Behind the Skin: a year of music and movement

Exercise #1: To move from one end of a room to the other, shedding our skin as we go.  I lower myself to a crouching position, feeling the cool wooden floor beneath my fingertips.  My breathing is anxious.   I feel myself pulled flat and begin to crawl slowly forward, each limb taut as cheese wire.  I pause frequently and place my pulsing forehead on the floor.  My entire body feels compressed, sore.  I stretch one arm out in front of me and one leg behind me.  This offers some relief.  The other arm is stretched out in front of me now and I’m dragging myself forward by my fingertips.  The sensation is what I imagine pulling myself through quicksand might be like.  I become vaguely aware of tears and snot pouring down my face.  I’m perhaps a quarter of the way across the room when I turn, painfully, onto my back.  I spread out each limb and gaze upwards.  My breathing is steady and calm.  Days later I’ll remember when, as an undergraduate music student, I studied the score for Arvo Pärt’s De Profundis.

de profundis

My earliest experience of working with dancers and dance choreographers was in 2009 when I was offered the chance to compose original music for a project by Claire Penҫak, titled Lisbon Diaries.  The project was extremely ambitious in its scope in that it contained over forty different sections.  Working alongside another composer (Louise Rossiter), we produced a considerable body of music in a relatively short space of time.  I was immediately attracted to Claire’s methodology – a highly improvisational practice in which, at the most creatively intuitive moments, it became unclear who was responding to whom – dancer or musician.  In hindsight, I realise what a fortuitous introduction this was for me and what a rare and wonderful occurrence this kind of instinctual relationship between dancers and musicians is.

Some months later, I had the brass neck to create my own work for a solo male dancer.  Reproductions, which was to feature in my final PhD portfolio, was inspired by Rene Magritte’s painting, La reproduction interdite, which depicts a man regarding his rear-facing profile in a mirror.  After putting out a call for a male dancer, I met with Jack Webb whose twitchy, seemingly anguished contortions were exactly what I was looking for.  The aesthetic for the work was one of glitch – from Jack’s convulsive movements, the corrupted audio data files that provided Reproduction’s musical basis, to the heavily-pixelated video projection (compiled from experimental sessions recorded from Skype communications with Jack).  Reproductions was featured as part of Dance Live festival in 2010.

Following the performance of Reproductions, I was contacted by dancer and choreographer, Thania Acarón, who was looking for someone to create video accompaniment for her project, IN-FILLED-HER.  Thania and I quickly developed an instinctual working relationship and it was clear from the start that we were ‘on the same page’ creatively.  We continued to collaborate on the development of IN-FILLED-HER and would work together again on several other projects.


Exercise #2: To focus on a part of our bodies that we rarely think of.  I cheat a bit for this one.  I focus on the small of my back which has given me trouble for over a year now.  I remember an exercise a physiotherapist gave me that involved standing against a wall and tightening my stomach muscles and flattening my back against the surface.  I explore that exercise again, but this time keep pressing backwards with the conviction that the wall will bend and breathe with my pressure.  I shift the pressure upwards, in a kind of rolling gesture, to my upper back, shoulders and neck.  When I feel like the stone wall has become malleable enough, I twist to the right and press my temple and jaw into it then repeat the same motion on the left side.


Uterine Symphony and 2-1-2

Uterine Symphony was a collaborative project that arose from a series of experimental movement, sound and visual art workshops, titled Fast+Dirty, and led by Ian Spink and Bill Thompson.  During the course of those workshops, held in November of 2013, dancers Rob Heaslip and Aaron Jeffrey, musician Simon Gall and I explored concepts of vibration (aural, visual, physical) and sensory deprivation.  We felt that by the end of those workshops we had created the germ of something exciting and worthy of developing much further.

In May, we reunited for a week-long residency in Aberdeen and revisited some of our original experiments.  I was particularly interested in the idea of aural and visual displacement – an example: video of Rob singing an Irish folk song and being accompanied by Simon on piano is projected onto a wall.  The audio of this footage is muted and accompanied instead by a completely different soundtrack, entirely unrelated to the projected visuals.  Meanwhile, Aaron would stand flush with the wall and move in response to the movement of the video and soundtrack.

