I've been writing pretty much continuously since I started my detox and I've had a far clearer grip on what I've been writing about, rather than having to wait until I was in
just the right state with the right balance of drugs to hammer out a tune.
Even before that I was thoroughly inspired by seeing
Dave Hughes live. His tunes are so simple and unfussed on the surface they're accessible to just about everyone, while containing enough depth and authenticity to stand up up to repeated listening. (He'll love me saying this, so tell him he's a cunt to balance things up.) Obviously this is just not an option for me as I'm possessed of all the subtlety of a rottweiler with a dismembered baby in its mouth. With aids. But listening to his music has really inspired me to try and rein in some of the vitriol to make the remaining angry spite all the more effective. I owe Dave a lot in this respect, as he pretty much seems to have altered the course I've taken in music singlehandedly, just by being good at what he does and enjoying it. I think my tunes have benefitted, but I'm aware that me liking them more doesn't necessarily make them better.
I get treated like a second-class citizen in a couple of places in Govanhill, so sensibly I try and avoid them. But one is the shop at the end of my block where I get on really well with the younger generation of the family that own it and its only the older ones who treat me like some sort of neo-nazi thug. It might be the German parka, it might be the shaved head, I really have no idea and I have no patience with racists anyway. It feels horrible being treated like dirt for the colour of my skin and I've come quite close to just screaming PAKIFUCKWOGNIGGERCUNT at the rude dour-faced bastards many times just to live up to their obvious expectations. Obviously I'm far too nice for that, but even that gets me thinking about the double standards of political correctness and how they don't actually change a fucking thing. Maybe forty years ago when we still had to educate the ageing survivors of the Boer war it served a purpose, now it just divides people into artificial social groups we really shouldn't need by this point.
Many folk may have noticed I'm a miserable misanthropic bastard. I really can't help it, it comes naturally to me and to behave otherwise would make me feel like I was being dishonest. Telling people to cheer up is fucking moronic anyway. Yeah,
that'll work. See, there I go again. But I
like making people happy, I like the odd occasion when I get to be happy myself. Some times I even entertain the possibility of being a cheery, happy-go-lucky type, with a glow stick in either hand, and a kind word for everyone. Its not me, at all, but I do try. On new year I sat in the house having a quiet evening until about 2 in the morning when I snapped, went out and hit a couple of parties, rocked out like a motherfucker and came home around 2pm the next day. This sort of schizophrenia seems to be pretty much endemic of my character.
Last but not least, this:
Aye, haha, its of two guys kissing, but I fucking love this piece. Totally unremitting loveless passion, which is what 99% of my sexual encounters have consisted of. Its incredibly inspiring to have visual proof of how beautiful passion can be, with or without the presence of love.
Still don't think the wife would let me buy it.
So, after my walls of text, what inspires
you to write lyrics?
