TO BE GONE

I went for a run late one afternoon. It started to rain as I made my way around the lake close to my home. The soft dirt path quickly turned into a mudbath and the trees cast long menacing shadows across the trail. I didnt mind the rain. I like running at odd hours in bad weather as long as I’m wearing decent clothes.

I picked up the pace, just another kilometer to the warmth and safety of my small student apartment. I had moved to a new town, a new country and hadn’t made any close friends yet. I spent my pastime running and learning how to operate a small 8 track portable studio. This particular night I chose the running shoes.

I started the final climb with Radiohead pounding in my headphones. Neon signs and trafficlights blurred out in the rain. I felt strong and I kept good pace. Then….

BOOM.

Next thing I know it I’m on the ground with a taste of blood in my mouth. All I could hear was the sound of rain, cars and unfamiliar voices shouting at me in French. All I could see was red lights flashing in the corner of my eye and a deep dark grey sky leaning in over me.

So, I had crossed a red light and was hit by a vespa. No big deal. Both me and the driver fell and obviously it was my fault. Luckily no one got hurt except for a nosebleed. I felt ashamed, sad and alone, but I was ok.

I apologised and on wobbly legs I walked the last few blocks to my apartment building. Back home I immediately switched on my Roland 8 track studio, tuned up my Takamine guitar and wrote To Be Gone. It took me 15 minutes. I started playing the bass line, just like the record, then the verse and first chorus, followed by the second verse and so on. When the song was safely stored on the hard drive I went straight to the bathroom and threw up.

After I recovered from the concussion I recorded another fingerpicking part in the chorus and some airy vocal harmonies. I also wrote a fourth verse that I ended up taking out. The song was pretty much done in those 15 minutes and needed no fixing.

To be gone doesn’t have anything to do with what happened that night but the incident made me pick up the guitar and sing to comfort myself.

A song written in realtime is a precious gift. It’s like it already existed and you get to bring it into the world. It’s a mysterious thing, the process can’t really be explained, forced or controlled. If you get greedy, impatient or try to force it into being-it simply slips away. You have to be still and listen, pen and paper can be useful, a simple voicememo can capture pure magic. Sometimes you get lucky.