We were also keen to explore various methods of audience participation.  During an informal showing of the work that we had developed throughout the residency we distributed headphones to the audience and invited them to download a previously-composed piece of music and walk freely around the performance space, listening to it.  Throughout this, Rob responded in a series of contorted movements to music being played through loudspeakers within the space.  Again, we were working with the notion of displacement, but with this particular section, there was also a sense of experiencing privacy – perhaps even isolation – despite being within a group of people.


In many ways, the residency served as a continuation of our initial Fast+Dirty experiments rather than the full realisation of a work.  There is still much to be explored.  As a collaborative project, Uterine Symphony was, and is, particularly appealing to me as it does not give any particular preference or focus to dance, music or visual art, or to the practitioners within our group specialising in those areas.  It is very much about a free expression and exchange of ideas with a view to producing something challenging and compelling.

Following this residency, I was contacted by Rob and asked to compose new music for a work that he was currently developing, titled 2-1-2.  In comparison to Uterine Symphony, the process for this project was considerably more intense.  With only three days to write 20 minutes of music for a dance work that was completely new to me, the sense of urgency was oddly appealing – I think this is also due, in part, to the form and tempo of the physical movement that Rob was choreographing.

2-1-2 is a dance trio (performed by Joanne Pirrie, Fiona Jeffries and Laura Murphy) and was performed at Merchant Square in Glasgow on the last day of the Commonwealth Games.  One of the most surreal experiences of 2014 for me was performing an extremely abstract work not only on the same bill, but immediately after a crowd-pleasing dance-a-long with “Clyde” the Commonwealth Games’ mascot.

Exercise #3: To become acutely aware and interact with the space around us.  In a crouching position, my outstretched hand begins to trace the shape of a silver fire extinguisher mounted to a wall a few metres away from me.  At the same time, and without looking, I try to recall the window and window frame directly behind me and trace those dimensions on the floor with the forefinger of my right hand.  I do this successfully for a time but the motion of my right hand begins to lose momentum.  I rise to my feet and slowly gravitate towards the fire extinguisher, continuing to outline its shape in mid-air.  As I move, I become aware of a cream-painted old-style radiator in my right peripheral vision.  My right hand becomes a loose fist and I synchronise the divisions of my fingers with the ridges of the radiator.  Eventually, I am stood in the centre between these two objects and balance both steadily and comfortably.


Ellie and The Visit

I had been interested in the concept of “dance film” since I first edited the footage gathered from the performance of Reproductions.  That experience had revealed to me the power that an editor has: to be able to show, with great precision, exactly what he/she wants the audience to see, including the desired angle and duration of focus.

In 2014, I was given the opportunity to compose music for two dance films created by Elementz Community Dance Company and filmmaker, Paul Foy.  The first was Ellie.  I had come on board after the choreography had been completed and all the material had been filmed.  The short film focused on the titular Ellie – who I didn’t meet until after the screening.  The unedited footage that I was initially sent presented a solo female dancer in a space, empty other than the coloured lights which were projected with great precision, indicating some, as yet, unclear significance.

With each new draft that Paul sent, I began to form my own interpretation of the film and regarded the coloured lights as seasons which held certain memories for Ellie.  Certain moments suggested warmth and comfort, others seemed to be conveying a yearning, homesickness perhaps?  The final score was very much a response to the surface visual elements of the film: minimal, abstract, ambient.  I was also careful in my attempts not to give the film too much of an emotive soundtrack in hopes that it would remain as open to interpretation as it had been for me.

The Visit was a very different project.  I was enlisted before any filming had taken place.  I joined Mhairi Allan and Alison Peddie from Elementz and Paul Foy on a tour of Toulquhon Castle near Ellon which would serve as the location and a kind of secondary character in the film.  In contrast to Ellie, The Visit was very much a narrative-based work: a young female tourist visits the castle, wandering through its corridors, seemingly unaware of the “ghosts” that reside within the space.

