This was commissioned by a weirdo called Larry (played by Emma Lee Moss) eight days ago on the last day of an online songwriting course. Larry claimed he’d moved on from his Lothario image and wanted to impress Shakespeare. I sussed him out though and wrote a song where he’s trying to impress Shakespeare but is still a Lothario. After I’d performed the song, Emma revealed that Larry had been listening in and his agent had just rung to say he would be putting the song on his next album. One of my fellow course mates said: “I think Larry would take it just for that one line: ‘Break me off a little piece of your exquisite life.’” I owe a debt to the diction, tone, and cadence of the lines in Leonard Cohen’s “Dance Me to the End of Love”.
I talked to you this morning. The way that you were stalling Lothario’s charms made me think you might consider a literary dinner while lyin’ in my arms. Woobidoobidoo, wabadoobidoo, ah.
So meet me late in the library, at a quarter after ten, an’ if you choose to lie for me, I’ll never ask again. Break me off a little piece of your exquisite life. We could honeymoon in Greece, an’ you could be my wife. (Ha, ha, ha, ha.)
I spotted you this evening. The fact that you were leaving sent shivers down my spine. An’ I think of you tonightly although it’s quite unlikely. It’s only just gone nine. Woobidoobidoo, woobidoobidoo, ah.
So meet me late in the library, at a quarter after ten, an’ if you choose to lie for me I’ll never ask again. Break me off a little piece of your exquisite life. We could honeymoon in Greece, an’ you could be my wife. (Ha, ha, ha, ha.)
In November I went on a songwriting course at Moniack Mhor, near Inverness, in Scotland.
The Hobbit House, where we played
Inside the Hobbit House
Outside the Hobbit House
The tutors were Kris Drever – the reason I’d booked the course as I’m a big fan of his – and Michele Stodart.
I got on very well with the midweek guest, Dan “Withered Hand” Willson.
Dan
Kris and me watching Dan
Haggis and pipes on the last evening: Lorraine, Susie, Danielle, Michele, Emma, Lindsay, Phil, Heather, Kris, Neil, Mick, Emily, me, Ken
On the first morning Kris walked around handing out a book to each of us. We were encouraged to plunder its treasures. We had a brief discussion about plagiarism, where Michele said that we shouldn’t worry about that, not least because we’d find we’d want to tweak the original. Kris gave me Border by Kapka Kassabova (2017). I opened it at random and read the phrase, “the history of komshulak”. I quickly found the beginning of the chapter, where the concept was explained as the Bulgarian word for peaceful coexistence.
Leafing back through the book, I then found a sentence that appealed to me: “And somewhere waits a ferryman whose face can’t be seen.”
Jumping ahead again, I came across a sub-heading, “The Monk of Happiness”. I then used these three elements, plus the title of the book, to write a song.
I started out with “Somewhere there waits a ferryman / whose face cannot be seen.” And I started the second verse with “He is the monk of happiness”. I thought this was a good description of Kris, which inspired the subsequent line, “and plays a mean guitar”. When I found the word “mean”, I couldn’t help but let out a laugh. No doubt because of the contrast between “happy” and “mean”. Kris asked me later what I’d laughed about, and I told him. Also that I’d thought of him as “the monk of happiness”. He liked the concept.
My first title was “Secret Star”, which then became “Shooting Star”.
I sang it for Kris in the afternoon, and he thought it sounded finished. His one suggestion, which I eagerly took on board, was to repeat “He’ll bring us back”.
When I recorded the song three days later, I’d changed “ferryman” to “foreigner”, “He is the monk of happiness” to “He wears a mask of happiness”, and the title to “Komshulak”. I later changed the gender of the foreigner from male to female as a tribute to Kapka.
When I got back to Denmark, I put myself on the waiting list for another songwriting course at Moniack in January, with Dan and Kath (from Devon) as the tutors. I was number four on the list, so I felt it was rather unlikely I’d be offered a place. But I was called up at the last moment. I extended the song with two verses originally written in the first person in an a cappella exercise on the last day. I changed “foreigner” to “traveller” in the first piece as a nod to this new piece, but after I’d integrated it, I changed “traveller” to “wanderer”.
This song was the source of inspiration for other songs. Now called “Kapka with Kris”, it is the first of a group of four songs entitled “Komshulak at Moniack”:
I wrote “Part of a Group” on the last day of the course with Kris and Michele. “No More Poisoned Promises” was another combination of two different compositions, the verses written in Denmark in December and the chorus in another a cappella exercise on the first day of an online course this month with Emma and Kath. I wrote “My E-type Jag” there too, using the old chorus of what had become “No More Poisoned Promises”. Emma and Kath gave me some good tips and nudges in my tutorials with them.
I wrote a song with Kath in my tutorial with her on the course in January. It’s called “Written in the Stars” and took us under half an hour. The mid-week guest, Louis Abbot, heard us perform it that evening, and the next morning he told me it was a classic. Kath and Dan are going to perform it on their forthcoming tour.
Dan and Kath did a video for a single from their forthcoming album on the last day:
I appear for a split second at 0:11:
and again at 0:54:
Back row: Anna, Phil, Chris, Scott, Tom – middle row: Pam, Martin, Jamie, Jack, Jess – front row: staff member, Kit’s dog, Ken, Kath, Dan, me
Kath and me performing “Written in the Stars” on the final evening
So, I attended a memorial concert in Bath Abbey for my mate, Kieron Jones, on Friday 3rd November. I introduced the final act, The City of Bath Male Choir, conducted by Kieron’s father, Grenville, and I started out by swearing – in the Abbey for Christ’s sake.
We’d just heard a pianist, Nurry Lee, playing. She’s an international star, and she was totally brilliant.
I looked at her and said: “That was bloody amazing!” My comment went down okay. I’d have known if it hadn’t – you know, that horrible moment when all the energy gets sucked out of a room? But that didn’t happen. And then I paused briefly, and in another tone said: “You’ve been practising!” That got a laugh, and I was irrepressible after that. I said hello to everyone, introduced myself, and said some nice things about Kieron. Finally, before introducing the choir, I sang the four lines that I’d written the evening before his funeral – to great applause. Everyone was very positive about my little performance. Kieron’s mate, Dave, was impressed I’d sworn in Bath Abbey. Kieron would have loved it. He was the irreverent one in his rather religious family.
I saw this goddess on the way out of the Abbey, and it turned out she was a university friend of Kieron’s. We ended up chatting in The Crystal Palace. I gave her the rose I’d been given for my presentation. She said to me, “You really loved him, didn’t you?” “Yeah,” I said. And then she told me she’d loved him once. I didn’t pry. I’ve tried to contact her since, but she hasn’t responded. So, here’s a companion piece to “For Kieron”:
I was torn by a thorn on the morning we met. What the hell did you do to me?
It was dark in my heart when the spark of your love found me out in Assisi.
You taught me how to live, how to kiss you madly. Just the thought of you, an’ I miss you badly. There’s nothing else to do but sing this song sadly here in my den.
Can’t you see I’ll never forget you, never regret the day that I met you, never believe that I can’t upset you ever again?
There once was a time every single day was a pantomime. Now that you’ve gone, it’s hard to understand why I’m hanging on.
You taught me how to live, how to kiss you madly. Just the thought of you, an’ I miss you badly. There’s nothing else to do but sing this song sadly here in my den.
Can’t you see I’ll never forget you, never regret the day that I met you, never believe that I can’t upset you ever again?