I love my iPod. I love it all the time, but rarely as much as on the morning commute, as the Tube trundles from one station to the next, carrying with it a heaving mass of humanity, each of us taking comfort in community while craving solitude at the same time. 

I love my iPod; because without it, I would end up listening to one half of telephone conversations and therefore know more than I need to about Maureen’s surgery, and Jason’s dodgy knee, and how the chicken in most burgers isn’t chicken. 

These things are interesting, to a degree. But most of the time, I prefer Bob Dylan and every time I ask my iPod for him, it politely and willingly obliges. No questions asked; no judgements passed.

I have come to the conclusion that there is nothing cool about cool aloofness. There was a time when I envied those whom I saw as being distant; the calm ones, detached and seemingly disaffected. The ones who existed on a different plane; who sailed through life with the majestic indifference of a yacht, oblivious to the crude chaos of the dinghy boats beneath and around them. 

But surely this is no way to live. Life is messy, human relationships are messier still. And the ones who are put off by the grime and misery of humanity, who resolutely refuse to get down and dirty, well, I think they are missing out. If you’re going to be in, go all in. Heartache and disappointment are guaranteed. But so is glorious adventure. Bring it on.

It is that time of year 
when time seems to both lurch forward 
and stand still at the same time. 
A new year has slipped 
through the door, 
but I don’t have the weapons for war; 
I can’t shake the feeling 
that I’ve been here before. 

Helplessness. 
A planet in turmoil. 
The coalition of the good in retreat, 
seemingly no match 
for the footsteps that swell to a drumbeat 
as they come ever closer. 

This is us. This is our home 
which we don’t even own and yet, 
we are hollowing it out 
even as we shout 
Happy New Year to anyone who cares to listen. 

*****

Meanwhile, 
on the fridge, 
magnets remind me 
of the places I have been. 
Bookmarks in the pages of 2015. 

But the real reminder is ourselves. 
We are the places we have been,
We are the sunrises we have seen,  
We are all the moments we have laughed and cried 
and everything in between. 

What is a life well lived? 
A life that gives; 
that lovingly tends 
to the little flicker of hope 
in the hope that it will burst 
one day into glorious flame. 
A life that loves. 
A life that refuses to be defined 
by ever-present fear. 
A life that says Happy New Year 
and then never stops striving 
to make it so.

How to never grow old (or at least slow down the process)

Last week I had the good fortune of seeing tabla maestro Ustad Zakir Hussain in concert for the second time. The first time was about 15 years ago, at an all-night Indian classical festival back in India. It's possible I might be romanticising the event a little, but I have a vivid memory of sitting transfixed as Hussain proceeded to cast a spell on the assembled audience, with his eyes closed and a big smile on his serene face. 

It was one of those occasions when time seemed both to stand still and speed up all at once. As his fingers danced over the goat-skins of the drums, the darkness seemed to retreat almost in deference- making way as the sun peeked over the distant hills and bathed everything in a sort of ethereal glow. The intervening years have done little to dim the magic of those glorious few minutes. 

But back to last week. 
We didn't have the best seats in the house, but they were close enough for me to notice two things: 

1. The smile was as big as ever. 
2. He looked like he hadn't aged a day. 

As I watched him weave another one of his musical spells, I couldn't help but think that this gift, this passion, was surely the life-force keeping him this way. (Perhaps good genes too, but we'll leave that aside for the moment) 

Watching Zakir Hussain is to watch not just one of the finest masters of the tabla at work, but also maybe one of its keenest students. The joy on his face as he regarded both the results of endless practice as well as spontaneous alchemy was as much of a pleasure to behold as the performance itself. 

Somehow, I knew he felt the same excitement he did when he performed a soundtrack to a sunrise fifteen years ago, but also maybe it goes back even further; all the way back to when he first laid eyes on these little drums and decided that he was going to spend the rest of his life tapping them with his fingers. 

I thought about other people who seemed to have the same Peter Pan-like quality. AR Rahman seemed a good example of another musician, likewise Sachin Tendulkar and Roger Federer in sports. I am sure there are so many more, but to me these are people who seemed to lose themselves in their art. They appear to derive at least as much pure, child-like joy from it as we do from watching them. 