The final draft of the film opens with the tourist’s arrival at the castle.  Her journey through its walls is intercut with dance sections performed by the “ghosts”.  I decided to give the music a slightly baroque feel, with instrumentation of harpsichord and strings and, sometimes, a very stately rhythm.

Exercise #4: To move as if holding a sheet of tissue paper between both palms. At first, I focus on the closeness between my hands, trying to avoid making contact.  I walk, unsteadily, forwards, right hand above the left then gently twisting until the left is above the right.  I very carefully allow my left hand to fall to my side and walk, as if on a tightrope.  At some point I forget about the sheet of tissue paper and realise that I’m imagining an unborn child is curled in my outstretched right palm.


Temporary Blindness

At a gig I did in late 2013, I was introduced to a dancer/choreographer who had enjoyed my performance and was keen to discuss the possibility of collaborating on a project she was developing.  Gabriela Sanchez is a Chilean dancer and choreographer currently based in Edinburgh.  After many Skype communications, exchanges of ideas (often very abstract in nature), we secured a week-long residency in Aberdeen during November through Citymoves Dance Agency.

Our collaboration was an extremely interesting process in that we barely spoke during the residency – due, I believe, only in a small part to Gabriela’s limited English. Much of what we produced was based on instinct and reaction to each other’s output.  The majority of the final performance involved Gabriela’s interaction with eight different jackets: trying each one on and responding as if they were new skins – some made her itchy, some made her act in a clown-like way, some she battled with like they were feral animals, one or two seemed to offer her comfort, while others were simply rejected.

Towards the end of the piece that had been developed, she tied one sleeve of a jacket to another until they formed one big chain (a bit like those paper accordion-type things you make when you’re a kid).  These linked jackets were thrown around, whipped violently against the ground and swirled Sufi-style until they enveloped her like a snake and she collapsed in a heap.

In addition to the general absence of verbal communication, the only light we allowed ourselves was a desk lamp.  Imagine five days of grey Aberdeen light and looking forward to 3.30pm when, each day, the natural light would die away and your focus could be drawn entirely to the violent shapes being intermittently illuminated!  I often got the impression that Gabriela was responding to the grey oppressiveness of this unfamiliar city – (at one point I was playing layer upon layer of low industrial-sounding drones while she plodded heavily across the space wearing all eight jackets).

Musically, there was a certain degree of improvisation – no two performances were ever identical – this was particularly the case during Gabriela’s initial explorations and interactions with the jackets.  For certain sections, the requirement to musically adapt was relatively straightforward, particularly where the music was more drone-based.  The more energetic sections, however, which were accompanied with electronic, beat-driven music, required a much greater deal of precision in terms of responding to physical cues and changes in tempo.

Exercise #5: A variation of the first exercise: to walk from one end of the room to the other, shedding what needs to be shed behind us and imagining a cord stretching out from our chests pulling us forwards.  There are eight of us, moving at our own pace, but, more or less, in line with each other.  Around halfway across the room, I become aware of someone to my right sniffing, to my left a man is wiping his eyes.  I realise that tears are pouring down my face and that these tears are clear water and not the polluted tears of the first exercise.  The person to my right is sobbing and has stopped walking.  For a moment I’m filled with an urge to take her hand and encourage her to continue (that I chose not to bothers me for a day or two afterwards until I eventually realise that this was, of course, the correct decision).  We all, but one, reach the other end of the room and are invited to turn, face the distance we’ve covered, contemplate what we’ve shed, and bow to it.  What follows is whatever movement comes out of us. 


The Witching Hour and Orphaned Limbs Collective

My biggest undertaking of 2014 was The Witching Hour – a work I had formed the original concept for in the summer of 2013.  After receiving funding from the Made in Aberdeen Prize, I contacted my friend, Thania Acarón, a dancer and choreographer with whom I had collaborated several times in the past, and invited her to help me make the The Witching Hour a fully-formed piece.

