I tried to write this separating me, Nick, from Nick the musician, but failed immediately. Of course they are separate persons but hey, whoʼs kidding who? My musical life has defined me since I was 11 years old and my other life just hung onto the coat-tails and hoped for the best. Well itʼs easy really, isnʼt it? Itʼs so blindingly obvious; so impure and simple; all those great ideas, all those brilliant, big, outrageous decisions; it all worked out just fine and thatʼs why weʼre all here still.. (just about) standing. Whoops! I forgot to mention that this is all with 2020 hindsight. Forgetting all those dreadful moments when we took the wrong turns and threw the dice, and it showed us a 6 but it turned out to be 1. Iʼve never been much of a gambler but life really is one long roll of the dice; itʼs just about how daring you feel and how many times you want to keep rolling!!!
Itʼs a hard task to look back and try to imagine what we all felt then, as young pumped up, invigorated youths trying to find the way; trying see that little crack in the horizon that you could push your hands through and open it up wide enough to dive in. I know some friends who are honestly still trying to find that opening for the first time in their entire life, but I was blessed
to know what I absolutely wanted early on and had enough encouragement from my family, and really positive reactions in my early teens to feel the confidence to move forward with my music. The gods only know how many people have been crushed or lost by not having a fabulous family (with no money but acres of love) with endless patience, who gave me the space and time to find my way forward, wherever it took me. None of this is meant to sound special or charmed or pompous (I hope), just an honest reflection on how it all panned out for me.
My grandad was a violinist and ran his own dance band that would play every Saturday night all the way through the Second World War because he was a Railway man (and therefore didnʼt go to fight) but had to keep the trains running. His band was called the “Kontiki Dance Band”. As a 12-year old sitting at home playing my latest song ideas, he would sit beside me sharing stories of those awful days but listen intently and always say “you keep trying boy. you keep trying. One day youʼll have an orchestra sitting beside you instead of me” What a cool endorsement. It eventually happened. My dad was a builder from true, rural Sussex in England and wow, he loved his music and was a weekend mobile DJ; so there were always these new records being brought home that he found somewhere at some collectors fare or at the local shops and his collection is quite remarkable. When he died he left 9000 vinyl singles; anything from The Sex Pistols to Tony Bennett!! I still have them. Need to get a Jukebox.
A crucial factor in my growing up was going to a really cool High School: it was part of the 1970ʼs changes from the old English Grammar school (Harry Potter scenario) to a young, new Comprehensive system that included everybody… gave everybody a chance whatever your talent or lack of..they found you…Maths, Geography, Sports, Horticulture… Composition……a young and earnest new breed of education. There was this great drama teacher at school and he pushed us and supported us to write our own shows about, for example, one called SHOOT about terrorism… yes terrorism!!…. and TOUCH AND GO about misogyny and sexism being dealt with by 16-year-olds…. imagine ..?? This is 1972!!
Anyway the rest is ancient history. I got lucky and Iʼm still fortunate, even today. I never ever count my chickens but this industry has been truly wonderful to me and I hope that Iʼm still giving back everything that I can, to the youngsters in my world over all those years, to be precise about 45 years. Giving opportunities and connections and funding when I spotted a new, big-hearted talent. The music industry really always was, and always will be, one of the most alluring in the entire world to rub shoulders with, simply because of its ability to project somebody from apparently nowhere to apparently somewhere in a very short time. I caught my rocket ship after 15 years of hilarious, abject failure.
So I imagine for a brief moment, if I had to talk to me, across the table, from an old “boy” like me… to a much younger man? Share a few tips? How it be might an intriguing, funny, possibly tearful conversation. Peppered with all the sadness of losing family and friends along the way; but hopefully much more about the unreliable, untellable stories from the road, from the studios, of the many fights and the long-awaited, final gloriousconquering punch in the air after winning the crowd again at the gig last night. The hopes and fears of a young buck, versus, the still, never resolved, hopes and fears of mine today!! What a possibility? It just might work… ……..Or much more likely it might end with a punch on the nose! Mine usually.
I set up the meeting in an old pub we both know, with the roaring fire in the corner; dogs at our feet; in the days when you could have a cigarette and talk about stuff that you donʼt even dare to innocently talk about these days, for fear of being accused of all kinds of ridiculous things. Across from me is a 22 year old and he seems cheerful, hopeful and talks a lot, and I warm to him. Thereʼs a spark in his eyes. Heʼs obviously got no money in his pockets but talks about his newly “acquired” Telecaster guitar as if it was a new born baby. Hold it close youngster!
He said he just found a new manager and was really excited about him. How this man had been selling cars for the last few years and had bit of money behind him. I said “why do you think this guy might help you if all he has been doing is selling cars???”… he said “no, heʼs really smart, got lots of energy and says that he knows a few people that might know a few people that might know a few people…..” I immediately think back to all the songs Iʼve written; songs called The Biggest Mistake of my life, Donʼt look back, One for the Mockingbird, (“you wonʼt see the bastards knock the running out of me”) Donʼt let it Bring you Down. Are you sensing a theme here?
I look over to him and heʼs laughing and says “but youʼve gotta start somewhere, youʼve got to get the ball rolling” and I say “yes, never stop calling, drive 100 miles every week to every meeting you can; with no money for the petrol. with your crummy demos on your little cassette tape….. sometimes for the “expert” not to even be there at the meeting… sometimes for them not to really even listen; BECAUSE you never know if that single moment will be the one when you connect with that person with open eyes and ears who gets you and will cherish your talent. You have to keep on and on until there is not a tiny slice of life left in your desire to keep chasing that elusive dream.
I finally wade in…never trust anybody that pretends to be an expert; or even more so, never trust everything an “expert” says and advises because those are even more dangerous folks, as in my experience they have wasted years of my life driving up endless cul-de-sacs, sometimes with contractual shackles, sometimes without, waiting for something to happen. Broken promises. Most have no experience in the industry..there is no qualification.…beware. Of course this is an angry and harsh generalisation as there are some very wise and kind and generous folk out there. I finally found them.
Across the table he says, “Thank you. I think you are being kind and have obviously been hurt along the way. Iʼll try to remember this if ever I get my lucky break…” Just for a moment his guard is down and he looks a little forlorn. It doesnʼt become him. He sips at his beer and finally fesses up. Itʼs been 4 years of wasteland. Nothing moving ahead. Doubts creeping in. Chirpy mates tells him to get over it. It breaks my heart. I try to find some composure and say “nobody likes a sulker..the girls, the pals, and even you”….. I remember those days vividly. So I try again and offer…” youʼve got to learn from your mistakes..itʼs a fool who doesnʼt …and the mistakes will make you a better man..just keep giving it out to Mother Universe and she will find you eventually and she will open that door. SHE WILL FIND YOU. I canʼt promise what door it is but the pain will eventually be over….” It sounds so bookish and preachy but I suddenly and honestly so much care for him.
I swallow my whisky. A burning mixture of memories and regret and victories. Itʼs the taste of the deliciously impossible conundrum and balancing act for a young entrant into the wide wide world. I so wish him wisdom and confidence in his own abilities and that he chooses well. Big, outrageous ones. I order 2 malts and hand him one. He says “Cheers, Iʼm not driving. Donʼt even have a feckinʼ car yet.” He swallows it back in one swig. Dutch courage? He stands and coyly says he has to call his new girlfriend. “Sheʼs so much fun and ever so pretty; quite challenging and I think good for me. I donʼt expect it will last but weʼre enjoying the moment….I know she wants to talk about us…..you know..is it real?..whatʼs the next move?”
I shuffle a little uncomfortably. “Ahh, thatʼs another conversation…”