Thoughts in Progress

It must have happened about a third into my run a few days ago. I was listening to my mp3 player as I usually do, my training getting more Brighton-Marathon-focused these days, each song propelling me up, incline after incline. Then, all of sudden a particular track kicked in and I felt a strange sensation. For some reason, the lyrics seemed to unveil a secret hitherto buried: Way over yonder/Is a place that I know

Where I can find shelter/From a hunger and cold/And the sweet tastin' good life/Is so easily found/A way over yonder, that's where I'm bound.

I must have listened to Carole King’s Way Over Yonder a thousand times before. One of my favourite records is the Tapestry album. But on this occasion King’s timeless composition took on a different meaning.

January has come and gone and for those who make New Year resolutions, a fresh start along with practical strategies is de rigueur. How to identify and maintain willpower, stick to a plan, set one goal at a time and learn from failure, are some of the elements that make up this “New Year, New Me” approach.

Not for me, though. For starters, I do not make New Year resolutions. Secondly, for the last four or five years, I have begun to reach more into myself, to attempt to deepen an understanding of who I am. This is where King’s song comes into the picture. A first listen (and multiple ones after, perhaps) might make one think that Way Over Yonder is a religious-themed tune. All this talk of “garden of wisdom” and “the land where the honey runs” invites a Bible-friendly reading of the song.

And yet, for me, this garden of wisdom is to be found within myself and not in a holy book. It is the place where I would like to believe I have planted myriad plants, flowers and trees throughout my forty-seven years (and counting) and which I need to tend to regularly.

Last summer I began to impose a social media curfew on myself. There was a strong reason for it which I will not discuss here (no, there was no addiction. It was more creativity-related). There were such positive side-effects, however, that I decided to extend the curfew beyond my six-week-long, annual leave. Add the meditation I have been doing for the last three or four years, plus mindfulness, plus a more positive attitude in general (less anger, more thinking) and my body and mind together have become Carole King’s land where the honey runs.

Without wanting to sound too preachy, sometimes we look at external elements to help us keep a healthy equilibrium of brawn and brains. We tend to forget – and that’s happened to me – that the real balance lies within. Start from within and everything else falls into place. Well, most of the time.

© 2019

Thoughts in Progress

Nancy Sinatra once sang: “Well, these boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do/One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you”. It is not just Miss Sinatra‘s sassiness that sets up apart but also what we do with our footwear.
My boots turn twenty this year. Notice the use of “my” in the previous sentence. I did not write “I have a pair of boots that turns twenty this year”. I could have, though. I have more than one pair of boots, including hiking ones. But when I say “my boots”, there is only one pair that counts. My Mexican boots, bought in 1997, end of February or beginning of March after I found out that I had been given my tourist visa to visit London.

Although I have forgotten the month and date, I do remember the day when I purchased my boots. It was a typical winter’s day in Havana with the temperature hovering in the mid-20s. That morning I went to the British embassy in Miramar, western Havana, and after getting my paperwork in order decided to hit the streets of Old Havana, in the east, for a while.

The first shoe boutique in the Cuban capital – to my knowledge – had recently opened on Obispo Street, a pedestrian-only road that was flanked by shops, paladares and crafts business on either side. It was on one of its corners where I first laid eyes on a mahogany-coloured pair of Mexican boots. They were dear, I won’t lie. The fact I cannot remember the price probably tells you how embarrassed I felt at the time at coughing up much-worked-for cash in exchange for such luxury product. The money came from my free-lancing. It was a fruitful period for me; in addition to my interpreting and translation services I taught Spanish to foreign students.

From that moment I put my boots on, winter/spring ‘97 to now, writing this post in the quiet of my house, listening to Beethoven’s Sonatas performed by Daniel Baremboim, my faithful boots have always been by my side. As if to remind me of their longevity, today one of them paid a visit to our local cobbler’s (yes, believe it or not, we still have a cobbler) and it now has its heel glued back on.

James Taylor’s lines “Winter, spring, summer or fall/All you've got to do is call/And I'll be there, ye, ye, ye/You've got a friend” could well have been written with my boots in mind. They are the ones singing the verses. On my feet they travelled to Dominican Republic, Spain (three times), Cuba (twice) and various places in Britain, including Oban (Scotland), Dorset, Cornwall and Woolacombe (England). They have been worn to pedal down the streets of Londontown and I’ve walked with them from Oxford Street, where it meets Charing Cross Road, to Lambeth Bridge via Whitehall and Abindgon Street. I have got hot and sweaty whilst dancing with them on (in fact, that’s how the heel on the right one came off a year and a half ago).