It's a wonderful thing to know exactly what you were born to do, and then have the will and courage to completely give in to it. Watching Zakir Hussain is to get a glimpse of what it's like. 

If you don't yet know what your passion is, there's still time to try and find out. And if you do know, chase it down. Follow it to where it takes you, no matter the cost. It's worth it; and I am pretty sure it works better than all the anti-ageing cream in the world.

An early-afternoon deconstruction of 'On Top of the World' by Imagine Dragons. Just, you know, because...

There are certain songs that enter your head and then end up staying for much longer than you expect, and when that happens it's often worth trying to understand why because it sometimes helps explain your innermost desires, the stage of life you're at, and where you fit into the larger, cosmic scheme of things. Or, of course, it might just be simply catchy. 

This song, in my opinion, does a number of things quite well, and I have listed them more or less in the order they occur (If you do notice some variation, blame it on the giddy side-effects of listening to this on loop for five-and-a-half months.) What do you mean that's insane? 

1. Opens with clapping. Clapping is always good. I am yet to hear a song with clapping in it that's anything but happy and drenched with a wide-eyed sort of optimism. For another example of a good old clap used to good effect, check out the second half of 'Here Comes the Sun' by a little-known group from Liverpool. 
2. Intersperses aforementioned clapping with some light acoustic guitar/mandolin. Casually kicks in about 30 seconds in; gets the beat going. 
3. Has a pleasant, somewhat high-pitched California-summer lead vocal, with just the faintest hint of Scandinavia. This is a tough trick to pull off vocally, but when it works, it verks. 
4. Gets a brief lull in (backing instruments stop- clapping continues) by way of build-up to rousing chorus. 
5. Has rousing chorus. 
6. Repeats one catchy, easy-to-recall, line with about 5-6 syllables (I'm on top of the world !) about 4 times in a single chorus. 
7. Includes a good, proper shout as part of the aforementioned catchy refrain. On this occasion, it's the classic 'Hey!'. This immediately elevates a good line to another dimension where you start to involuntarily say Hey! every time you hear the song (and sometimes even when you don't, but we won't go there). Some of the most popular songs of the past three years have included this small yet powerful word, whether it's in the intro (see Little Talks), bridge, or indeed the chorus, and sometimes in all three. Side note: There's also the Lumineers who nearly got to number one just by saying 'Hey!' about 35 times in the space of two-and-a-half minutes (alongside the trusty 'Ho!', thereby discovering some sort of musical yin-yang.)
8. Has some random indecipherable static/white noise about half-way through. This is good because people can go 'but what does it mean?!' The possibilities are endless. 
9. Follows immediately with the rousing chorus-bridge-chorus (repeat 8x) 
10. Cut instruments, start to fade out to just clapping. Close the circle; job done. Boom. Goodnight.

You know how sometimes you're stuck on a song so much that it seems to be following you around? That song is this song- a perfect soundtrack to the English summer that has now well and truly arrived.

Every three or four days a week, i take my place alongside other bleary-eyed commuters on the eastbound Picadilly line heading into Central London.

I flick through the morning paper and wait for the inevitable announcement that begins with the words 'We apologise for the delay, but...'

But most days, i also think.

I think about how much more attractive people seem the moment they smile.
I think about whether my shoes are too red and whether they're sending out the right message about me.
I think about where I've been and where I'm headed (apart from eastbound on the Picadilly line)

Most of the time, however, my mind is occupied with one single recurring thought-

Is it worth it?

Two songs...

...which I'd forgotten how much i loved about ten years ago. and love just as much now.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free



-------------
The space between
The tears we cry is the laughter that keeps us coming back for more
The space between
The wicked lies we tell and hope to keep safe from the pain
Will I hold you again?

I don't know about you, but at some point over the course of my professional career, I would like to sit in on a meeting where one of the following phrases is not used:

pedal to the metal/ rubber meets the road
gaining traction
gathering momentum
the upshot is...(my personal favourite)
back to the drawing board
going forward
at the end of the day

This is by no means an exhaustive list, but i'm exhausted just typing these. The wait for a meeting without one of them continues. I'm not holding my breath.

