Skip to main content

My Forgotten Masterpiece.


Yesterday, I had my own personal ‘Yesterday Moment’.

(The second yesterday above refers to the Beatles song, Yesterday; the first to when the moment took place. Have I made my meaning any clearer? Probably not.)

It’s fairly well known that the song came to Paul McCartney in a dream. He awoke in the bedroom of his girlfriend Jane Asher’s house with the melody fully-formed in his head. He crept over to the piano (carefully negotiating his way past all of the cake-baking equipment) and worked out the chords to accompany it.

Yesterday, the same thing happened to me (minus the house-proud redhead). While I was sleeping, a brand new song began forming itself in my mind. My only problem was that when I woke up I couldn’t remember how the bloody thing went.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. It’s very frustrating: why can’t my brain have some sort of tape recorder incorporated into it.

What if Macca had had a similar problem? If he’d woken up to Asher rabbiting on about her forthcoming role in the feature film Alfie, the outcome might have been different.

It’s a shame the same can’t be said for ‘Wonderful Christmastime’.

In my dream-state the chord sequence seemed pretty intricate. It was played on an electric guitar with a clean, simplistic sound; the melody following a repetitive structure whilst the progression changed around it.

It’s possible that the song wasn’t an Ephgrave original. I might have been dreaming about Cher, Neneh Cherry and Chrissie Hynde’s 1995 Comic Relief single ‘Love Can Build a Bridge’ and subsequently forgotten about it.

I’m pretty sure this wasn’t the case. Eric Clapton certainly didn’t crop up to play a moody guitar solo.

I guess I’ll have to chalk my missing song up to experience. I won’t let it happen again, though: from this moment forth I’m sleeping next to a musical arranger.

Popular posts from this blog

Shakerpuppetmaker.

Have Parker from Thunderbirds and Noel Gallagher ever been seen in the same room? The resemblance is uncanny. So much so, I think something’s afoot. If my suspicions are correct, I've stumbled across a secret that will blow the music and puppet industry wide apart. In the mid-60s / mid-90s at least. It doesn’t take long to see the signposts. There’s the similarity between the name of Oasis’ first single, Supersonic, and Supermarianation, Gerry Anderson’s puppetry technique. The Gallagher brothers would often wear Parkas . Live Forever was clearly a reference to Captain Scarlet and Standing on the Shoulder of Giants to the size difference between Noel and his bandmates. The more you think about it, the more brazen it gets. It’s fishier than Area 51, Paul is Dead and JFK's assassination put together. The only glitch to the theory is scale . According to Wikipedia, Anderson’s marionettes were 1’10” and Gallagher is 5’8”. How does he maintain an illusion of avera...

'...I'm Gonna Look at You 'til My Eyes Go Blind."

Over the past week or two, I’ve been on a bit of a Sheryl Crow kick, largely thanks to rediscovering her cover of one of my most-liked Bob Dylan songs. She has one of my favourite female voices, yet despite this, I only own one CD and that’s just a single (her '97 release ‘Hard to Make a Stand’); on that basis, you can only imagine how much of her back catalogue I’d own if I hated her (it would fall into minus-figures). Dylan, conversely, takes up more of my collection than anyone else, save The Beatles and Paul McCartney’s solo work. He’s one of those artists who, when you get him, you really get him - and once I’d tuned into his style as a student, I'd time and again be blown away by his lyrics; he’ll have more jaw-dropping imagery in one track than other people fit in a whole career. These days, I mostly listen to music in the morning when getting ready, and more often than not, this will consist of a suggested YouTube playlist when I’m in the bath, r...

Stevenage: A (Tiny) River Runs Through it.

If ever a river was mis-sold, it’s the Roaring Meg in Stevenage. I just walked past it on my way to the retail park that has taken its name. They’re similarly uninspiring. The river is less of a roar and more of a dribble; cystitis sufferers produce greater flow. The retail park is soulless. What was once a thriving enterprise is nearly devoid of atmosphere, save an underlying essence of emptiness and despair. With a Toys R Us. When it was first built I was excited. Back then, the thought of a bowling alley, an ice rink, a Harvester and a Blockbuster Video within a small surface area was enticing. I celebrated many birthdays on site. There was an indoor cricket pitch there for a while where I once had a joint party with a friend. Why someone with an almost pathological fear of sport would agree to such a venture is beyond me, but I did it. Now, there’s very little at the Roaring Meg of note. The river would be a metaphor for the shopping ce...