Of Passion, Creativity, Work and Muse

One of the things I've been thinking about recently is these people who follow a passion and are lucky enough to do it for their livelihood.

As I watched the truly stunning performance by Muse at Wembley Stadium the other night I felt conscious that I was seeing three talented beyond belief musicians at the very top of their game doing something they love and gettting paid hugely for it in every way possible.

There are musicians, artistes, writers and vocational types like Doctors and teachers, many of whom have chosen to pursue the thing they love to make a living. Some of them succeed and become the Muses, the de Niros, the JK Rowlings and the, well, Gregory Houses of the world, making fortunes, gaining wordlwide recognition and of course doing lots of work for charity, though not talking about it.

Others, the vast majority, play in bands in pubs and clubs after work (something I know quite a lot about), write books and blogs or act in fringe theatre and spend most of their money to do it. We dream of that big break, yes even at my age, yet know it's unlikely to come.

Here in the UK the music scene is so stark that the only musicians making any money are the ones who suddenly wake up to find themselves in a famous band, often talented but rarely the most gifted and brilliant musicians around. A couple of rungs down the ladder we find the world of the top quality session guy. There are ten, perhaps twenty, amazingly good drummers here who get most of the work going.

They're the best around, hard working, with interpersonal skills that Bill Clinton would admire and they have the respect and admiration of all their fellow musicians. Despite all that, despite the fact they probably earn a "comfortable" living, few of them are truly well off in financial terms. Perhaps their richness is measured in their job satisfaction, perhaps they're less motivated by money than the guy playing drums in the Manic Street Preachers is.

So, excepting the rare millionaires, it does seem that for the rest of us we have to decide between following our passion and making some money. In my case I didn't even find my passion until I was thirty one. Until then I hadn't even sat behind a drum kit, let alone found out that I might be able to play a bit.

I often look at people who've been playing since they were young kids and feel a sense of envy. There are teenagers who've been playing the drums for longer than I have now, who are much better players at that young age than I will ever be. But then I realise that I've made that trade with the devil, I've tried to build a business, to make some money and live a certain kind of materialistic lifestyle. One that I do enjoy.

Had I found my passion when I was a kid I feel sure I would have tried to pursue it professionally. Then the chances are that I would have ended up as one of the thousands of penniless musos here. I'd have loved every single split second of my work, I'd have got more satisfaction out of it then a nymphomaniac porn star gets out of his job.

And I'd be struggling to pay the rent. I'd probably only have two or three pairs of designer jeans, maybe even a smaller engined BMW 3 series, that's how bad things would be.

But would I be happier?

I really think not.

But I admire the passion following chaps, I really do.

What about you?

Music, Excitement and Eid

Firstly I'd like to wish Eid Mubarak to all my Muslim readers. May it be a happy one.

I'm all excitement here, that butterfly in the stomach, there's too many good things happening to be excited about kind of thing.

Last night's Solskala gig was good, though the audience was small, and I don't mean that in a Sri Lankan average height was less than five foot sort of way. It was a club night in a highly trendy central London bar, with three other bands and a crowd who mostly looked like they'd just strolled in from a photoshoot for an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue.

We were first on, always a precarious position, but we went down well and grooved hard and deeply. My first lesson last week with my new drum teacher has made me concentrate much harder when I play. Concentrate on the issue he pointed out to me about my groove. This is a slight bummer, my playing is better already but I'm at the conscious competence stage, during which I'm thinking about things, not yet flowing gracefully and naturally.

The relaxed and flow stage will come, as I practice more, I've just got to get through it. Still, the outward result is that my playing is better, even now.

The thing about these club gigs for originals bands, is the interesting variety of other music I get to see and hear. Some are great, some are terrible but, as a musician, albeit a drummer, they're always stimulating in some way or other.

Following us was a duo; a straight looking nerdy guy with glasses and the full Clark Kent look and a camper than a campsite singer with make up, effeminate clothing and dance moves that would have had Freddie Mercury and all the blokes in Village People drooling with admiration.

Clark played acoustic guitar, sang backing vox and took charge of all the effects while Freddie sang lead, danced like his life depended on it and rubbed his lycra at appropriate moments. They were like a cabaret act, with backing tapes and souped up versions of already well known songs. But they were fun.

One of the other bands was a bunch of well spoken posh Brit indi kids. They played slightly angsty indi rock and had a feel of well educated yet have no money, but only at the moment because we've all got loaded parents and are just pretending we don't have, about them. They were the kind of kids I'd quite like A or K to date, full of politeness, introducing themselves, shaking hands and being good eggs. Their music and vibe was fun and energetic, in a Coldplay on acid way, just not the sort of thing I'd opt to listen to.

I didn't hang around to watch the other band, for my need to get back was great.

