My final post. For Beth.
I saw Peter Tork of the Monkees tonight. He performed with his band, the Shoe Suede Blues, and it’s not just a silly pun. You can tell he is a man in love with the blues. And also, in love with music.
I had a long talk about beliefs with Beth a while ago, and it’s been on my mind. To the point where I came up with my perfect epitaph – “I’m A Believer.” I want it on record that when I leave this world that I want that written under my name and place of birth.
Let’s look at that phrase. It’s synonymous with one of the great pop songs of all time. And pop music is something I have believed in all my life. It captures me, inspires me, warms me and thrills me. Even tonight, in the Notting Hill rain, I passed a record shop and looked in the window, and stared at a copy of the Shins record on vinyl.
“I’m A Believer” is also one of the greatest love songs of all time. One of the great downbeat-verses-then-euphoric-choruses. The man has been saved. And love, and love songs, has also played a huge part in my life. Love in all it’s different meanings…friends, family, women, strangers and country. And more.
Lastly, there is the word Believer. I definitely am one. I use no facts to shape the way I live my life. I just believe. In music, in fate, in love and in life. I just do. With no basis. I would have made a great religious zealot if someone had got to me early. Someone other than the Beatles.
So I’m thinking about all these things. It’s coming up on Valentines day, and I realised that love is an unexplainable thing, and I live in a life that tries to explain it. I’ve written love songs, and I’ve listened to them all my life. My job is, essentially, to get more love songs out there. But they take tinted photos of love. It’s not real, and it never is. Paul Kelly once sang… “I’ve never heard a love song yet/That I can call yours and mine.” I think it’s because none exist. If you can describe what makes you love a person, in any definition of the word love, then it’s not love.
Same, in many ways, with death. There is a dictionary definition, but it’s also inexplicable. I could write forever about those two topics, and you will never, ever, see it my way. Which is why this blog is ending. I’ve realised that leaving a record of my thoughts here, for the public, is a hopeless idea. I could never describe to you the things I see, the way I’ve felt. It’s mine and it will never be yours.
The other reason is the excitement is over. I started this blog because my life was at a point where there were things to write about. It was a time to write a diary, because every day was different. Now it’s not the case, as days bleed into eachother and I fall back into a rhythm of regular life.
So it’s time, again, to let it go. Send me an email if you want to hear from me. But none of my life will be on here for public record again. You’ll never get it. And it’s not that interesting anyway. And the past, Australia, is far away. I’m sure I’ll keep in touch with many of you as I have done, but this has to stop.
We should be ashamed to think we know what we talk about when we talk about love. Or life. Or death. Or anything. But on the other hand – I’m a believer. I believe in all those things, without facts, on pure faith and just, you know, something to believe in. Just to keep going. So I’ll believe, and not feel ashamed.
Peter Tork played I'm A Believer tonight, to a small crowd, because he is still drawn to it. He still wants to play music. He still believes. I do too.