The work is inspired by the folklore and dark history surrounding Aokigahara – a dense forest located at the base of Japan’s Mount Fuji.  Aokigahara – also known as Jukai (“The Sea of Trees”) is the world’s most ‘popular’ destination for suicides – second to San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge.  The forest has a long association with yūrei – tormented spirits, said to have died in violent circumstances (e.g. murder or suicide) and who appear during ushimitsudoki (the Japanese ‘Witching Hour’ (2-3am)).  Aokigahara forest is regularly patrolled by wardens whose purpose is to prevent suicides and to report those that they find. Very often, what the wardens find on their patrols are ribbons tied to branches, apparently breadcrumb-like trails for the undecided, as well as remnants of the people who made Aokigahara their final destination: photographs, letters, clothing, etc.

The Witching Hour first began to take shape in May of 2014 over the course of two residencies (one at Woodend Barn, Banchory, and the other at Rosemount Community Centre in Aberdeen, in conjunction with Citymoves Dance Agency.  Thania and I worked together intensively over this period on establishing an hour-long work with local amateur dancer, Richard White.  The original narrative I had in mind was relatively simple: a man arrives at a clearing in the Aokagahara woods at 2am.  He reflects on his life as he prepares for suicide.  At various points he is visited by a yūrei – both tormented and tormenting – who interrupts his train of thought.  The man and yūrei form a relationship-of-sorts, but the precise nature of that relationship is always unclear.  The man regards the yūrei with both horror and reverence.  The yūrei regards the man as both pitiful and as prey.  Finally, the yūrei absorbs the man in a killing embrace.  Whether the yūrei is a true presence or a manifestation of the man’s suicidal resolve should remain unclear.

The Witching Hour had its debut performance at Woodend Barn, Banchory on the 26th June 2014.  As well as choreographer, Thania took on the role of yūrei, while Richard portrayed the man.  I was also extremely fortunate to have the input of poet John Mackie who kindly composed the poem The Ribbon and the Limb specifically for the work.  A recording of his reading was incorporated into the soundtrack and served as a kind of overture to the proceedings.


Following this performance, we were commissioned by Robert Gordon University in association with Dance Live Festival to develop The Witching Hour as a site-specific piece to be performed in their new Riverside East Building.  Reimagining and setting a large-scale work in a space occupied by hundreds of students and staff was extremely challenging.  However, the notion of having the work’s process being public rather than what would usually occur (i.e. a private residency in a dance studio with only the artists present) was quite appealing.  Thania, Richard and I spent two weeks at the Riverside East Building and eventually established the piece as an interactive performance in which the audience would be guided by “wardens” through three different areas of the building.


(Photo by Colin Thom)

Two sell-out performances were held on the 16th October.  Once the dust had settled slightly, Thania and I decided that The Witching Hour was a work that deserved to be toured and that the site-specific and promenade-style elements were essential.  Leading up to the festive period, we spent many hours filling out funding applications in the hope that we will be able to tour The Witching Hour nationally throughout 2015.

We also decided that, with two established works and a number of smaller collaborative projects under our belts, it was time to form our own company: the Orphaned Limbs Collective.  The decision was an exciting one and, personally, a fitting end to a year which had involved so many exciting music and movement collaborations.

Exercise #6: We sit in a circle, in the dark, imagining energy rising up from the earth, travelling up through our spines and into our mouths.  I breathe out.


* “Exercise” descriptions refer to a Butoh workshop I attended on the 21st December 2014 in Glasgow that was led by Paul Michael Henry.



Being Creative in the North East of Scotland

The following is a presentation I gave at the sonADA pilot event at Seventeen on Belmont Street, Aberdeen on 4 October 2014:

“When I was first asked to present at this seminar I was rather thrown by the initially proposed theme – “what does it mean to be creative in the north east of Scotland?”  For the length of my musical career I’ve been based in Aberdeen, so I don’t feel that I’m in a position to say how it might differ from being a creative person living in the Borders, for example.  However, the question did cause me to reflect on how I regard my own artistic practice and the various issues that come with that.  I began by making a list of pros and cons – I realised that several of these points lie somewhere in-between.  Here is a selection:

It means dealing with broken promises, regularly.

It means getting pissed off that people haven’t replied to your emails yet feeling bad that you haven’t got around to replying to other people’s.

It means being told that you’ll get “decent exposure” in place of being paid – like that’s some kind of fair compensation.

