About....
"Calling"This is a song that developed over the years. The basic song was written about the age of 19, as a simple guitar song. I wrote the song as a Christmas present for my girlfriend who later became my first fiancee.
The lyrics describe how we met and eventually ended up together.
At the time I was a business student in Hendon, London, and lived in an all male shared house. It was the start of the new school year, and the household had a new face of a fresher, who had just joined the business course. My other house-mates were doing the Accounts degree. The fresher had wanted to do the Accounts degree, but couldn`t get on the course.
It was his first time away from home, and was rather pleased he`d ended up in a house with someone who had already done the first year, and had all the notes and handouts neatly filed.
Of course access to this "forbidden fruit" meant befriending me, which was fairly easy as I am someone who tries to keep themself approachable. I believe we are all here to help one another to reach our individual goals, dreams and fantasies. We just need the right people who understand us, to help us, and us them.
No-one could befriend me in those days, or even these, without at some stage me getting my guitar out. In fact I normally get a lot of enjoyment from seeing their face drop, with eyes staring out "Oh no... do I really have to endure this." And begin working on polite comments for when I`ve finished... which they hope won`t be too long!
As it happens, it is more difficult to sing to one person then a crowd. Well for me anyway. For me, it`s not so bad when I`m trying to impress a girl with my love songs. But one to one with a fellow bloke, listening to my love songs and ballads, sometimes it gets them worried about my sexuality and possible hidden motive behind the friendship!
Fortunately it normally works out OK, and have been surprised by the re-action of males to my somewhat sensitive lyrics and style. And they relax when the songs are very obviously related to my experiences, good and bad, with the opposite sex.
With this fresher, I got the normal re-action. Complete surprise that the guy they`d just been larking around with and telling corny jokes, is now singing in tune, with heart and soul, quite a sad song, which he`d written himself. That in fact I sang quite well, with just enough skill on the guitar to give the song a good sound.
Not everyone, but most, have enjoyed the experience of listening to my various songs. The number of males who confessed to actually liking it, and even requesting lyrics and recordings, was actually quite surprising for myself.
But then I realised, I wrote the songs as a way of expressing sensitive feelings I felt I couldn`t myself share at the time. Because men didn`t confess to such things. It was women who were the emotional animals... not men. Stiff upper lip and all that.
And so the male struggle begins, repressing the sensitive feelings, not crying when it hurts. Only showing outwardly your strength, mentally as well as physically. Being the shoulder to cry on. Being the support when needed. Finding practical solutions to the problems, not dwelling on the emotions.
And with it, men develop the mechanism not to express their true feelings inside, playing instead the games of politics and lies, according to their strengths and concealing weaknesses. To find their level, and their match.
So sometimes instead of saying "I love you", "I feel sad", "I feel angry", they sometimes relate how they feel to a piece of music or a song, and say "I feel like that." They buy their girlfriend a record and get them to listen to it, referring to the lyrics to gauge if she`s getting the message. Music and songs help humans communicate feelings. Feelings that they sometimes have a struggle to admit they feel themselves.
Male adolescent music is riddled with lots of bands about anger. In my teens it was the "Punk" era. To be "In", was to trash everything, including the music. Johnny Rotten was spitting at his audience, and they were spitting back, while heavy metallers screamed their lyrics and guitars and fervently shook their heads. Their audiences played air guitar, screamed back the lyrics and performed group head-banging and spitting rituals.
Virtually every schoolboy teenager chose one or the other and imitated. As they had done for generations, in their own way of rebellion. And will continue through the generations. Only the music will change.
In my day the more people you could spit at, the harder you were. The more gob on your jacket, the more friends you had. The amount of time you could maintain head-banging gave you your social status. A sore neck was worn with pride. Blood from the ears was medal-worthy.
And the other music was "Rubbish", as were the people that liked it. Football teams served the same purpose. I always noticed that the hooligans in my school, the known fighters, always supported either Leeds Utd or Man Utd.
Because I supported Hull City, I managed to avoid such fights. Instead I was noted simply by both set of "fans" for my sense of humour. And if you ever go to Boothferry Park to see "The Tigers", you`ll maybe realise Hull city supporters need a good sense of humour.
(As I write this piece Hull City are bottom of the lowest division, the ex-chairman’s just walked off with the rights to the ground, the manager has been sacked, and the bets on whether we actually go bankrupt before being relegated, despite a 93 year history.)
