The ambiguity of songs over time

In a previous post I gave some explanation of the book and the ambiguity of songs - What is All my Ghosts? As much as the same song can mean different things to different people at the same time, our own relationship with a song can change over time, often through life events.

This has happened with one song in particular on the All my Ghosts album - Until Tomorrow.

For all I espouse about not playing other artists songs (this is about lack of patience to learn) I should really say I don't do covers, because Until Tomorrow wasn't written by me. This is a song written by my good friend Adrian, who sent me some lyrics once and asked if I could make something of them.

Now, I couldn't tell you at that point exactly what it meant to Adrian, but I could understand it was about the pain of loss, of grief and that internal struggle when something effects us deeply in our personal life. I could sympathise with that when I was putting the chords together, and tried to evoke that sense of feeling when I was singing it.

Although I only recorded that song for the album little more than a year ago, I think it dates back 4 years or so, when the lyrics first landed in my inbox. It's also a little more than a year ago that my mother passed away, which gave rise to such a tremendous sense of loss and grief that even now I can't put into words.

That loss, which I'm not going to dwell on here, completely changed my own feelings toward

Until Tomorrow. Sympathy morphed into empathy, the idea of loss now a reality. I've only recently started practicing playing the song again in the last few weeks, playing it publicly for the first time again just a few nights ago - you can see that performance in the video here.

Playing it live wasn't actually that difficult, but playing it live made it speak to me in a different way than it had in previous performances. It felt completely relevant.

Where I initially put those words to music as a favour for a friend, I'm living in a changed world now, one that will never be the same. I'll be forever grateful now, not only that the song exists, but that I'm able to sing and perform it.

Songs will always mean something slightly different based on our individual experiences, but it's songs like this which also bring us closer together as human beings. Through shared experiences and our own stories, the ambiguity of a songs meaning can be eroded a great deal. This is just one example.

Ian Curtis - suicide and mourning

When I first came to know who Ian Curtis was, who Joy Division were and listened for the first time to the album Unknown Pleasures, I was 16 years old. A whole decade after he took his own life.

That album completely blew me away, with it's deep base lines and haunting guitar highs. The vocals felt distant and present at the same time, more real and human than anything I'd ever previously heard - the humanity is what got me, as if I was forcibly pinned to the wall, eyes wide opening, feeling and seeing almost for the first time.

That memory of first listening to Unknown Pleasures has never left me.

I used to think it was strange that I developed a sense of mourning for someone I'd never met, had no connection to other than listening to their music, only became aware of 10 years after he died. But I don't think it was simply that he died, and at such a young age. It wasn't an accidental overdose or a misadventure, like with some other iconic musicians and singers. It was suicide. That's what made it different. It was a decision so remarkably sad.

With age I've come to feel sadness for anyone who's last act is to take their own life. My sadness for Ian Curtis then wasn't borne out of hero worship, but simple humanity. It just happened that he wrote lyrics and delivered them in a way that meant something to me.

If you've ever read anything about him on a surface level, it's easy to point to his lyrics and be aware of his depression, in a way that makes you think his suicide was inevitable. But listening to his band mates on the news recently, talking about him just being normal and that he smiled and laughed and, whilst different and not normal in some ways, was just a bloke. It's only hindsight that allows us to see how deeply troubled someone must have been, to take that step to end their own life.

It's difficult to know what someone is going through, how bad it is for them, even if on the outside they seem perfectly fine. Any suicide is horrendous, and the number of men today taking their own lives is incredibly, incredibly sad - and worrying.

If you're in that place, or if you're lucky enough to notice that someone might be struggling, please, please, please seek help. There are people and places where you can access help.

Platform 1 - men's mental health and crisis charity - Huddersfield

Andy's Man Club - a safe place to talk to other men at weekly meet ups, who might be struggling.

There are of course many more organisations who can help if you're struggling with mental health issues. There is a list here:

Mind.org

It's okay to talk...

The title, a stolen strap line from Andy's Man Club, the message "It's okay to talk..." is more necessary today than ever. That a person can recognise where they are in the moment - the past (been through a storm), the present (going through a storm), the future (have a storm brewing) - are critically important if that person is going to be able to take that first step on the ladder to getting the help they need.

Recognising and acting on a feeling are two very different things. Recognising is in itself an often difficult thing, it's often not obvious to us how incidents past, present and on the horizon might be affecting our behaviour - our mood, our anxiety, our focus - and others who know us may often see these changes first, but not always.

Once we do recognise we have an issue, that we're not functioning properly or at least as we would like, what we think is the issue might not actually be the case. In these moments it can be easier to assert that your job is the problem, that it's the relationship you're in, that it's financial worries. And who knows, maybe that is the case, but there are so many things it could be, things we're hiding from ourselves. If we hide things from ourselves, then we're never going to be able to ask ourselves the right question. Without asking the right question, how can we expect to get the right answer and ultimately, get better?

So what can we do about that?

Family and friends

If you've got a good network of family and friends, it doesn't have to be a big network, they can probably already see you're not yourself. But they can't help you if you don't begin to tell them that you don't feel great. And if one of them approaches you to ask if you're okay, it can be hard to say, "No, I'm not."

It can seem like a massive hurdle, exposing yourself to being vulnerable. It might give you that feeling of not being man enough to deal with a situation yourself. But how many times have you helped someone, listened, chatted, changed someone's mood from melancholy to something better? Probably more than you think. This works both ways.

Support networks

Some people aren't lucky enough to have a family and friends network, or might simply be too scared to say anything. That's okay too. But if you recognise you've got a problem, confused as to what it is but know you've got to deal with it, that knowing has already given you the breakthrough you need.

Where Andy's Man Club provide talking groups, a safe space for men to talk freely when elsewhere in their lives they may not feel able, there are also organisations who offer more acute services, offering a wide range of individual support, such as Platform 1 men's mental health and crisis charity. They're two examples of very different, but hugely valuable organisations. I choose to raise money for Platform 1 because it's ultra-local and I see what they do beyond the talking.

There are of course many more organisations who can help if you're struggling with mental health issues. There is a list here:

Mind.org

A message to employers

I think there is a lot more recognition from employers these days, that they need to make sure their staff are mentally healthy, that there is support available if needed. I know where I work it is something we try to achieve not just through services staff can access directly, but through some of the activities that staff are encouraged to participate in.

I'm sure there is more we can do where I work, but also that some organisations might not even have a fraction of what we have. This is where it's important for employers to look for outside support and guidance. It really is crucial.

It's probably because I'm musically and creatively driven, that I really like what Keep Real do, delivering workshops and talks to NHS staff, universities and festivals, running creative workshops to explore self-awareness through writing. Allowing staff to get creative isn't your traditional approach to developing better mental health, but we are by nature creative beings. We don't have to be shackled by our jobs, and I believe employers can benefit greatly from a more active and creatively minded workforce.

Remember...It's good to talk, it's okay to talk.

Go and seek the answers you need.