Or it means getting paid a pittance for producing the work that you’ve spent endless hours on and have put your heart and soul into, but receiving a healthy fee for something that either (a) a monkey could produce, (b) is dangerously close to robbing you of your artistic integrity, or (c) both.

It means miscommunication.  Endless miscommunication.

It means receiving a commission and then realising, just as the performance deadline is looming, that the person responsible for marketing has a “relaxed” approach to their job.

It means performing to audiences that wouldn’t fill a one-bedroom flat – but realising that some of those were actually your best gigs.

It means eventually earning enough to give up that shitty part-time job you hated.

It means lecturing for 2 hours a week to sixty students and having one stay behind at the end because they want to know more, and subsequently send you their work in their post-graduate life, because your opinion STILL matters to them.

It means doing workshops in rural areas and encountering young people whose parents want them to go into the oil industry despite the magnificent music that their child is producing in their bedroom.  Who’s to say that the next evolutionary stage of music isn’t beginning right now in Huntly or Kemnay or Inverurie?

It means realising that you’re in a position to offer people a welcome alternative to the banality of musical theatre and endless tribute bands.

It means collaboration; collaboration with other disciplines – multi/inter/cross, or whatever your preferred prefix might be; disciplines you might never have considered – but people who are very much on the same page as you.  This, for me, is the best thing about being a creative individual in the North East of Scotland – because, despite our tradition for being dour and unwelcoming, collaboration is one of the things that we do best in Aberdeen and the north east of Scotland.

On noting down these points, I also realised, with a sense of reassurance, that this list would have been quite different a year ago – the cons certainly would have outweighed the pros.

I’ve been known to bemoan the cultural scene in Aberdeen.  While I feel that it still has a long way to go, I believe that the tide has truly turned, especially within the last year.  Aberdeen is alive with culture.  I feel that we’re not a million miles away from being a city akin to Glasgow or Edinburgh; cities where you’re culturally spoilt for choice; where you encounter people who are still talking passionately about events – locally organised events – two or three years after they first experienced them.

In recent months I’ve encountered so many like-minded people through social media; friend requests from complete strangers – that “mutual friend” list has come to serve as a reliable, legitimate networking resource.  My Facebook news feed is no longer overpopulated by mundane posts about makeup techniques or video stills which feature the now predictable phrase “you won’t believe what happens next”.  Post-referendum, I refer to my Facebook news feed for crucial information that I know I will never receive from major (or even minor) news networks.  And culturally, the same, to a certain degree, applies.  It’s very often thanks to Facebook and Twitter that I know what’s happening In Aberdeen.  If Aberdonians were to rely on the “What’s On” guide for cultural reference, they’d assume that The Singing Kettle and some guy who once played in The Shadows was the sum of cultural talent in Aberdeen.  Thankfully, this is very far from the case.

Aberdeen has become a city of many artistic collectives and organisations – it is heartening to know that there are so many groups that have a similar goal in mind – SonADA can be added to that list.  On a personal note, I feel particularly proud to have been involved with Binary School.  I’ve performed at two of their nights and will be participating in a third on Halloween at Musa, in association with the Sound Festival.  Binary School, organised primarily by Colin Austin, who will be performing later this evening, showcases electronic musicians and DJs.  The musical range on show at these gigs is staggering – every sub-genre of electronic music can be experienced; approaches, techniques, inspirations, sound worlds, software and hardware all vary, but the passion is consistent.  To me, what Binary School offers is unique: music which is constantly new or, at least, emerging, the kind of music that, invariably, young guys are trying to create in their bedroom; the kind of music that they should, but are not, taught how to produce at college or university.

Not unlike the referendum aftermath, many more people are feeling empowered to try to make changes to a cultural scene that they’ve become increasingly dissatisfied with.  And that is a very exciting thing to be a part of.”