The excitement builds as C is arriving tonight. I've tidied RD Towers, well P the cleaner has, and all is ready. And then tomorrow it's, yes, it's Muse at Wembley Stadium.

Oh lordy lord, things don't get much better for me. I'm going to Muse, at Wembley Stadium, with C, with A and with K.

So my weekend will be a top one.

Et vous?

Been A Long Time, Been A Long Time, Long Time...

Since those early days when I started blogging I don't think I've ever left a gap like this, during which I've had loads going on and just not felt like telling you about it. I apologise. Profusely and sincerely.

But it's made me see how these fellows blog daily for a long time and then suddenly stop, getting out of the habit and fading into the obscurity of real life and all that goes with it. I have no excuses, just that things have been going on, it's been busy at home, at work and at play. Yet strangely there's also been nothing going on and I've been bored too. How can that be? I don't know.

This week is a mental music one, mental in a busy way, not mental in a ranting about "a treason" and spitting while I rant way. The Breaks had a gig last Saturday, Solskala had a band practice on Sunday, to be followed by a gig tomorrow and on Saturday I'll be off to Wembley Stadium with the girls to see Muse. On top of those things I've started lessons with a new drum teacher, so have been hard at work practicing the things he gave me to do.

I decided that I needed to put my faith in a good teacher, to go to someone, tell him my objectives and aims, then let the person guide me and get me there. So I found a fairly well known teacher whose reputation came before him and am trying him out. The first lesson was a nerve wracking affair as he tested and appraised me to see where I am and if I was suitable for his instruction. Things look good thus far.

And while things in Lanka are going mental with the proposed 18th amendment I've been falling in love. Falling in love with my new phone that is. For some time I've observed iPhone users and felt nothing but scorn and derision as they bleat on about their latest apps and the way that their phone can remotely wipe the arse of their next neighbour just by pressing these two buttons.

I've seen people have their lives possessed by their phones, like an episode of Star Trek, as the phone starts to control them and run their day to day existence, from where they eat to where they shop to programming their TV to record episodes of the Gadget Show.

But my new HTC Desire is different. This one's got the weather on it, it's got apps, a torch and I've managed to get it to carry my diary. Hopefully my days of the old fashioned paper diary are numbered, not in a one to three hundred and sixty five way either. I've even managed to download a carrom app, though one plays with virtual cues rather than virtual fingers. No, I don't know.

The wedding last Friday was good. My gamble on the suit paid off. I looked good, even if I say it myself, but I failed dismally in my target of making the two mothers cry with my speech. It turned into less of a speech, more of a quick toast. It was okay though.

The Chinaman sits on my shelf waiting to be read, I must get a move on but books have become my latest best friend and worst enemy. I can't get enough of them and I can't get through them quickly enough. The Kindle proudly carries more than I care to count and the good old fashioned wooden shelves continue to fill, mostly with Sri Lankan books.

Is there a chance that the proposed 18th amendment won't get passed?

We'll see. We doubt it though.

Speak soon.

Random Things I've Been Randomly Doing

1. Seeing Muse

2. Gigging

3. Trying to work out a drum solo for gigs using paradiddles and Kandyan rhythms.

4. Having quite a few headaches.

5. Pondering on why the steering wheel is one of my most important things in choosing a car.

6. Learning about Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Not to be confused with a grandmother standing on a stepladder. That's a higher Archchi.

7. Hearing a slightly disconcerting noise coming from within the bowels of my MacBook.

8. Eating a breakfast, one a day actually.

9. Trying to keep track of the Dear 16 year old me tag.

Et vous?

Lately Auf Das Lankanosphere...

Ja, fur zis veek ve vill in another language talk. And ze language is Cherman. Das idea vas gut ja?

Except for the fact that my German has now been exhausted. By that, I don't mean that I have a cute German girl under my desk who's now totally knackered. No, I mean I've run out of German phrases, words and umlauts and things. It's probably because I failed my German 'O' level all those years ago and, on top of that, I don't know if the Lankanosphere's male or female.

The past weeks in the Kottu world have been a hive of all sorts of activity and have certainly made for interesting reading. Even as I start this has the smell of a long post. I'd suggest that you grab yourself a cup of something, sit down, get comfortable and prepare for a longish read. Like a good asian family it's all relative and it's not a long read compared to one of Bill Shakespeare's shortest works or the average length of a Sittingnut comment.

The first thing is that the sad passing of Mohan Ariyaratne has caused many bloggers to tell of their feelings and thoughts, whether happy, sad or both. I didn't know him well, to me he was the chap at Barefoot who looked after many things, music in particular.

