I gave up writing a long time ago, because I basically fulfilled the terms of the Songman's Rest: it was started to keep me sane while I was a choral scholar at the Church of St. Peter Mancroft, and tide me over until I found a back row to call home again. I had thrown myself into the deep end having moved off campus during my second year at the University of East Anglia. I was struggling. I didn't know how to manage almost anything in my life, and sought refuge by typing out my sorrows and hopes, dreams, fears, hatreds and deepest anger... And then publishing it on a semi-regular basis. This process, on and off, lasted for three years and eight months, including a completely insane crawl through May last year, where I managed to publish almost every day.
The whole deal with that silly title was that I blamed part of my unhappiness on being "just" a choral scholar. I understand now, of course, that this was completely ridiculous, but go with it for a little bit while I explain, okay? I had a pretty large potato's worth of chip on my shoulder about not only having been a "Songman" at Derby Cathedral, but also having been told by a notable singing teacher that my voice would never fill a Cathedral... Huh. I guess I'm still het up about that. How about that? Anyway. That was basically the point, I wanted to get back to being a full time member of a Cathedral choir again, just like the good old days! It was all a trick, somewhere I could retreat to and write whatever I liked. Not really that many people read it in those days so I just about got away with anything. Anyway, this is all a bit tawdry and dry, sorry.
In all honesty, all my struggles, failings, victories, gains and losses remain ultimately the same. I am still hanging on by fingertips, somehow improvising into and out of scrapes with varying levels of success... But now I tie up the identity of the retreat with the new name at the top of the page. Having ascended to the Lay-Vicarship of Truro Cathedral Choir in September of 2013, I have found my Songman's Rest once more! But still... I haven't written for some 60 days now, and that's probably long enough. One of the things that I started to forget as I reached the end of my tenure, was that writing was for me, and not for my audience. I became more and more worried about people reading it and taking issue - something that didn't even bother me remotely when I started, all those years ago in that dingy living room. I've almost forgotten what it's like to be an unpopular voice in a popular time, but recent tastes have reminded me that I shouldn't be afraid: it's as if I'm afraid of being myself... Which is probably the greatest root problem I have.
So maybe that's the point of this blog? To not be so afraid? This might take forever really, a true lifetime's work, but at least if we start here, we can go somewhere. And the silly title this time? I cribbed it from a friend that I haven't spoken to in a long time. Well, I always think of my head as an Asylum; part hospital, part prison, and all of my own making. I have convinced myself out of more good things than you've had hot dinners, and really it's about bloody time I stopped doing that as well! It's not always going to be pretty, and I hardly expect anybody to agree with me, but it'd be boring if I didn't at least spark off some controversy, however minor...
...and I can't stand to be bored.
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