The Witching Hour

A few weeks ago, I was chatting with one of my students and, I’m not sure how, but the subject of Japan’s so-called “Suicide Forest” came up.  I can’t remember what the exact context of the conversation was that led us to this, but it was one of those casual chats that sometimes finds a way of sticking in the brain like a fish-hook.  Somewhere, at some point, I’d read about this place, or in some way had become aware of it, because what my student was telling me was vividly familiar to me.  In hindsight, it’s probably no great shock that this  conversation had triggered a memory – Aokigahara (also known as Jukai – the Sea of Trees) is second only to San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge as the world’s most popular suicide site.

A bit of online digging revealed a wealth of largely sensationalist explorations into this place and its tragic history.  So far, the only documentation that I’ve found which manages to retain any sense of dignity and respect is this one:

It is said that one of the key characteristics of Jukai is the sense of solitude or isolation which is evoked both by the dense trees blocking all external sounds and by the absence of wildlife.  Despite being an area which is widely-documented, particularly online, it still appears to be a place which allows for great privacy.

To further add to Jukai’s dark mystique, the forest has a long association with Japanese mythology, and particularly with the yūrei who, it is said, often appear there during Japan’s “witching hour” (ushimitsudoki), 2-3am.  The yūrei – or at least a variation of the concept – have appeared in modern culture, particularly in Japanese horror movies such as Ringu (Ring) or Ju-on (The Grudge).  Traditionally, their appearance is of long, straight black hair and they wear white burial robes.  It is thought that they are spirits, angry at having died in a violent manner, e.g. murder or suicide.


All of this has inspired me to compose a piece – or rather, series of pieces – based around Jukai and the so-called witching hour.  The work will be an hour-long series of ambient ‘responses’ exploring moments of calm, solitude, distress, tension, horror, self-reflection and resolution.

It’s important to say that, despite a great yearning, I have yet to visit Jukai.  At the moment, all I have to go on is my own life experience and research.  These pieces are personal ‘responses’ to (my present understanding of) a place and a phenomenon.

Here is the first response:

More to follow soon.

Ghosts of Futures Past/Dirty Old Men

I’ve been reading a bit about hauntology lately and considering how my own work relates to the concept.  The term itself appears to be somewhat ambiguous.  Introduced by Derrida, it is, put simply, concerned with the significance of the past in our present.  The term has also been applied to certain fields of music and, in particular, artists who have mined digital and analogue archives in search of potentially creative material.  As a concept, I can’t help thinking that it’s all a bit obvious and has already been exhausted in several other areas of philosophy.  Still, I like the “literal” element of phantoms and spectres that seems to be a recurring theme: the imprinting of a past  life or death on something as tangible as a building or landscape.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see a live performance by the band Public Service Broadcasting.  During the gig I kept thinking about this whole hauntology malarkey.  Sound-wise they have a very post-rock feel – long instrumental numbers that slowly build to a cacophonous crescendo – albeit with a strong sense of parody – and littered with samples of “Keep calm…”-style commentary, which struck me as being very nostalgic and yet very current – (I’ve lost count of the many variations of “Keep Calm and Carry On” that I’ve seen on Facebook in the last couple of years, and I wonder how many of those posting the images are aware of its origins).  Visually, the performance shared that same kind of recontextualisation as the audio material.  A stack of old-fashioned TVs had been piled on either side of the stage displaying meticulously edited archival news footage, occasionally combined with real-time video of the audience.  Whether this was a conscious fusing of past and present or pure gimmick remains unclear.

Overall, the mood was satirical, at times recalling  Harry Enfield’s public service announcement skits (see below).  Even the ritual of live performance was parodied, a faceless, stiff upper lipped-voice introducing the band members, telling the audience how nice it was to be “back in…[pregnant pause]…Aberdeen!” or announcing the end of the show followed by – gosh! – an encore.

It’s hard to imagine where PSB will go next – it feels like a very self-contained, one-off kind of project.  But maybe that’s the point…?  The sources that the band have incorporated into their act are ripe for piss-taking, even if many of those sources come from a dark part of our history.  Perhaps in a few years someone will create an act based entirely around the “dirty old celebrity” epidemic that we’re currently being made aware of.  Imagine a band riffing over Jimmy Saville’s “jingle jangle jewellery” catchphrase.  Would it be any more distasteful?