In a world of unbridled consumerism it would be easy to dismiss my unshakeable and unconditional love for my boots as romantic tomfoolery. Well, I’d better come clear then: I am a hopeless, romantic fool sometimes. Only sometimes, mind, the rest of the time I am a romantic with 99% of reality in my head. Occasionally, I tell that 99% to go very far and stay with that 1% that more than makes up for the missing percentage.

Last autumn, for the first time in two decades I looked in a catalogue for a similar pair of boots to my Mexican ones. I guess that in the back of my mind the idea of the inevitable was forming. My old friends will give up the ghost one day and, whilst nothing can replace them, contemplating alternatives did not feel like treachery. However, I got so upset at the thought of losing my dear, old boots that I closed the pages of the brochure in my hands.

Here's to you, my faithful boots!

It is strange to think of inanimate objects, like shoewear, as friends. It is normal to fall for cats, dogs and other pets and see our relationship with them in the same light as a friendship with another human being. Yet, to me, the fact that this pair of tough, solid, well-made boots have endured for so long and have made such a big impact on my life is proof that sometimes friends are not of the chase-the-ball kind, or the roll-over-the-floor-while-I-tickle-your-belly type. Sometimes all they want is to be worn. Over and over again. All over the city, the countryside and near the sea. Now, whether you decide to walk over someone with them on, well, that one is up to you. And I certainly am not that sassy.

© 2017

Next Post: “Living in a Multilingual World”, to be published on Wednesday 15^th Marchat 6pm (GMT)

Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music

Some deaths affect one more than others. Even when one doesn’t know the deceased, the full impact of their demise never really disappears. Often this happens with performers, be it actors or actresses who have left a long-lasting impression on us through an iconic role; or musicians who, with their charisma, have pulled us out of dark moments in our lives.

Philip Seymour Hoffman was one of those people.

To me Philip was in the same category as a John Malkovich, a Tilda Swinton or a Forest Whitaker. At their best, these actors make the audience forget that they are playing a role. And yet, when you see them with the make-up off, or without the special effects, or the prosthetic limbs, they look so ordinary. They look as if they are about to pop down to the shops for a bit of washing up liquid, a couple of lemons and some garlic. I grew up on the same block a famous Cuban actor used to live on. He still does. I often wondered: how is it possible that this man made me cry last night at the theatre and now he is queuing in front of me to get the same milk I’ll get, using the same ration card I’ll use and talking to the people from the barrio without any airs and graces?

I first saw Hoffman in Happiness, a film so disturbing that I remember travelling on the Underground at the time trying to work out who was hiding a possible Allen inside. I then saw Boogie Nights and I knew that he had it. He had that knack of not just transforming himself into the role he was playing but also transforming the viewer’s notion of what acting was. A couple of years ago Film Four showed The Big Lebowski and would you believe it? There he was again, in a minor role, but you couldn’t miss it.

Drugs: a complex issue

Seymour Hoffman  not only had a strong, chameleonic stage persona, he also had a trait common to all of us: he was a human being. A fallible human being, as it turned out. One who was addicted to heroin apparently. It is this dichotomy that makes his death hard to take. On one side we were exposed to his versatility as an actor, his fearlessness in taking on difficult roles (his Capote was as good as Toby Jones). On the other side there was a fragility, a vulnerability that even he himself must have repudiated and struggled with.

All this made me think of drugs and why people take them. I don’t just mean the act or the context, but also our views on the whole process. Mention the word “drug” and many of us put our blinkers on. We become judgemental rather than logical. It was only after I became a parent that I began to think of drugs more seriously. What if? There’s always a “what if?” with parents. The more I read about the subject, the more in the dark I found myself. Also, the more afraid I was.

I used to be a firm believer in prohibition. Ban drugs and order will follow. Lock up drug dealers and society will improve. Notice the past tense. I used to believe that. But not anymore. Just like it happened with capital punishment – in which I also had great belief – I used to think that if you put more resources on the ground, i.e., more police, more coastguards, better border controls, you could eventually solve the drugs problem. But addiction is not straightforward. First of all it's the nature of it. Is it a mental or physical condition? We know that the body doesn’t demand heroin natural (it demands food and water), so therefore the need to shoot up comes from a social environment. This environment could be a learnt one (children exposed to drug addict parents), or one they have accessed through their peer network. What I have come to realise is that we lack strategies to deal with different scenarios.