I don't think he knew my name but he'd always acknowledge me and we'd have a little chat, often about music. I once gave him a CD of my band with me drumming and, to my surprise, he put it on at Barefoot. It made me smile like a cheshire cat to get played there and I'd like to thank him for that.

Indi's post has got a really atmospheric and poignant picture, Dom's post is a beautifully crafted black and white portrait as only he can make with a poem to accompany and Electra's post is written in her uniquely thought provoking style. Java gives us all a bit of background and history in his particularly esoteric way.

It's been a couple of weeks but there was the perplexing story of the Lankan blogger who went and got himself arrested. Perplexing because things were hazy, facts were unclear and simply that perplexing is a word I haven't used for a while. It's unclear who the chap was, though a name has been bandied about, and exactly why and what charges have been brought, if any.

Indi tell us about it here and Aladdin, the slippered Lothario gives us some more detail here. As a blogger I find it a bit worrying, though any arrest on my person is more likely to be from the fashion Police (metrosexual division) than from a political squad.

Rajaratarala, yes him with all the As in his name, has decided to go into acting. Word has it that he's been seen busily auditioning for the latest Gillette commercial, involving a sarong clad sword wielding fiend and lots of shaving gel. He tells us a bit more about it on his captivating blog. It seems he also ran over a bloke in a garage, then pretended the chap was working under his vehicle without the aid of a jack.

Life in Taprobane is the name of the blog, Serendib Isle is the name of the blogger and Lebanon is the name of the Country, though not the Serendib one. Our S Isle has been perving travelling across Lebanon, telling us about his observations and ruminations and falling in love left, right and centre. The posts are good reading and made me want to see the place. Check them out. As an aside I wonder what they call lesbians in Lebanon.

Cerno kicked out two little nuggets that couldn't be more different yet share one thing; brilliance. Firstly we have this one about domestic bliss at home with the Cernos. It made all of us go all gushy and gooey and I even heard a rumour that it had prompted David Blacker to rush out and watch a batch of romantic comedies while eating a large bar of Swiss chocolate.

Secondly is his post on the People's republic of Dehiwala. I think he may have put the apostrophe in the wrong place but, other than that, it's an example of comedic and satirical writing at its best. I think, in reality I don't know what satirical means. As Obama would say, check it. The scariest place in the world must be inside Cerno's head. Well, after Belgium of course.

That girl, the Drama Queen, is back. If I tell you that this post mentions porn, fellatio, a Sri Lankan mother, Hi!! magazine and lines like "because only hookers dress like mums and go to Galle Face Green" I think you'll be interested. You'll laugh and laugh like a demented hyena in an interview for a million pounds a year job at the canned laughter factory. Which is to say, rather a lot. And Dinidu, Fellatio's not a Shakespearean character either. Or an Italian midfielder.

Our Gyppo has been on form lately too. This gem about her thoughts on the war, her attempts to understand and make sense of it certainly hit a home run with me, probably with many others too. Like I said in a comment I left, if more people displayed honesty like this instead of claiming to know all the answers the world would be a better place.

JapSach's gone underground, we know not why, we know not for how long nor how deep. But does anyone else ever has the strange thing happen when you read his blog? It's a thing where my internet browser keeps opening tabs for his blog. I have to do all sorts of task management things to get out of it and it only ever happens on his blog, though not all the time.

Talking of going underground, where on Earth is Kalusudda? The last we heard was July 1st when he published this post. Since then there's been nothing, no comments, no posts and no sightings. Give us a shout out KS, I for one hope you're okay and roaming around in your academic way.

To round off let's just mention the surplus of blogoversaries that has been doing the rounds. Everywhere I turn, every blog I read, every breath you take, I'll be... oops, sorry I went all Sting for a moment there. What I meant to say was that there are blogoversaries galore at the moment.

Gutterflower has passed the two year point. We like her.

Drama Queen's previously mentioned post, which I'll previously mention again, was her one hundredth, so congrats and all. She wins a night out with her Mother for that.

Then that hard hitting, courageous and ground breaking blog, the one that's helped formulate so many people's opinions and has tackled many key issues hit a nice clean one thousand posts. It's quite an achievement indeed.

Did I mention Groundviews?

That hit its thousandth post too. Nice one.

Well I'll be off then.

A merry weekend to you all. I'm going to see Muse tonight avec A and K. Can't wait.

RD

Addicted

I've been listening to this almost non stop for the last few days and had to share it, though it's not the proper video. It's the most impactful song on me for a while. Check out the middle eight from about 3.20.

I'm taking the girls to see them in November and can't wait for that, can't wait for the new album too.

Songs I'm Learning

On Saturday I was sitting in my hairdresser's salon waiting for my hair to be cut. This was handy as, had I been waiting for a train or a waiter to take my order, it could have been a bloody long and fruitless one. I was sitting there, reading a gadget magazine and pretending not to be looking at the scantily clad hairdressers pouting their way around the salon, mirrors are useful sometimes.