But while everyone was spitting, head-banging and fighting, or at least standing in a line trying to perform "Saturday Night Fever" at the local disco, I simply sat in my bedroom writing love songs on a Spanish classical guitar. Certain this era didn`t want my music. Contemplating if my generation would ever discover "Love".
The shared house where I lived, in Hendon, had been a shared house for several years. I had been there for three years and the personnel had changed a couple of times. At 22 I felt like the "Grandfather" of the house. The only one who knew where the boiler was and vital knowledge like that. The one that the other tenants would refer house problems to, for me to fix or contact the landlord.
The other occupants of the house were friends from the Christian Union, which I had attended on an infrequent basis. 6-10 people sitting around on beanbags, praying for the 3,000 other students to change their worldly ways. The leader then standing up and telling us it was up to us to evangelise, to share our faith and win the college back for God.
My feelings at the time were, that while committed to the faith of my childhood, that playing the role of evangelising Christian, to 3,000 sex hungry, drink hungry, drug hungry, first-time-away-from-home-so-now-we-can-do-it-students, wasn`t going to get invited to many parties, except maybe as the freak show.
That would of course have affected my own reasons for coming to college. To join these sex hungry, drink hungry, drug hungry, first-time-away-from-home-so-now-we-can-do-it-students. (And so had most of the other members of the Christian union. many of them admitted to me that the temptations of college were "...really testing my faith...")
But, my faith stopped me in indulging too far, and never lost it. Therefore sharing a house with two ex-presidents of the Christian Union, I felt would aid my spiritual journey. I could also see what they were like away from their congregations! We had already decided that the fourth tenant would be someone who wasn`t a Christian. Otherwise we might bore ourselves to death trying to be the best Christian in the house. This new fresher was the 4th man.
Now the outgoing Christian President had decided, with his pre-decessor, with much thought and prayer, that the next President was going to be a woman. In fact the first ever woman president. Even before woman priests!
This new fresher was delighted to hear that a woman would be coming to the house, and kept asking me what she looked like. Eventually he got to see her at the various prayer meetings. He would come down and chat with us to find out how it had all gone.
To my surprise, and the two ex-presidents, during the summer recess the following year, she began dating him and agreed to share a house with him the following year.
It all became rather amusing, because I knew, from previous private chats with them, that both these ex-presidents had secretly fancied her, and hoped by recommending her as the next President, that she would go out with one of them. While they were trying to "Out-Christian" one another, for her to take a side, the non Christian simply moved in and took her.
Straight after prayer meetings, when the other Christians had gone home, he`d come down and take her upstairs, leaving the other two praying for her to maintain her spiritual strength and guide him to Jesus.
I hasten do add, that as far as I know, nothing too unsavoury actually went on upstairs, and all concerned were very nice people. The friends you would gladly show your parents. But being cynical though was much the style of humour in the household.
As I returned to college for my final year, disaster had struck. She`d dumped him during the summer. He was desperate to patch things up with her, and for her still to come and live at the shared house he`d now acquired. He was a regular visitor to our house, to pass on messages of undying love to her when we saw her.
With tears on my shoulder one autumn evening, he begged my help. I told him the best thing was for him to come up to Yorkshire with me, and we would have a good weekend away from London. Who knows, he might meet someone to take the pain away. He eventually agreed, and off we went on our adventure.
The plan worked. We went out to a local night-club, and the sister of a friend I knew at the local church was there. She had a friend with her. As I caught up on the gossip with my friend's sister, who I didn`t actually know that well, he moved in, successfully, on her friend.
He was elated when she later did write to him and suddenly he was paying for me to take him up to Yorkshire each weekend. I didn`t mind because a friend of mine had promised to help video and record me up there. I was practicing for the TV talent show "Opportunity Knocks", for which I`d written off and gained an audition.
He would tag along to the recording sessions, with his new found love on his arm. She also used to visit him at my parents house where we stayed. I began to get to know her as well.
He kept me posted with the essentials of how close he was getting to relieving her of her (not to mention his) virginity. Then we`d pile down a night-club and dance the night away... with me still looking for a new-found love. My fresher friend sometimes forgot that I was single too.
The problem was, every time I met my fresher friend’s new girlfriend, I got to like her more and more, until even a little bit of jealousy crept in. I`d been too busy helping him, when maybe I should have helped myself.
But I knew one thing, she loved my songs, and wished that someone would write one for her one day.
Then came my big weekend, the weekend of my audition. Such is my life-story (So far!), everything went wrong just at the wrong time.