And finally…


Out with the Old

Tonight I was clearing out the hard drive and stumbled across  a few tracks that I’d recorded a few years ago.  I have little memory of composing or recording these, so it’s a bit of a strange experience listening to them now.

Here are a couple of solo piano pieces from the Glass/Satie years:

…and here are a couple of acoustic pieces where I felt brave enough to sing:



I’m very excited to be involved with an event titled Shostakovich Undressed.  Along with sound artists Pete Stollery, Suk-Jun Kim, Clive Grace and Chandra Chapman, I’ll be providing a “response” to Shostakovich’s Chamber Symphony in C Minor (Op. 110a) which will be performed in its entirety by the Scottish Ensemble at The Lemon Tree, Aberdeen on 6th June 2013.

The work, dedicated to “the victims of fascism and war”, was written by Shostakovich over three days in the Summer of 1960.  It’s an energetic, aggressive and turbulent piece of music that leaves most listeners shaken.  The majority of the work is based around the famous DSCH motif – Shostakovich’s musical cipher which he transcribes as D, E flat, C, B natural.

I think that there’s something incredibly powerful and affirming about stamping your name so explicitly (yet, at the same time subversively) – and, indeed, bravely – onto something which serves as your primary means of expression, and at the same time, risking the most extreme kind of artistic censorship.  This is music which exists today against the odds, and that’s an incredibly powerful and potent source of material to work with.

My “response” makes extensive  use of the DSCH motif, whilst incorporating video projection and a burlesque dancer.  The performance is intended to express a breaking free from censorship of artistic expression.  The music track can be streamed below:

Further information and ticket booking information can be found here.

The Going Rate

For the last few months I’ve been doing solo piano gigs about once a week at the Carmelite Hotel in Aberdeen.  I took on the job knowing that the pay was rather less than the going rate for live musicians (the Carmelite pay £50 for a 3 hour performance) – but given the current economic climate, I considered myself lucky to be getting paid for something that I love doing.  It quickly became apparent that my role was to provide background music for guests and paying customers.  I was fine with this and have quite enjoyed the opportunity to create an atmosphere while people sit around chatting and drinking.  I would bite my tongue whenever someone approached me with a (usually awful) request – Sex on Fire, Mandy, Super Trooper…”anything by Tom Jones”….and resisted the urge to point out that the bar across the road has a jukebox.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to bash out a song or two if you ask me nicely – just don’t stagger drunkenly towards the piano and say “Could you liven it up a bit?  Go and play Gangnam Style!”  You run the risk of physical injury.

Anyway, I bit my tongue whenever that happened.  I also bit my tongue when I had to stand around for half an hour at the end of the night waiting for someone to pay me.  I nearly bit through my tongue when on more than one occasion I’d have to come back the following day because my cheque “wasn’t ready”.  There’s an image that I’ve seen posted on Facebook in recent weeks which draws a comparison between musicians and plumbers and points out the fact that both are (usually!) skilled individuals providing a service.  If a plumber came to my home and did 3 hours of work and then after being made to wait for half an hour I told him/her “come back tomorrow, your cheque’s not ready,” I can imagine what the response would be…

A couple of weeks ago the Carmelite’s manager offered me £75 to play on Hogmanay (that’s New Year’s Eve, if you’re not Scottish…)  I said that I wouldn’t play for any less than £150.  £75 for 3 hours of work might look great on paper, but keep in mind that most performing musicians live on an inconsistent income, have no contract and have to do a hell of a lot of preparation prior to a gig.  Also keep in mind that the going rate for a live solo musician to play on Hogmanay is around £200 for an hour and a half.  £75 is a slap in the face and a complete disregard for professional musicians.  Needless to say, I will not be playing at the Carmelite Hotel on Hogmanay.  Instead, I’ll be with family and friends who (as long as I’m sober enough) might just appreciate what I play.

So, next time you wander into a venue where there’s a musician sitting playing in a corner, remember that you’re ‘getting a free concert and that that they’ve worked hard to provide you with this entertainment.  A simple acknowledgement goes a long way.  And if you’re ever in the position of hiring a musician to entertain other people, please treat them with a little bit of respect.  Oh, and fucking pay them!