Start the week #86
Including: a never-before-released recording of Terry blowing his horn.
Terry chats about a temporary malaise that prevented him from writing anything worth reading, Substack whack-a-mole, saxophone progress, plus loads of links. Woot!
Greetings! Sorry this post is a bit late, but good things are worth waiting for, right? But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.
Hark at me, as my first serious girlfriend used to say. I’ve been having a bit of an existential crisis, to do with writing rather than life in general. That’s partly why these Start The Week posts have been somewhat sporadic of late.
I was wondering whether writing anything humorous is self-indulgent in some way. But I went to a networking evening — not because I like networking events (I hate them) but because I was interested in what other people were offering in the local area. Everyone had one minute to speak, so I used my time to read extracts from a couple of testimonials from past clients. The chairperson said, “That’s really good. It’s so powerful hearing people’s testimonials”, to which I replied, “Yes. And I wrote them myself.” Everyone laughed, and I thought well, perhaps giving people a reason to laugh in these troubled times is no bad thing.
Anyway, around this time of year I visit the graves of my mother, father and grandfather, an excursion that is not known for making me exuberantly happy1.
There’s more, but I have no desire to turn this post into a sobfest. Suffice to say that the result of all this was that I found it hard to write anything I was happy with, or even satisfied with. I didn’t have writer’s block, I almost never do. I simply wrote loads of rubbish. And I mean loads. I always write a lot. I’m known for my prolificacy. But as a rule, at least some of it is readable.
I found myself empathising with Bo Carter, who wrote a blues song called My Pencil Won’t Write No More. I don’t think it was about writing, to be honest, but even so. I don’t like the music much but here it is anyway:
Substack whack-a-mole
These days I seem to be spending half my time muting people on Notes. Not because of their political views, but because of their bragging or selling or pleading. It goes like this:
Note: I’m new to Substack and…
Me: Mute!
Note: At 15 I was a high school drop-out, at 25 I was convicted of murder, at 35 I got my PhD in Media Studies, at 98 I started a Substack newsletter.
Me: Mute!
Note: I grew my Substack to 25 million in just three months. Upgrade to find out how I did it.
Me: I don’t want to know how you did it. I don’t even believe you. Mute!
But after a while, the people I’ve muted reappear in my Notes timeline, like zombies risen from the dead. And every time one ‘meme’ fizzles out, another one takes its place.
I suppose the best solution is to block them, but that seems rather extreme. I don’t want to hurt their feelings.
I did try that mini-bio thing just to see what I came up with and how difficult it was. Well it was easy, and made me feel icky. It required no effort, unless you count the amount of self-persuasion it took to write even a short brag about myself. So after taking a phone call which came just as I’d finished posting it, I deleted the wretched thing.
Interesting thing about bragging and cultures I think. On my recent course about writing for blogs, I sang the praises of Substack. A lady with an accent (that is relevant) asked me if everyone can see your subscriber numbers. I told her that the default is that they can, but I’ve turned it off for the following reasons.
Firstly, why is it anyone else’s business? I think this attitude comes from having run my own business for twenty years. The only time I needed to tell anyone my newsletter stats was when a potential advertiser asked me.
Secondly, if it’s a really small number, maybe people will wonder what others know that they don’t. Like restaurants. If I come across a restaurant that’s empty, I carry on walking. I want to go into one that has a lot of diners, because it suggests that the place has a good reputation. Not foolproof I grant you, but a reasonable off-the-cuff measure I think.
Thirdly, if I have a lot of subscribers, then parading that looks like a boast.
The lady with an accent laughed. “That’s a typical British attitude”, she said.
I said, you have an accent, where are you from?
She was from Finland.
Do the Finns have a similar attitude, I enquired?
She told me they did — but not as extreme as the British!
All I want to do is read good stuff, and have people read my stuff, without all this extraneous persiflage. That’s not too much to ask, is it?
Sax chronicles
A few months ago I asked a fellow student on my sax course if she ever felt like giving up. “Every week”, she answered, and we both laughed. I’d been experiencing the same for ages, but all of a sudden something changed. I think it was partly that, finally, the words of the tutor David Harrison had sunk in: “If you’re playing perfectly then you’re not learning anything.2” And also, reading the notes of Sonny Rollins, in which he observed that it’s often the case that just as you’re about to give up, something “clicks” and you’re over that particular hump. (I’m paraphrasing.)