When someone suggested to me many years ago, when my children were still very little, that the better way to deal with the perennial drugs and booze problem was let teenager have them in a safe environment, I confess that I gave my interlocutor a dirty look. To me that was to admit defeat. However, he was half-right.

Hoffman died on his own, shooting up. He wasn’t in a party indulging himself in a cocktail of sex, drugs and rock’n’roll. That means that it can happen to anyone anywhere. I have no information on the quality of the drugs he was using at the time of his death, but I do know that many of the junkies looking to get high right now will most likely end up buying an unregulated product from someone who doesn’t give a damn about human life.

Do I agree with the consumption of drugs? No, I don’t, even though the title of this regular column has the name “coffee” in it. Caffeine is a drug. Do I agree with people dealing with drugs? No, I don’t. I admit that whenever I think of this topic part of me sometimes becomes a human version of The Daily Mail whilst on other occasions it is my liberal, progressive mindset that is in control. But I believe that there is something on which I am sure everyone will agree. We need to talk about drugs. We owe it to Philip and others. We also owe it to the next generation, unless we want to see more people ending up dead with a syringe by their side.

© 2014

Next Post: “Let’s Talk About...”, to be published on Wednesday 12^th February at 11:59pm (GMT)

Killer Opening Songs (I Feel the Earth Move)

Comfort music is like comfort food: a simple, familiar dish better served when you return home after some time away. Or as in Killer Opening Songs's case, after three weeks (volcanic ash cloud included). And amongst the melodies that could be included in K.O.S.'s canon there are a few you might recognise and probably even use to induce that feeling of well-being and satisfaction. Macy Gray's debut album 'On How Life Is' comes to mind straight away. And so does Fiona Apple's 'When the Pawn' (the full title is 'When the Pawn Hits the Conflict He Thinks Like a King', but let's not get picky). In Spanish, Killer Opening Songs plumps for the music of Joaquin Sabina ('Fisica y Quimica'), whereas the Algerian singer Souad Massi fills up K.O.S.'s heart with warm and nostalgic tunes ('Deb').

Yet, when discussing comfort music, space should be made to include one of the more flavourful albums ever made: 'Tapestry' by US singer, songwriter and pianist Carole King.

Whereas most records will contain at least one weak track or filler (sometimes two or three depending on the length), 'Tapestry' is one of those rare musical outings where each song is a standalone hit. No wonder it spent fifteen consecutive weeks at number one in the US (according to wiki) and six years in the charts. The album combines King's wide vocal spectrum with stellar musical arrangement. From racy melodies, like for instance the Killer Opening Song, 'I Feel the Earth Move' to mellow ballads, like 'You've Got a Friend', this is a pop record where the artist's creative vision calls the shots.

The Murderous Introductory Track is a good example. 'I Feel the Earth Move' mixes upbeat piano rhythm (Carol's), energetic vocals (her again), wild guitar chords (Danny Kootch) and a good partnership between Joel O'Brien and Charles Larkey on drums and electric bass respectively. The latter two remain on the sidelines so as not to overshadow piano and guitar, but they still make their presence felt. The other element that makes this track as enjoyable as a plate of steak with rice and black beans is the way the piano comes in between each phrase at the beginning to accentuate the rhythm: 'I feel the earth (piano) move (piano) under my feet/I feel the sky tum-b-ling down - tum-b-ling down...' The image it presents to me is polished harshness, a raw track, but a cheerful one, too.

When K.O.S. first heard this album he was taken aback by the contrast between the sense of placidity and domesticity conveyed by the cover - Carole King sitting barefoot by the window, enveloped in a shadow of blue hues, kitty cat nearby, curtains open and letting the sunlight in - and the bold tone of the Killer Opening Song. But with the passing of time and after listening to it many times he realised that both album cover and content are intricately linked. They provide that ultimate feeling of homecoming and heart-filling: it is comfort music and you're invited to tuck in.

Copyright 2010



Next Post: 'Feminism: Has It Gone Wrong', to be published on Tuesday 27th April at 11:59pm (GMT)