I turned a page in the magazine and came across a review on one of those guitar hero / rockband type of games, I honestly can't remember the name of it but it doesn't matter. It was one of these ones that come with a pseudo electronic drumkit and you can "form" a band with your mates and pretend that you're, well, in a band. You can choose make up, tattoos, clothes and all sorts and then play along to your heart's content.

According to the review the supplied drum kit was very realistic and at times the fellow couldn't help but feel compelled to reach up and hit one of the crash cymbals in an intuitive way. I read it with my musician's scorn and my real drummer's disdain, while feeling happy that people, mere mortals, might get to experience a little bit of the fun and adrenalin of being in a band.

Then my mind went off on one. It kind of left my head and went round the back. After having a look at the arse of the cute blonde hairdresser it started to pat me on the back. I felt all pleased and chuffed with myself after reading the band game review. Why Rhythmic? I hear you ask.

Well it's because I'm one of the many people who get to do it for real. Not professionally of course, but I get to be in a band or two. While many play games and play along to Aerosmith or Lenny Kravitz songs on pseudo guitars and plastic drum kits I get to do the real thing. I've even got myself a real tattoo rather than a virtual one.

Sometimes I make people dance, sometimes they clap at me. On rare occasions a woman applauds my drum solo or smiles at me flirtatiously with those "get out of my bed" eyes. I get to do that smile thing, the half grimace, half smile, half "I knew I should have worn pants today" look that is only done by people in bands or in care centres.

Oh yes, it's a pretty cool thing. I like it.

In between other bits of life I've been busily trying to learn some new songs for the covers band. They're all quite straight up rockish songs and still interesting. One of the cool things is learning and playing songs that I've loved listening to in the past. Songs that I've grown up with and have accompanied me through bits of my life I actually get to play.

Here are some of the new ones.

Pride (in the name of love) - U2

Tempted - Squeeze

Starlight - Muse

Living for the Weekend - Hard Fi

Rock 'n' Roll - Led Zep (you know about this already)

Pick a Part That's New - Stereophonics

Are you gonna go my way - Lenny Kravitz

Mr Brightside - Killers

What do you reckon?

Visual, Aural or Oral?

Recently, in fact when I was in Colombo, someone asked me how I think of past incidents and which senses come to mind when I do. You may be as confused as I was at the time, but, as with so many things in my life, I bluffed my way through it and then thought about it afterwards, only to get more confused.

The conversation was about looking at good, bad and ugly memories and times in your life and analysing whether you would think of, say a bad memory, and recall the sights that you experienced, or whether your first thought would be the sounds you heard at the time or whatever. I think that was it. At the time I gave my answers but wasn't that sure I understood the question.

Now I do understand it. And it's made me think, a lot. This thinking thing can't be good for a bloke you know, it's all well and good for academics, writers, artistic types and intellectuals, but it's not healthy for people like me, people whose main love in life is hitting round wooden things and smiling.

I haven't yet come to a decent conclusion about bad experiences, although I suspect that I recollect those in a visual way. But, when I think of the best times of my life, the best moments and the best incidents, there's always a song there. All my good times have a soundtrack. Perhaps that's unsurprising to you, as you probably know I'm a musician (albeit only only drummer, not a proper musician of course!).

When I think of it there are so many songs, so many guitar solos, so many middle eights and so many intros that bring up great memories for me. I can listen to a snatch of a song and I'm instantly transported to a moment or a place.

There's a song called "Bliss" by Muse. It begins with a rolling arpeggio type of keyboard line that, for some reason, makes me peacefully excited. Within the first few listens I had associated the opening bars of it with watching the sunset at Galle Face Hotel. On my list of things to do (hardly any of which I actually achieved) when I was in Sri Lanka the other week was to go there and watch the sun go down with "Bliss" on the iPod. As it happens I never did it but it doesn't matter and may be a good thing. I did go there, I missed the sunset, didn't get a decent table and I didn't listen to "Bliss". Did it matter? No. The Galle Face Hotel is one of my favourite places in the world, it ranks right up there beside "sitting behind a drum kit".

The short couple of hours that I did get there, just me and just Colombo, are etched in my memory. Something about the beauty, the sounds, the sights and the feel that only Colombo can do for me. Isn't it a strange thing. I've lived in London all my life and it will always be home, yet Colombo has captured me totally. The LollyDJ wrote a post here that I can relate to. The more I get to know her idiosyncrasies the more I get attached and the more I yearn. I'm talking about Colombo, not the LollyDJ, nice as she is, although I've only met her the once.

Galle Face Hotel, Colombo, Bliss.

Bliss.