When we watch the performances of musicians at the very top of their game, we witness near-perfection. What we don’t see are all those endless hours of practice, assorted difficulties and the persistent self-doubt. Anyone teaching or learning a musical instrument may therefore take some solace from the frank personal notes recorded by legendary saxophonist Sonny Rollins, wherein we learn that he isn’t happy with his high notes, and see him observe that breakthroughs often come right at the point when a learner is considering giving up completely.
No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
— Sonny Rollins
Rollins’ field was the saxophone, but his quest for mastery applies more generally – being not just matter of practice, but also healthy living and attention to detail. His declaration that, ‘No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up’ is pretty good advice in any circumstances.
A fascinating glimpse into the mind and development of a true virtuoso.
I’ve been keeping a sax diary. Mae West said that you should keep a diary, and then one day it will keep you. Lady Bracknell kept a diary so that she would always have something sensational to read on the train. My friend Greg keeps a diary, and as a result, talking to him can be a disconcerting experience:
Me: I read that they turned the Bataclan (a disco) into an office building.
Greg: Hang on a minute. Ah, here we are. We went to the Bataclan on the 6th July 1968, and you fancied a girl called Cindie.
Oh my gosh, yes, Cindie. She was beautiful. Slim, long blonde hair, sultry — hold on, where was I? Oh right. Well, I’ve never kept a normal sort of diary in my life, but I’ve been keeping a sax diary on a regular basis for several months. I’m finding it useful to consult when I can’t remember how I solved a particular issue. Like here, for instance.
Speaking of issues, a few weeks ago I kept squeaking. Well, not me, but the saxophone. After trying everything I could think of, I took it to Howarths, convinced I’d broken something. It turns out that the sax is in pristine condition, like new. I was pleased to hear that, because I’m very assisuous in looking after it: no eating or drinking before or while playing, cleaning it afterwards (apparently some people don’t: yeeeeuuuurrrgggh!), and kissing it goodnight and tucking it in every evening. Well, not quite. Aidan helpfully pointed out that I seemed to have the ligature done up so tightly at the bottom of the reed that the reed couldn’t vibrate at the top. Once that had been rectified, all was back to the pre-squeaking state of affairs. Big shout-out to Howarths in general, and to the ever-helpful people who work there, on this occasion those being Aidan, Charlotte, and Manon.
As we’re all friends here, I’ll be honest with you: my sight-reading isn’t as good as I’d like it to be. However, I’ve been studiously practising very high notes, very low notes, sustaining long, even tones, playing softly, grooving it up to arpeggios, swinging with scales and keeping my fingers much closer to the instrument. Things are starting to come together enough for me to think there’s a bit of hope for me yet. I liken the process to that shown in the Karate Kid, in which a teenager goes to a karate master to learn how to fight, but all the master does is get him to do his house repairs, like sanding the floor and painting the fence. This is how it all comes together:
And now, the moment you all have most definitely not been waiting for. Here’s a brief recording of me playing in a recent sax lesson, with feedback and commentary from David Harrison and a fellow student called Barbara. I have their permission to include their feedback. The recording wasn’t great so I’ve made it louder in parts using Audacity. I ain’t no sound engineer, but I’ve done the best I can. It’s not easy to hear what the other people are saying, but the salient parts are as follows, courtesy of Otter.ai:
David: That was great. I’d like to hear from other people what they thought. I've got a kind of clear concept of what I enjoyed about it, but what, what did other people think?
Barbara: I think it was lovely and gentle when it came in.
David: There's oodles and oodles of stuff that you can get in there. So, you know, you have to work quite hard to make it mean something. Otherwise it's just an exercise. And like Barbara, I think the dynamic3 was perfect, because it's not an obvious choice to play really quietly, especially if you're going to play in class.
Me: My ‘B’ was a bit flaky though, wasn’t it?
David: No. To be fair, you're the first one actually got all those notes in the right order, really. I think melodies like this are a form of personal growth. I really do. I think being able to play this tune and make it mean something, is a real challenge. How are you going to tell the story? There's nothing. But you know, there's nothing better than a proper salad when all you want is just something fresh. You know, it's just simple ingredients. I think that's the listening to a good musician playing a ballad. It’s something really intoxicating.
