Tuesday 15 December 2009
Saturday 5 December 2009
The Maestro Speaks!
It had been a long journey, away from home and into the unknown. With his trusted old uke Jeni-Frank slung over his shoulder for company and rather more luggage than sensible for a man of his years the Maestro arrived in India. Where would he go and what would he do next?
After 24 hours in the hotel to sort out his sleep patterns (inadequate even for a Maestro) he headed to the North of Mumbai where he became a member of a birdwatching fraternity. What, you may well ask would a wandering mendicant musician know about birds? Well, not much more than the words to the Beatles' Blackbird and the condition of his now distant pet Parrot, Polygarkov! (Yes, I too wonder about this!)
The jungle contained many varieties of bird and he soon learned the way to excite his colleagues was to cry out "Brahimini Kite!" which usually resulted in lots of neck-craning and aerial searching for a bird he soon learned was almost as common as a Seagull. The Maestro reflected on how looking around the natural world was an agreeable pre-occupation only slightly interrupted by the discovery of a Scorpion quite close to his big toe! Of course there were also monkeys, spiders and the endless droning of mosquitos for company, but he didn't see the enormous Python that stretched across the road when he and his colleagues returned to their jungle hut to rest.
He and Jeni-Frank entertained his hosts with a variety of songs from their repertoire, although he couldn't say for sure whether the medley of George Formby tunes had ever been heard before in such a place as the jungle. Their rendition of Life on Mars was particularly well received however and the Maestro certainly felt some distance from his home on the farm in the wilds of Lincolnshire. His obsession with celestial bodies revealed a rather different skyscape to that which he had become familiar with in his northern hemisphere home but it was the sunrise over the hills and plains of Maharasthra the following dawn which left him, customarily, speechless!
He recalled the words to one of his compositions which said:-
When you're lost and alone, and so far away from home
And friends are so very hard to find
There's no cure for loneliness, at the bottom of that glass
But if you call out my name, I'll be there
Don't be afraid I won't let you down
I'll show you how much I really care
Let my arms hold you tight 'til the early morning light
Just call out my name and I'll be there
It's the end of the night, and you're giving up that fight
And courage is so very hard to find
There's no-one else to blame, or to take away the pain
But if you call out my name, I'll be there
Don't be afraid I won't let you down
I'll show you how much I really care
Let my arms hold you tight in the early morning light
Just call out my name and I'll be there
Yes, it would appear that the Maestro was feeling somewhat homesick. But for what, or whom? He reflected on what path had brought him to this moment and, for a few brief seconds at least, realised that the contentment he sought might possibly lay not in external things, such as places, people or things, but within his own, somewhat troubled heart. If he'd come here to forget then he was doing an altogether good job of remembering! 'If one can't forget then it is best to remember and then let go of troubled memories' he thought to himself. Yes, 'accept and move on by letting go' he concluded, rather hastily. But how exactly? This was to be his quest on his journey of self-discovery.
He put Jeni-Frank carefully away in its case and began musing on how one might achieve such lofty aims with a mind as disordered and prone to vacillation as his. Now, 'where was that pencil, and what to write on?' he thought, perplexed as usual. The longest journey may well begin with one small step but best to make sure you have shoes first!
After 24 hours in the hotel to sort out his sleep patterns (inadequate even for a Maestro) he headed to the North of Mumbai where he became a member of a birdwatching fraternity. What, you may well ask would a wandering mendicant musician know about birds? Well, not much more than the words to the Beatles' Blackbird and the condition of his now distant pet Parrot, Polygarkov! (Yes, I too wonder about this!)
The jungle contained many varieties of bird and he soon learned the way to excite his colleagues was to cry out "Brahimini Kite!" which usually resulted in lots of neck-craning and aerial searching for a bird he soon learned was almost as common as a Seagull. The Maestro reflected on how looking around the natural world was an agreeable pre-occupation only slightly interrupted by the discovery of a Scorpion quite close to his big toe! Of course there were also monkeys, spiders and the endless droning of mosquitos for company, but he didn't see the enormous Python that stretched across the road when he and his colleagues returned to their jungle hut to rest.
He and Jeni-Frank entertained his hosts with a variety of songs from their repertoire, although he couldn't say for sure whether the medley of George Formby tunes had ever been heard before in such a place as the jungle. Their rendition of Life on Mars was particularly well received however and the Maestro certainly felt some distance from his home on the farm in the wilds of Lincolnshire. His obsession with celestial bodies revealed a rather different skyscape to that which he had become familiar with in his northern hemisphere home but it was the sunrise over the hills and plains of Maharasthra the following dawn which left him, customarily, speechless!
He recalled the words to one of his compositions which said:-
When you're lost and alone, and so far away from home
And friends are so very hard to find
There's no cure for loneliness, at the bottom of that glass
But if you call out my name, I'll be there
Don't be afraid I won't let you down
I'll show you how much I really care
Let my arms hold you tight 'til the early morning light
Just call out my name and I'll be there
It's the end of the night, and you're giving up that fight
And courage is so very hard to find
There's no-one else to blame, or to take away the pain
But if you call out my name, I'll be there
Don't be afraid I won't let you down
I'll show you how much I really care
Let my arms hold you tight in the early morning light
Just call out my name and I'll be there
Yes, it would appear that the Maestro was feeling somewhat homesick. But for what, or whom? He reflected on what path had brought him to this moment and, for a few brief seconds at least, realised that the contentment he sought might possibly lay not in external things, such as places, people or things, but within his own, somewhat troubled heart. If he'd come here to forget then he was doing an altogether good job of remembering! 'If one can't forget then it is best to remember and then let go of troubled memories' he thought to himself. Yes, 'accept and move on by letting go' he concluded, rather hastily. But how exactly? This was to be his quest on his journey of self-discovery.
He put Jeni-Frank carefully away in its case and began musing on how one might achieve such lofty aims with a mind as disordered and prone to vacillation as his. Now, 'where was that pencil, and what to write on?' he thought, perplexed as usual. The longest journey may well begin with one small step but best to make sure you have shoes first!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)