Today was one of those days where you have to make a conscious effort to get yourself outside. It's been cold and sunny, cool and windy, etc., lately, and these days all look the same. But, the air looked still, and it said 68 on my remote temperature gauge, that could be ok. It felt warmer in the sun, and became more so during the time I spent. I played the last song and then the first song from "our new album". That first one - it's hard to remember the time before, I wrote it so long ago, but it took so long, and I had to learn so much for it. It's surprising how expressively I can play it when I try. The verses take such a long and interesting arc of perspective and mood. The venom for the third verse ("It offends you to think/That you might be wrong...") is still being replenished faster than I can use it. There are a few other places on the album where the critical disgust never seems like I went too far, too. People keep proving it to be too true, and in quite a few cases, they are not who you'd expect. Most of us are cattle, and we both know it. The last one - the galactic-scale epic - is a bit different outside. The air and space tend to steal the stars quicker than they dissipate indoors. And, man, the number of things I made myself learn to do along the way, to get it even to the stage it is now. I lose track, and then I remember the first thing I struggled with, and it seems so - so long ago. And the words are caught at an interesting stage. I have almost completely memorized them, although in some cases I either don't remember the last cleverization and rhymenethotic ilterations, or I remember two different versions at the same time and I have to choose on the fly, decide which one was more likely the improvemint. And then there is that final battle - between what might be witty, or even elegant or beautiful, on paper, versus what sings well, what feels right in the moment of expression nestled with or against the beat and rhythms while playing it. There are a couple of little corners in it that need some final dusting and polishing. And perhaps one more jolt of chemitricity. I don't know how I would have made it this far, this past year, without live music to touch one or six of those many aching places within. I owe "me of thirty years ago" so much for taking those first steps to clumsily learning an instrument. And then I played something I just made up for three or maybe fifteen minutes, like I usually do. Maybe twenty minutes. It was nice out, and I was playing in the key of the Sun. 4/6/21 
© Huw Powell
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