We took turns on the guitar and the piano, swapping over when we'd confused ourselves enough. Roland ensured that key changes occurred and that of course compelled me to try and keep up. Somehow they both seem infused with wintry sadness, which is odd when I remember that we were having a lot of fun and being generally happy with our lot. But I think we had lots of background melancholia we were able to tap in to.
These are from an album of wonky lullabies we spent a year developing. But, sad to say, as often happens with me, I haven't worked out quite what next to do with them. My desire to release music and be a music maker in the marketplace seems to wane daily. Partly fear, partly a diminishing understanding of what that course offers - an audience, a connection with others, renown, material splendour? I have become so accustomed to making stuff inspired by habit and the pleasure of getting lost in the thing itself, that I often have no clue what is to be done with the end result. In some ways all my pieces are nothing more than family photos to me, unlocking the memories and secrets of their time, something to gaze back on and wonder how it all happened. How's that for melancholia and solipsism stirred in to one tasty cocktail?