Terry: It's interesting. I mean, there's someone on YouTube who plays the harmonica. His name is <redacted> Technically, he is much better than I'll ever be. But it is pyrotechnics. He just kind of hits you with this sound, it starts off really loud and fast, and it doesn't divert from that, so it's just really unpleasant. And I feel like saying, going back to Simon's point about storytelling, I feel like saying, Yeah, we know you're really, really good. What you actually trying to say though? What's the message? You know? What are you communicating?4
David: It’s a very narrow concept of what really good is, isn't it there? But I was having exactly this conversation with the Level Ones5.
Of course, my playing has continued to be up and down since this was recorded. But here it is, I hope you enjoy it.
Quick shout-out to David Harrison too. He has a vibrant YouTube channel featuring guitar, saxophone and theory instructional videos.
Articles you may have missed
The evening class institute
George Orwell reflected that bookshops tend to attract the not-quite-certifiably insane. Attendance on many courses, both as a student and a teacher, has convinced me that the same may be said of evening classes…A dialogue
Flash fiction.EiS Xmas letter
My latest experiment in style: the dreaded Christmas round robin.10 must-read books (£)
Ten books for all time, not just for Christmas.Letter to Rebecca
. It’s her turn to reply to me. Subscribe to her fabulous newsletter so as to not miss it.
My latest chortlefest addressed to
Other people’s articles
Walking, a gentle and delightful post from
My just-published Christmas Romance
has just had her Christmas romance novel published, so here is more about it and where you can buy it. I haven’t read it, because I don’t like Christmas6 and I don’t like romance novels. But I like A. C. Cargill’s writing, and that’s good enough for me.’s beautiful personal essay about his children.London Streets: Night — brilliant (as usual) flash fiction from
prompted by some of my photos7.Videos you might enjoy
A new type of vehicle
A concept car from nearly sixty years ago. It’s an interesting programme, but as was often the case in those days, seems to assume that anything technical (like changing gears) is beyond women’s ability. It’s infuriating, but don’t shoot the messenger.
Chloe plays Another Brick in the Wall
Mick Miller on self-help books
Tocatta and fugue (with a difference)
Tommy Cooper
Well, that’s it from me. I hope you enjoyed reading it. If you did, please tell all your friends and non-friends about it. You can even share it if you like. After all, I’m new here, and — oh, wait….
If you’re at all interested in the people whose graves I visited, here are three links:
Bravery (my dad)
The Long Goodbye (My mum)
Which means I’ve been learning a hell of a lot lately, if the number of mistakes is anything to go by.
Meaning, how loud or soft. I was playing quite softly.
I will probably repeat this in a future post about playing harmonica, but I’ve thought for many years that telling a story is what good playing is all about. I remember many many years ago I was with a friend, him on keyboards and me on blues harp, and when it was my turn to play he said, “Come on, Terry. Make it cry.” In other words, convey an emotion.
I believe that to do that, one needs to allow silence to become a part of one’s technique. Oscar Wilde wrote of one character that he knew the precise psychological moment when to say nothing. Salvator Rosa said “Be silent, unless what you have to say is better than silence.” I think that both of these adages apply to playing a musical instrument.
To be clear, the Level Ones isn’t a kind of sect in which everybody is perfectly horizontal. It refers to the people who are doing the first year of the saxophone course. I’m on Level Two, and after this there are only another three years to go before I complete the beginning phase. OMG.
The best thing about lockdown was that I didn’t need to think of an excuse to not attend a Christmas party or New Year’s Eve party, or to fret about how I could leave as soon as I arrived without anybody noticing, because there weren’t any.
Aw, shucks.
Absolutely terrific post, Terry - I'd been saving it up to read and it's been a real treat. Reflective, thought-provoking, funny, insightful and delightfully musical.
Hurrah for getting desqueaked - that must have been a relief!
Nice to finally hear your sax playing and your voice. You might have posted both before but I'm trying to catch up with all your posts. We always think we know what someone sounds like until we actually hear them talk. Those overseas accents always throw me for a loop. 😁