In this case, I had decided to perform to the accompaniment of a tape, with the rhythm guitar and piano on it. I would sing and add the lead guitar "Live", which would allow me to concentrate on either at the specific time.
I practised to the tape at night and in the morning. Even while waiting for my turn in the dressing room.
The one thing I didn`t bank on, was the tape machine at the audition to be set at a slightly higher playback speed setting. So that when I launched into the initial guitar solo, while I was playing the right notes, it was completely a different key to the backing tape!
Fifteen seconds in, it was me who cried out "Stop! Stop!" and the audience fell about laughing. As they had been encouraged to for the comedy acts, to help give them an atmosphere.
Through the laughter, I desperately tried tuning my guitar to the tape, asked them to wind it back. Which they did, and it was even worse!
I asked if I could again try to tune the tape, but they told me time was short, to scrap the lead guitar and just sing to the rhythm guitar accompaniment. My guitar was now horribly de-tuned.
This, was something I hadn`t practised.
Totally embarrassed, the audience trying not to laugh (Now they knew it wasn`t meant to be funny, which made it funnier for them) and with an impatient set of judges, I twanged my way out of tune through "Words of Love" (Or "Valentine" as I called it then).
Surprisingly I didn`t make it through to the television stages. Though I have no doubt the tape will be found and aired if ever I do make it. Just to really take the piss.
We had decided to party that night whatever happened, so it was back to Bridlington and down the night-club.
The early evening was spent with various people passing on their deepest sympathies, managing to hide their laughter at what had happened. My friend’s new love was especially sympathetic, and even wanted to write in and complain, because she knew how good it could have sounded.
My friend became a little disconsolate in fact, that she seemed to be paying me more attention then him that evening, and even remarked as much. She in turn began to ignore him.
Which was actually quite fair. Because what she didn`t know, was that as soon as he was back in London, he was more interested if the leader of the Christian Union was in any way jealous of his new relationship.
In fact he made a special effort to mention his new relationship to her whenever she was around. She in turn would wish him every happiness, leave, and he would burst into tears as soon as she`d left. Then ring his girlfriend up in Yorkshire to get cheered up.
When we were out at a club, joined by various hometown friends, we would always get up and have a dance together. There`s a certain safety factor for blokes dancing in a group with at least one girl. Dance alone, especially in Bridlington, and you stayed alone. You were too desperate! Dance with another male and you simply got beaten up for being gay!
What was noticeable this particular evening, was that when we as a group had danced enough, or the DJ had decided to play the latest Death thrash Punk Metal hit, we`d decide to sit down..
Normally they would stay on the dance floor for a couple more tracks. We`d sit there drinking beer, watching her dance a few nifty moves and sways. With him stiffly shuffling about, waving his arms around like a poor trapeze artiste that`s just lost their balance, with a silly grin on his face like a monkey on acid. Somehow real life can be so much more rewarding and entertaining then television. This evening my friend and his girlfriend joined us immediately back at the table.
He then later asked her if she`d like to have a dance and she said "No". That she didn`t like that particular track. The next track was pretty similar and he reached for his pint. So asked her to dance, and to my surprise she quickly agreed, grabbed my hand and dragged me to the dance floor.
Fortunately for me, I could also dance a little bit as well. I`d even won a "Rock `n` Roll" competition on holiday. No-one else entered. While the nightclub were willing to simply hand over the prize, I insisted on showing their elderly clientele my wobbly "Swallow Dives" , "Forward Rolls" and the "Incredible- Back-Flip-Where-I`m-Meant-To-Land-On-My-Head... Honest!!!"
I think my dancing impresses people more by it`s effort then it`s content, and it`s always good to get a girl laughing, and here my dancing really helps.
So there I was, dancing with her, looking occasionally over at my friend, who was staring daggers at me. But then I turned and saw her smile and flashing blue eyes and decided I had to say something to test the water.
As the track was coming to a close, I decided to simply ask if she would mind writing to me. But I never got the opportunity. She pulled me towards her and asked me the very same question.
I blurted out.... "Actually I was about to ask you the same question. In fact the main reason I bring my friend up here is so I can see you."
To which her instant reply was "You`re joking! The last few weeks the only reason I`ve been seeing him is so I can see you. I just hoped I wasn`t making it too obvious."
Making sure no-one of our group saw us, we danced to a far corner of the dance floor and kissed for the first time. We held each other stared at each other, both thinking the same question. "Ummm... what about him?"
