take tourists as hostages?
Dear God …
Time went by in the blink of an eye when I was dealing with a disturbing thought or an incomplete prayer—my many different attempts at reciting a prayer properly could take so much of my attention that anything else could pass without my being aware.
‘What happened?’ Mani rushed up as I scrambled to my feet, embarrassed.
‘I’m fine,’ I said with a slight grumble. ‘Not a bother.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I must have tripped over my feet.’
‘Not concentrating,’ laughed Akio as he reached us. ‘Eyes not on road.’
‘I had my eyes on the road,’ I snapped back. ‘I just tripped—simple. Anyone could do it.’
Mani threw me a sharp look; I was taking out on Akio what I should have been taking out on myself.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.’
Akio accepted my apology humbly and gave a friendly laugh.
‘Anyone fancy a break?’ I said then, knowing we all did.
‘Maybe we stop for lunch in the next village?’ Mani became enthusiastic at the prospect. ‘Dal bhat for Mani!’ He rubbed his stomach in a show of his unending love for the dish.
At the thought of food we shot off along the track. With so many downhill sections now, it was even tougher, being forever teased. Each downhill burst felt like fresh air, the muscles eased, the pain drifted away and then suddenly—bang!—an uphill slog grabbed hold of our legs and tied two giant boulders to our ankles, bringing us instantly back to earth.
As I struggled along, I couldn’t shake my frustration at having tripped earlier. Rituals and prayers—they’re the bane of my life, I thought with disappointment.They’ve affected everything I do, everything I love, even my music for Godsake!
A flurry of memories came to mind, one eventually settling upmost.
It was a showcase I’d played for record company execs back in Ireland. Showcases are nothing special—playing to one or two people who, if truth be known, usually had little power in making decisions. Generally ‘they’d be in touch’.
On this day, performing solo in a room in front of four casually dressed men, I played my heart out, singing songs that meant the world to me. I’d written them for myself, but people obviously liked them, including the four guys sitting before me.
After the set of songs the room fell silent. The men showed no reaction, then began to chat among themselves as if I wasn’t there. My mind started racing with worry and doubt. Finally they stopped talking. They’d reached agreement and they returned their focus to me.
‘Hi, Sean!’ said one. His accent was American; his tone slightly condescending. ‘You probably know who I am but, in case you don’t, I’m Don Taylor.’ I nodded in acknowledgement. He was a well-known record producer.
‘We’re delighted that you agreed to come and play for us today. We’ve all heard so much about you. What with the media and your gigging in Dublin, you’ve made quite a name for yourself over the past while, even internationally.’
‘Cheers,’ I said quite pleased with myself. ‘I didn’t know I’d spread so far.’
‘You must have some friends in the States,’ another interrupted. ‘They sent us on your material.’
‘Anyway,’ Don continued, cutting across the second man, ‘as I’m sure you know, this is a new venture for our companies. It isn’t usual that four major recording companies will come together to promote one artist.’
Cool, I thought, totally uninterested in the patter. I didn’t care about the current tide of the music industry or any of the other corporate talk that music execs spewed on about. All I wanted to know was how he liked the music.
‘I must tell you, we liked what we heard today. We liked it a lot.’ All four smiled in agreement.
‘Your music is awesome, man.’ Don suddenly drifted from formal to I’m-with-the-band! ‘The only problem we have is with you.’
I liked it better when
Dear God …
Time went by in the blink of an eye when I was dealing with a disturbing thought or an incomplete prayer—my many different attempts at reciting a prayer properly could take so much of my attention that anything else could pass without my being aware.
‘What happened?’ Mani rushed up as I scrambled to my feet, embarrassed.
‘I’m fine,’ I said with a slight grumble. ‘Not a bother.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I must have tripped over my feet.’
‘Not concentrating,’ laughed Akio as he reached us. ‘Eyes not on road.’
‘I had my eyes on the road,’ I snapped back. ‘I just tripped—simple. Anyone could do it.’
Mani threw me a sharp look; I was taking out on Akio what I should have been taking out on myself.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.’
Akio accepted my apology humbly and gave a friendly laugh.
‘Anyone fancy a break?’ I said then, knowing we all did.
‘Maybe we stop for lunch in the next village?’ Mani became enthusiastic at the prospect. ‘Dal bhat for Mani!’ He rubbed his stomach in a show of his unending love for the dish.
At the thought of food we shot off along the track. With so many downhill sections now, it was even tougher, being forever teased. Each downhill burst felt like fresh air, the muscles eased, the pain drifted away and then suddenly—bang!—an uphill slog grabbed hold of our legs and tied two giant boulders to our ankles, bringing us instantly back to earth.
As I struggled along, I couldn’t shake my frustration at having tripped earlier. Rituals and prayers—they’re the bane of my life, I thought with disappointment.They’ve affected everything I do, everything I love, even my music for Godsake!
A flurry of memories came to mind, one eventually settling upmost.
It was a showcase I’d played for record company execs back in Ireland. Showcases are nothing special—playing to one or two people who, if truth be known, usually had little power in making decisions. Generally ‘they’d be in touch’.
On this day, performing solo in a room in front of four casually dressed men, I played my heart out, singing songs that meant the world to me. I’d written them for myself, but people obviously liked them, including the four guys sitting before me.
After the set of songs the room fell silent. The men showed no reaction, then began to chat among themselves as if I wasn’t there. My mind started racing with worry and doubt. Finally they stopped talking. They’d reached agreement and they returned their focus to me.
‘Hi, Sean!’ said one. His accent was American; his tone slightly condescending. ‘You probably know who I am but, in case you don’t, I’m Don Taylor.’ I nodded in acknowledgement. He was a well-known record producer.
‘We’re delighted that you agreed to come and play for us today. We’ve all heard so much about you. What with the media and your gigging in Dublin, you’ve made quite a name for yourself over the past while, even internationally.’
‘Cheers,’ I said quite pleased with myself. ‘I didn’t know I’d spread so far.’
‘You must have some friends in the States,’ another interrupted. ‘They sent us on your material.’
‘Anyway,’ Don continued, cutting across the second man, ‘as I’m sure you know, this is a new venture for our companies. It isn’t usual that four major recording companies will come together to promote one artist.’
Cool, I thought, totally uninterested in the patter. I didn’t care about the current tide of the music industry or any of the other corporate talk that music execs spewed on about. All I wanted to know was how he liked the music.
‘I must tell you, we liked what we heard today. We liked it a lot.’ All four smiled in agreement.
‘Your music is awesome, man.’ Don suddenly drifted from formal to I’m-with-the-band! ‘The only problem we have is with you.’
I liked it better when
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