Scuffed

nice.

I remember when I was 15 years old, the things I loved all tended to be pretty extreme. Not like, snowboarding or crack - but the music I liked, the films I enjoyed, the people I hung out with were all definitively something. I liked music which was angry, or euphoric, I liked films which made definite statements about society and people and places.

I guess I’m getting old, because it seems that these days to qualify for my time something only has to be nice. I’m content watching ‘cute’ little indie films with quirky soundtracks, and listening to music which is melodic and pleasant. Think Belle and Sebastian, Tegan and Sara, Pelle Carlberg. That’s where I’ve gone. And the same can be said for the people I seek to court with. I don’t need people around me who are constantly in search of a ‘cause’, I like spending time with people who are ‘nice’, considerate, good people who are able to hold a conversation, and who’s views aren’t likely to shock my parents.

damn.

Directions

Sometimes it feels like if I stood perfectly still, everything would see itself right, and that I could avoid making decisions or letting things happen, and just blissfully live out my days in a state of ignorant peace.

Sadly, I have a plane ticket with my name on it, and I can’t just file it away in a drawer somewhere and pretend it doesn’t exist. I have to leave this incredible city which I’ve loved since the first morning when I wandered out onto the deck and enjoyed the sea air falling through my outstretched fingers, and the blue sky raining sunlight the likes of which I’d not seen in my homeland.

It’s been eight months, and I still walk outside and smile when I realise that I’m living in one of Asia’s most vibrant and youthful cities, and when I realise that the monochromatic monotony of England is 6,000 miles away.

I’ll leave here in eight weeks, and go back home to graduate, and I’m scared by the prospect of never coming back here again. Of never sitting on the island in the bay and watching the ferries criss-cross to the various ports lining the artificial coast. I’m worried that I’ll never feel that sea air wash over me like it did that first morning, and that should I eventually return, the friends I have grown to love here will have moved on, and that the bonds which have brought us so close together will be irrevocably stretched.

People

Things happen which shake you’re faith in the goodness of people. One person who I had thought was decent and considerate turned out to be complete and utter cunt. I know violence is neither big nor clever, but I have a strong urge to introduce my knuckles to his chin and tell him to stay the fuck away from my friends before he hurts anymore of them.

I often extoll this belief that people are essentially good, but that faith is waivering as I see more and more people do things which could only be accurately attributed to scumbags. Perhaps I’m just complacently naive about the human race as a whole, maybe I let what I’d like to think was true, become my truth. Things are supposed to be far less dramatic than this.

Possible Setlist

I’m playing a gig in a couple of days, and I’m assembling a probable set-list from which to play. I only have an hour, so I’m keeping the number of originals down to a minimum, and aim to please the varied (but mostly foreign) crowd with some old favourites. Here’s how it’s looking at the minute. The order needs some work, as do I, I’ve barely played a note for a fortnight.

1. The Drugs Don’t Work (Verve)
2. Not Enough Mornings (Original)
3. Piazza, New York Catcher (Belle & Sebastian)
4. There Streets (Paolo Nutini)
5. High and Dry (Radiohead)
6. Girl From Mars (Ash)
7. Knockin’ on Heaven’s door (Dylan)
8. Karma Police (Radiohead)
9. Daydream Believer (The Monkees)
10. Englishman in New York (Sting)
11. On the radio (Regina Spektor)
12. You’ll be Next (Original)
13. Two Princes (Spin Doctors)
14. Eight Days a Week (Beatles)
15. A Hard Days Night (Beatles)

I’m not much of a speaker in between tracks, which probably accounts for the large number of tunes I’m hoping to fit into my hour long slot. It’s not the coolest collection of songs, but it is just me and an acoustic guitar, and it’s supposed to be about providing some senseless entertainment to the bars-folk, not about educating them on the latest synth-pop to come out of Stockholm.