We made a pact that she`d go back and play the role of girlfriend to him for the rest of the evening. Then would write to him during the week and express that while she liked him, she didn`t want a long distance relationship. That before it became too much to bear, to end it as friends and wish him the best.
The drive back was rather awkward. He kept asking me how he should interpret the fact that earlier on she`d refused several opportunities to dance with him, then at the end she did, but wasn`t holding him the same way.
Unfortunately it was a four hour drive back to London, with me having rather a guilty conscience. I`d try dropping a few things into my explanations such as "Maybe she's realising she doesn't want a long distance relationship. Maybe she`s met someone else up there. Maybe she's just doing to you what you are doing to her, using you as an excuse to make someone else jealous."
"No, it`s not that, I`m sure of that for one thing." he said to each statement, shaking his blonde locks fervently.
During the week he came around, a look of shock on his face, holding a letter.
"Do you know anything about this?" he asked. I immediately recognised the handwriting from a letter I`d received two days previously. Mine had a somewhat different tone though.
He let me read it. Stone me, if I hadn`t been right all along. She`d met someone else and knew that she didn`t want a long distance relationship.
I gave my shoulder to cry on. His main concern now though was that now he was unable to make his ex jealous! Also she might delight in his "failure."
But then his tone changed over the next hour. I persuded him maybe his ex would feel sorry for him, would have realised by now her mistake anyway and take him back.
And he went off to try!
Strangely, while she didn`t agree to start going out with him, because she didn`t like her new accommodation, she did agree to come and share his new house. On the strict condition that a relationship was out of the question.
I kept making excuses to go away for the weekend, everywhere but Yorkshire, but in fact shot off each time to Yorkshire to see my new love.
And that Christmas, I wrote her "Calling", as a Xmas present.
It nearly had a fairy story ending. Because my friend over the next year worked so hard on the Christian Union leader, she gave up God for him, and they got engaged the following year.
Still a friend of mine, I later told her in confidence that I was actually going out with his ex and was in fact now also engaged. Eventually, we decided things were so far down the line with our relationships that we might as well let him know.
He didn`t actually blow up, but he seethed, and swore he never wanted me to come around ever again.
But alas, he got the final laugh. Eventually my engagement broke off, as I refused to come back to live in Yorkshire, then said I would, then changed my mind. I spent months trying all my friends tricks to try and win her back. But for me they all failed.
He though married the Christian Union Leader. I bumped into one of his friends years later, on a rare trip back to London. I was informed that he was now a successful accountant, which had been his dream. Earning at 26 what he had hoped to be earning in his mid thirties.
For me, I'd gone into depression, my businesses collapsed through neglect and had moved away from London, heavily in debt. To try and start a new life in Bristol.
That was eight years ago.
This year, to help aid my income from the kids entertainment I do, I decided to start busking in Bath. Rather then do my kids show I saw it as an opportunity to play my songs, mixed with a few famous cover versions. That would help build my confidence up to maybe to a street comedy show some time in the future. Good street entertainers earn about four times more then good street musicians.
But I also wanted to try my material out on an audience where it didn`t matter too much if they didn`t like it. They could either sit and listen, and possibly contribute, or simply walk by.
This first year of busking was a wonderful experience. Financially it certainly helped. In fact I drew large audiences in the evenings. Some even asked when and where I was playing next.
I even ended up busking to Prince Charles on his visit to Bath, the only busker allowed to play outside the Abbey during his visit there for a Choral evening. I got the crowd singing the National Anthem to him, much to his Royal Highnesses Amusement.
But of course, I never get 100%. Something always has to go wrong.
When he initially arrived, I had just finished a cracking version of Don McCleans "Vincent", to a wondrous applause from the large crowd there to get a glimpse of Charlie.
He unfortunately decided to arrive in the middle of my next number, "If You`re Happy and You Know it Clap Your Hands", and walked within four yards of me into "The Pump Rooms" with an expression that said "Hmm, thought they might have laid on someone a bit more talented to busk to me on the way in... Bath`s really going down-market."
But one other day, I was busking when a voice from my distant past suddenly came from behind me. I turned to see, for the first time in ten years, my old college buddy and his wiffie.
"So, you finally made it to being a busker." he grinned.
"And I hear you finally made it to be an accountant." I smiled back.
With the knowledge that I get the greater respect and job satisfaction. On a good day earn just as much as he, but can choose when and where to work and have far more fun. That I still have my Christian faith, unlike his wife. Who confessed she was embarrassed about her previous strong Christian views.