Solidified Might

Solidified might, past-imperfect as is.

Birth of the deadliest thing on the planet,

The Verb into Noun, the process into stasis.

Damn all these currents of feeling that kiss

And wear me, so much, with their wetness, or grit,

Solidified might, past-imperfect as is.

Silence, a stare, are my anaesthetists.

I freeze out pressure, heat. I won’t admit

The Verb into Noun, the process into stasis.

Sunshine, tears, won’t melt my heart like Ice’s,

I’m dead hard. Whatever moves, I’ll kill it,

Solidified might, past-imperfect as is.

I went to pieces once; perhaps round this

More grainy core, less brittle, I can fit

The Verb into Noun, the process into stasis.

Made of dead reactions, buried stresses,

Grist to milling Earth, I’ll never quit

Solidified might, past-imperfect as is.

The Verb into Noun, the process into stasis.

It would be cool to say I grew up on a back porch listening to Elmore James and Big Bill Broonzy (as name-checked by George Harrison on late Beatles and later solo albums) but my first childhood blues experience was Tommy Steele on a dansette record player channelling Elvis (who himself channelled  the Black blues musicians of the South) and his "Singin' The Blues" is still my default. It always come into my head in these moments. Soon after, I was fascinated by Frank Sinatra's haunting track  "Birth of the Blues" with its mysterious tale of "some people long ago" working out on the fields (ie on slave plantations) who "nursed it, rehearsed it, put it through a horn till it was worn into a blue note...". I then progressed to a "Top 6" cover band's version of the Stones "Little Red Rooster" themselves covering (superbly it has to be said) the original Black artists. Later of course there was Jim Hendrix who actually was Black and sang some authentic root blues like "Hey Joe" amid the psychedelic developments though his record company left his terrific blues standard "Redhouse" off his first album because it was "too Black'! I was actually more interested in the various fusions and developments and I still am. Ditto Dylan. Ditto the Beatles venture - after years rooted in and  brilliantly fusing it with European traditions - the Black music they loved on 'Yer Blues" on the White album. Ditto Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac. (The debate by then was is it ethical for white men to sing the blues at all, an early version of our cultural appropriation debate. The Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band's contribution was "Can Blue Men Sing The Whites?") Ditto the brilliant Side 4 of the American-heavy CBS sampler "Fill Your Head With Rock" - starting with Janis Joplin and even including one Black artist Taj Mahal. The Blue Horizon sampler "How Blue Can We Get?" offering one White album and one Black album (including Elmore James), was much rootsier. I realised its importance as the starting point of our music but , as with Led Zeppelin, it was the fusions and developments into 'rock' and prog and psychedelia etc that really excited me.   

In much later life, having a bash at playing and singing it myself, I realise that its great gift is its accessibility. There are blues virtuosos and geniuses of course - most of the above named, in the case of the visionary Hendrix perhaps the greatest blues-rooted performer and composer of all time  - but like skiffle and punk it's also not too hard to do it at a simple level. And that simple urgent formula and the way it lets your heart sing out with longing or sorrow is a Godsend. It began and flourished out of great suffering but it endures as a vehicle for joyous creativity, lover's complaint and a consolation for the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 

Speaking of developments and fusions, the lyric is a villanelle, a 14C  dance form adopted and developed (from its folk origins)  by the French renaissance court. I'm not sure if anyone has ever sung a formal villanelle as a blues before. The villanelle form is dance-like, recurring and repetitive and based on only two rhymes and pivoting around two refrains. This suited it for my subject, a stony consciousness longing to escape from its deadening self-confinement. This is a metaphor we use in expressions like 'stony stare' and 'heart of stone' but I'm also exploring the idea from "God Speaks" by Meher Baba of what (infinitesimal) consciousness an actual stone might have. For more see,  - https://peacocks-tale.bandcamp.com/track/villanelle-in-e-stone-blues