham.
I loved it as a kid and I still love it now.
But – as my parents suspected – the life I’ve been able to live is a life that is much bigger than the one I’d have probably had if I’d stayed where I was. Especially given where Nottingham – and the UK for that matter – was at that point in time.
I’m not saying it would have been a bad life.
I’m not saying anyone is wrong if they have chosen another option.
But there was obviously a strong desire in me to explore – driven by an Australian woman I’d met – as I spent a year planning the possibilities of the trip before I even broached the subject with Mum and Dad about wanting to go.
And that’s why I felt so strongly that I had to squeeze every possibility out of it when they told me to still go.
In many ways, it was my way of repaying them for the the love and encouragement they’d given – and always given – me, with my bigger life decisions.
My view was that if I was going to be away from my wonderful parents, then the least I could do was to make it something they could feel was worthwhile … and by worthwhile, I mean something that represented living a life of fulfilment.
Now I’ve written a lot about that in the past and now, 25 years later, I hope I have – and continue to – do just that.
I know Dad would have been thrilled I’d lived around the world … found someone who loves me as much as I love them … had experienced the sheer joy of becoming a father myself … of loving Otis with all I’ve got … and, on top of all that, had managed to have and enjoy some sort of career – even though I know he’d have found it utterly, utterly bizarre. [By which I mean he’d have found the job I do bizarre, not that I had managed to have a career]
I admit, when I moved back to the UK after 25+ years away, I did question this. I wondered why I would come ‘home’ when my parents had passed.
But then I remembered they knew I loved them, they knew I was there at their final moments and – at least in Mum’s case – they knew literally everything in my life, except my friendship with Paul, was because of the adventure I went on. The adventure they enabled and encouraged me to do.
And while I would do anything to have just one more day with them both, this lets me feel I made – and am making – the most of it for them.
Not because they wanted that, but because I know they wanted that for me.
So thank you.
Thank you for the stuff you did and the stuff you never even know you did.
Thank you for it all.
Every single thing.
Because it’s no exaggeration to say all I have has something to do with you.
Maybe it was a nod at the right time.
Or a nudge. Or a word of encouragement.
Or the right questions. Or the needed hug.
It all mattered.
It all still matters.
You helped me believe in myself when I didn’t believe in myself.
You still do.
What a gift.
I’ll keep striving to make it all worth while.
For me. But especially for you.
For another 25 years at least.
I miss you Dad. And Mum.
Love you.
Rx
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Culture, Emotion, Family, Mum, Mum & Dad
Recently I was talking to a friend of mine about getting old.
Not in terms of age, but attitude.
We were discussing how there are some people we meet who just seem to embrace stepping out of life.
OK, maybe that’s a bit dramatic … more they choose to only focus on what is of interest to them, but there’s a seemingly deliberate ‘closing off’ to the things that are new or different or just happening around them.
It’s like they’ve put on a pair of ‘cultural blinkers’ they don’t intend to ever take off. Expressed in how they look. How they talk. What they like. What they say.
Now … there is absolutely nothing wrong with these people. They can do what the fuck they like. But it’s definitely not how I look – and live – my life.
And then my friend said something that caught me off guard.
He told me this story of someone he knew who used to tell him, “don’t let the old man in”.
[I subsequently discovered, thanks to a post on exactly the same subject by Kevin Chesters, it was a song by country singer, Toby Keith, who was inspired to write it after a chat with Clint Eastwood – who was about to turn 88 years old – while playing golf]
Anyway, I found it fascinating.
Not just the turn of phrase, but the implication that ‘stepping out of pop culture’ was, at a certain point, a default setting.
That to avoid doing that required a commitment to not doing that.
With hindsight, it should have been obvious, given – as I wrote in her post last week – my Mum was the embodiment of that attitude.
She absolutely did not want others to define her – or judge her – by her age.
And while that didn’t mean she dressed like some suburban version of Madonna, circa 1984 [or even 2023 for that matter] it did mean she was always open to what others were open to.
She followed young comedians … she went to see new movies … she read modern literature … she studied politics …
She didn’t necessarily like – or understand it all – but she was open to learning about it.
Because in her mind, the best way to embrace life was to have a curious mind, and for her, that meant caring about what others cared about.
And I took that all for granted until my mate said ‘don’t let the old man in’ and then I realised it was a conscious effort.
I distinctly remember her telling me about a time someone said they were surprised ‘someone of her age’ would be interested in a particular subject or activity. I still remember the defiance in her voice when she said, “I don’t want to live by their outdated expectations”.
Now you have to understand my Mum was the opposite of a rebel.
She was a kind, considerate, compassionate person. But in terms of not living up to stereotypes, she was an anarchist.