Because, at the end of the day...

Wood, steel and skin
he said,
were the three things
that made
the sound seemingly
take on a life
of its own, and meaning
like so many words
unsaid;
that, and the strings
that he picked apart
like thread, each
one vibrating with a sense
of its own unique purpose.










Wood, steel and skin
and a boy, alone,
making a sound
come alive
as though it were
made of
blood, flesh and bone.

And I,
watching it take flight
until it disappears from sight.

Soumik Dutta played the Sarod at Clare Hall, Cambridge. Summer 2010.

Songs often have the magical capacity to permanently store memories that you thought were lost forever, only to release them when you're least expecting it. They're not always good songs, and not always good memories.

But everyone once in a while, you get both. Like I did today.

One more Dylan post...

...last one for this year, I promise.

'Little Drummer Boy' is probably my all-time favourite Christmas song (despite the occasional mildly traumatic school nativity play flashback) and Bob Dylan sings it like it's never been sung before. Does anyone else think he's perfect for this song? Yeah, yeah, I know it's 'little' drummer boy, but there's no need to get all literal about it...

Just when I thought I'd heard it far too many times, Dylan's rasping voice makes this timeless classic seem 'cool' again. That, and one of the most quirky, off-beat videos you're likely to have seen all year. But don't just take my supremely biased word for it, check it out. pa rum pum pum pum.

Christmas is coming...

...and for the first time ever, Bob Dylan is ringing it in. That's right, the greatest songwriter of our times is singing Little Drummer Boy on his latest album. 'Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum, on my drum (and guitar. and harmonica)'

I haven't heard Christmas in the Heart yet; I'm having too much fun just reading some of the reviews. Here's an excerpt from one of them:

"Whereas most vocalists might prepare to record by getting plenty of rest and sipping warm tea with honey and lemon, Dylan sounds as if he just closed down the bars in Bethlehem with the Three Wise Men and then smoked some frankincense and myrrh as a nightcap." Heh.

My favourite piece though, is this part-review, part-worship-at-the alter. Always somewhat comforting to come across a kindred spirit.

And of course I'm going to buy it. It's Dylan. I would probably pay just to hear him breathe heavily on an album. Besides, he's not making a dime from this one, all proceeds go to charity. So there you go. Greatness for a good cause.
pa rum pum pum pum.

The inevitable Dylan post

One of the great pleasures of shopping for books (or anything else, for that matter) is walking in to a shop and finding you have a 50 per cent discount on a title you would have gladly paid full price for. And so the Cambridge Companion to Bob Dylan is now on my shelf, along with the 9 other books under 'D'. All on Dylan. One more will make ten, just in case any of you have been staying up at night wondering what to get me for Christmas...

I've got about 25 pages in; the excerpt below is from the Introduction:

...Dylan from an early age boasted the voice of a seemingly old man – seemingly the very voice, to steal a phrase from Greil Marcus, of “old, weird America.” In an era when pop (and even folk) stars were, as today, meant to sing like the nightingale, Dylan instead sang as the crow. But that croak, it seemed, contained a depth of feeling and passion and anger and joy and wisdom and disillusionment not hinted at by the songbirds; it came as a revelation. And it sounded like the voice of Truth...

The rest of the first half consists of essays, each taking on a different perspective Of Dylan's life and career, while the second half takes a closer look at some of his landmark albums. I am hoping it will shed some light on at least a few of the 800-odd Dylan songs I currently have on my iPod. I was going to post the link to a review I wrote of his 2006 album (and one of my personal favourites), Modern Times, but the article is no longer on the Amazon website. I’ll try and post a review of the most recent album, Together Through Life, soon.

Yes, I'm obsessed. I have no friends. Well, except Dylan.

Wait it Out

If you were anything like me and spent most of last night flicking through clips on ted.com after listening to Nandan Nilekani, you would probably have come across this video. If you didn't, well, here it is.

Just in case beginning afresh, afresh, afresh isn't your style- wait it out.

Boulevard Of Broken Dreams

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
and I'm the only one and I walk alone

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone...

- Billie Joe Armstrong