More Progress

Had another good night of music fun last night.

It tackled another bit of poetry that I had left over from my Warren Street days, when I was writing a lot. This piece, Young And Overly Mobile was written on a train leaving Warren Street and taking me up to the north. I remember thinking about how I seemed to again be falling into the trap of constantly moving on, and never really settling for anywhere, anyone, anything at anytime. I never really intended it as a song, but yesterday as I strummed away I found a really tasty little melody and put the words to music. It all fitted very nicely.

My process at the moment is to work in solitude. I run just one microphone into my multi-tracker and if I find something that I think could be worth keeping then I just press the "record" button and take whatever I get. The definition is quite good. I'm not even using my AKG condenser mic' but a standard Shure SM58 vocal mic'. Amazing piece of equipment. Very versatile, and I also don't have to plug in my Phantom power supply unit. So, what I record at the moment is for reference not release, and what I figure is that I can come back to them at some-point and cut a polished demo, or if not just enjoy an afternoon of listening through them.

It really is a joy! I feel like I'm doing what I should be doing at this time.

The house is deathly silent at the moment. We shall see what happens, but whatever does won't be worse than some of the stuff that I've gone through in the past. I've still got my guiding lights and a lot of fire to throw into my life, so it could be a lot worse! There is after all, no route map to life and if the worst comes to the worst, I will no-doubt pick myself back up and find my new world in London with great aplomb.

I'm waiting to hear back from a Call Centre for a job (I went to the interview earlier today), incoming calls...so its not too bad. And the hours are flexi-time so I can fit my PR, film and music projects in and around it. It really is just a means to an end, and a temporary one at that.

I visited the 12 Bar Club in Denmark Street earlier today, a now regular haunt of mine. I love the atmosphere in there, and the staff are lovely people (who make the strongest coffee that I've EVER tasted). I tried to write down the lyrics for a song that I made up at the Sidmouth Folk Festival when I busked on the sea front, called Smuggler Sid, who has an eye for the ladies, and a bad case of rabies caught from a salty French sea-dog. 'Tis a scurvy song, argggh!

Ok. I've got a job to apply for, so I better email them. But wherever or whoever you are, I hope that your feeling good.

Tom.