Saturday, 31 October 2009

Crystal Glass Gates Filled With Light

The Light Gate

On the counter-point of darkness
Stand my glass gates
On foundations of light,

That guide with a brilliant beam
Holds the blinded navigator
Still searching for his sight,

And this magic light show
Has now begun
Like a razor sharp laser
Brighter than the sun.

The gate towers
Are light shafts
They illuminate and burn
Like a beacon to the lost
Make the clock mechanism reverse,
Re-start and turn,

As the stars fall
And the angels yearn
As our hearts fold
With love and pain
That cannot be discerned.

Until the gates crash open
As the word is spoken
We’ll find answers,
Defrost the future,
Leave the past frozen.

These gates of glass will fall,
and the light will open.

IT is some time since I began working on The Light Gate. I remember a two day period - amongst my last living in Camden - when I began to try and scratch the surface of how I could follow the charming recordings that I had pieced together for Attack Of The Chevron Action Flasher: A Mini Opera.

I learnt a lot from recording those and crafting a finished project. But there it was. I had produced. Delivered. Job done.

And what followed was frustration. I became unwell, a lot of my past emerged and enveloped me in an emotional hinterland of sorts for three years. This in actual fact has proven to be the genesis of the Light Gate. What I had in 2006/7 was concept. What I did not have was heart. The lead protagonist of my tale Edison aka Edward Sun, was a vacuum of sorts. I thought, "why should anyone care about this soul?".

At the time I was consciously trying to avoid being self-conscious in my writing.

Then I came to a realisation. I realised that I had plenty of sources from which to draw that would enable Edison to be a surreal mirror character, and enable Edward Sun - his co-efficient in the gross consciousness - to be real. What I did, was decide to give him my own DNA. I decided that I would put my experiences in him, and realised quickly that in doing so that the trigger of his leap into surreal was in fact driven by my own experiences.

This was -and still is- a risky game. I can be shot down. I have had to draw upon some acutely painful experiences to give him substance.

The lyric guide above was the first thing that I wrote for the opera. It is intended to set a scene. A scenario where all the light in the world has been taken captive in a set of crystal glass gates, but that shines out across the wasted land of our urban existence to draw Edison - The Navigator - to them. Light at the end of the tunnel. But it is also about a duty to our common 'man'. It is the decidedly unsexy proposition in rock n roll, that we have responsibility. That what we do has consequences and that in dark situations, we can be the only one to make a difference.

I want to make something clear. I do not see myself in that position. All I do is write songs. I have no urge to be someones hero. I am here to serve. That is enough. My reward is having a way of taking my own journey through the creative process of writing this. This is my therapy. Writing is a compulsion and will eventually save me.

I will be writing on this blog in the coming weeks, months, years about a whole array of projects. This will include of course my beloved Light Gate project, but expect more from The Chevron Action Flasher, because I am taking this indoors with film projections following the highly successful experiment at The Treehouse Gallery in Regent's Park.

Expect also updates on the album that I have not forgotten about - Amazing Unfinished Rock n Roll Odyssey - which stalled a little but is very important to me. I feel compelled to seal off part of my past and step into the future. That future is a world of glass gates filled with lights, beacons, radio masts, and light shows.

There is going to be a lot to come. I am on a precipice of sorts. I am calling for collaborators. I can offer things that I could not offer two or three years ago. That is what growing old does for you. I went through it and came out the other side. One day we will fly.

The BoHo Scarecrow

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