I’ve been ramping up my running lately. It’s a type of meditation. Sometimes I just run. Other times I run and listen to music or podcasts.
Yesterday I went for a tempo run in the rain. I listened to the album, “Rave On Andy White” and entered my usual running dream/pain state. I thought of the inspirations I attached to these songs over the years. I thought how those inspirations morph into reminders. Sometimes they are just reminders about the stupid things I used to get inspired about. Other times I am reminded about the type of person I wanted to be.
Andy White sung about Reality Row like it was a bad thing. Maybe he is right?
As a young bloke I think he rather fancied himself as a ‘WockStah’ as he walked down Six String Street in a Groovy Kind of Way. Despite Andy being a bit of a narcissist (show me a young bloke who isn’t) I’ve always loved his cheerful tunes. I think Andy liked to pretend to be some sort of romantic version of Bob Dylan or an Irish version of Billy Bragg, some say he is. I wore out several of his cassette tapes over the years and I always love rediscovering his pop-with-a-hint-of-politics but mostly silly-romantic. Which probably says more about me than Mr White.
Here is a picture of me in the midst of a depressing and life changing time in 1990-ish.
I was probably recently returned from or soon to go to one of the many music festivals around at the time. I remember the Fleadh at Finsbury Park and the Féile in Tipperary. I am sure I was listening to Andy White when Neil, Gareth or Lizzy snapped it.
So, the run was shit. I could barely walk to the bog last night. Andy, as always, was good company on my crap journey. He helped me crack open a few insights along the way. Thanks for that Mr White.