That doesn’t mean she ever did something she didn’t want to do simply because younger people did, it just means she found things interesting that people who ‘let the old man in’ didn’t.
This was a revelation to me.
Not just because I now realised my Mum had actively chosen to refuse to embrace the ‘default’ setting, but I was doing the same.
Please don’t think I’m suggesting I’m on the cutting edge of anything … but by the same token, I’m also not closing myself off to life either.
In fact, I’d go as far as to say, the older I get, the more open I am to stuff.
Views. Fashion. Food. Music. Health. Ideals. Art. Everything …
And while I originally thought this was my default setting, I’m now realising it’s not.
It’s an active choice.
A desire to stay open and interested.
Being in a young persons industry helps.
Working with international rockstars and fashion gods helps.
Having parents who were always looking forward, not behind, helps.
But it is also my choice. I just didn’t realise it.
Which suddenly explains so much that I didn’t realise till that conversation.
From the things I buy … the multitude of magazines I read … the things that grab my attention … the people I hire.
It’s the realisation that I live by a ferocious, subconscious desire to keep the old man out.
Not because I want to be young. But because I definitely don’t want to be old.
In terms of attitude, not age.
Which is why I now realise people who say others are ‘growing old disgracefully’ have got it wrong.
Because they’re not growing old disgracefully, they’re growing old with curiosity’.
And as aging traits go, that’s surely pretty awesome?
Filed under: Advertising, Agency Culture, Attitude & Aptitude, Australia, Childhood, Dad
So a month or so ago, I was invited to speak at State of Social in Perth.
Perth is an interesting place, because as much as it is part of Australia, it doesn’t feel it.
I don’t mean that from an architectural perspective … a cultural perspective or a retail perspective … more it’s overall attitude and vibe.
Part of that is because it’s literally thousands of miles away from the East Coast. Part of that is the condescending way the East Coast often looks – and acts – towards WA with its mining economy. And part of that is the insecurity the city feels towards who they are and maybe who they think they should be.
In many ways, it reminded me of issues raised in Dream Small. Where young New Zealanders told us they felt there was no space, place or credibility for them to have a chance to take the nation to somewhere new. Held back by others [read: old white men] privilege, systems, narratives and fragility.
I should point out no one was saying they hated their country – which is much better than say, the UK – it was more a feeling their dreams and ambitions were viewed as a bit childish and they should be grateful for what others had done for them and before them.
A prison of others achievements and expectations, so to speak.
No wonder the overarching feeling was one of being tolerated rather than welcomed.
Again, this is not unique to NZ … it’s in many countries and cities … Perth, being one of them.
When I was there, I met so many talented creative people and agencies who felt big local companies dismissed the experience and views of the local industry in favour of agencies on the East Coast … for no other reason than they are based in Perth.
Even if those people had left Perth to work at the best agencies and biggest clients in the World before coming back.
Then there were others who discounted the views of the local industry simply because they didn’t blindly subscribe to certain narratives certain people in Perth never want to let go of.
Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t.
Talk about encouraging talent to leave the state … to inadvertently position Perth as a place where you can grow up and raise families but nothing in-between.
What a short-sighted viewpoint.
What a way to devalue the cities future.
The establishment are literally choosing control over possibilities and potential.
But then that’s the every day ego and fragility so many face – especially People of Colour – which is why I’m in no doubt it one of them read this post, they’d see me as the enemy, all the while failing to realise I’m not attacking their city, but celebrating the possibilities for an even brighter future.
And there’s a special reason for that …
You see in many ways, Perth was my first introduction to Australia.
My Dad’s friend, Roger, lived there and it sounded impossibly exotic for a little boy living in Nottingham.
While we never got to see him there, on his occasional visits ‘home’, he looked like he’d come from another planet.
Tanned.
Healthy.
With an accent that went up at the end of sentences, so it always sounded like he was asking a question.
Roger died years ago so when I found myself walking around the streets of Subiaco – where he once lived – you may appreciate how it felt a little strange for me.
Like I’d been granted access to a little piece of my Dad’s history. A chance to experience a place he was connected to, even though he never was here.
And that made me feel I was close to Dad again … and that was a gift. Exploring our distant past while somehow being together in the present. United by history, memories and love.
That’s why I want Perth to thrive.
It’s important to me. And given the talent I got to meet there, there’s a real chance it can … if they are allowed to believe it and the city believes in them.
I hope they do.
Until then, thanks Roger, thanks Perth and thanks State of Social for bringing me here.
I’ll never forget what you did for me.
I’ll never stop believing in what the underdog can achieve.
As long as they believe in themselves and they’re encouraged to dream big, not dream small.
And if you’re looking for somewhere to start … start with Hypnosis and Berlin.
