It may be obvious to many of us, but we need to keep reminding ourselves: Music is a superpower and we underestimate it at our own peril.
Music can move, inspire, connect, heal, be a source of joy, an art form, a signpost to a different world and also deliver a potent message. In short, it has all the tools to change the world.
My father used to tell me frequently that “love is the answer” and that “music was the universal language, the connector…” I couldn’t fail to see that he was speaking his truth. I believed him and grew to love hearing his tales of how love and music could intertwine, how they could work their magical spells together.
Despite being a conscientious objector, he had somehow become hooked into the war effort in the early forties and had ended up on the RAF front line in Cherbourg as the first arrivals shortly after D-Day. What he did then was remarkable, turning his attentions from war to music. I still have a cutting from a local paper which tells his story “With the guns of war rumbling in the background, Ray and his fellow members of the Embarkation Unit dance band staged a show in the town - the first British dance band to be heard in France since pre-war days. Dad used to tell me about that evening “the greatest in his life” as the newspaper quotes him. “Just liberated, the French went mad. They showered us with affection and gifts and the members of the band were overcome with emotion”
My Dad, on the right, on a Cherbourg rooftop
Thanks to my Dad’s initiation, one of my greatest gifts has been to live, breathe and feel music on a variety of levels. Its power to make us get up, dance and shake it all out, to cry at its delicate beauty, to marvel at the way music and words can combine to create paeans to the times, to elevate music as a potent marker of an era, to bottle up and keep memories alive. And to create a feeling of hope and a sense of purpose…
My own relationship with music has been a rich and consistent seam through my life, starting with an appreciation of music in our house, then learning to play drums with bands in various halls and venues in my hometown of Leamington Spa (where my Dad had gone on to host the weekly Town Hall dance in post-war years) from age 15. I immediately saw the power of music to gather people and bring great joy. Whilst early 70s prog rock, glam rock and funk had demonstrated how music and fashion can playfully dance and bounce off each other, the perfectly-timed arrival of punk while I was a sociology student at Reading University was a major force, a disrupter and a confirmation to many that the DIY spirit was anarchic in the best ways and a great enabler as well as something of a wake up call for the stuffy music business.
After learning my trade at Our Price Records and Making Waves distribution in the early 80s, I used that sense of DIY spirit to start my first self-employed endeavour - my own label, Cooking Vinyl in 1986. The second release on the label was in many ways the ultimate homespun production, a recording on a pre-walkman, a Sony Corder around a campfire at Kerrville folk festival with a woman who I’d just met that evening after hearing her singing earlier. That cassette recording of a hitherto unknown talent, released as The Texas Campfire Tapes proved an unlikely success, to levels I couldn't have even dreamt of myself, selling close to a million albums and setting up a career for the singer.
Both the DIY spirit of that auspicious recording and the importance of the spontaneous campfire setting have had a profound effect on my subsequent work around music and community. Until recently, I had almost forgotten that while I was a journalist writing for the excellent fRoots (Folk Roots) magazine at that time, I’d received a letter from none other than Pete Seeger, commenting on a previous column and talking about the way music is presented. I quote from my column “Seeger suggested that the rise and advancement of technology has brought about a situation where people seem to mainly be interested in what music is being made into microphones rather than what is happening in bars and pubs, kitchens or on buses and hiking trails, which in turn is reducing the human race to spectators rather than participants.”
It’s interesting now that Seeger’s legacy is very much in the ascendant now, additionally prompted by his major role in the recent Dylan biopic, as are the likes of Joan Baez and other 60s activist / pacifist musicians. Their influence now seems to be all-pervasive and the time feels right. We’re still singing their songs and in the current climate of division and war, their message its more vital than ever.
Pete Seeger
In today’s divided world, where are the universal anthems? There is a sense that new songs of hope and empowerment are needed more than ever, when we consider the impact of classics such as 'We Shall Overcome', 'This Land Is Your Land' and 'Blowin’ in the Wind'. ‘This Land is Your Land’ is as good an example of heartfelt national conscience as we are likely to hear in our lifetime. ‘We Shall Overcome’ and ‘If I Had a Hammer’ are perfect examples of songs of hope and intention, of inspiration and aspiration.
These weren’t just soundtracks to activism; they were tools of resistance, uniting voices in community, on marches and at gatherings. The voices of hope, justice, connection and vision were led by the likes of Seeger, Woody Guthrie, Odetta, Sweet Honey in the Rock, Joan Baez, The Weavers and Peter, Paul and Mary and we're still singing their anthems now..
This lineage has continued through various eras, whether through black pride rallying cries such as ‘Fight The Power’ by Public Enemy or more subtle anti-war songs such as Billy Bragg’s ‘Between the Wars’ or Elvis Costello’s ’Shipbuilding’. To witness how a song can help achieve outcomes, look no further than The Special AKA’s ‘Free Nelson Mandela’. The recent anniversary screenings of the Live Aid story are a timely reminder that a united musical front can have considerable global impact in the corridors of power.
More recently, it has been interesting to observe the reactions to the Glastonbury moral ‘outrage’ prompted by the Kneecap and Bob Vylan appearances and the various narratives that people have adopted in response.
I was interviewed last week on BBC 5 Live about the inspiration behind my new album ’This Is The Fire’. It was interesting to note that the station ran the whole pre-recorded interview (17 minutes) apart from the bit when I mentioned of the word ‘genocide’. They’d asked me what I made of the events at Glastonbury and my response was that songs and actions of protest in this case had obviously been motivated to anger by the ongoing war which some would describe as ‘genocide’. Clearly, that level of impartiality wasn’t going to wash its way through the editing room.
Protest comes in many shapes and forms, but one thing that most of us would agree on is that in order to birth new ways of doing things and new politics, as a top priority, we need to fast-track the death the outmoded, the war mongering, the ugliness inherent in nationalistic domination, the criminality of inaction of certain western governments. The furore at Glastonbury was a case study in shifting the agenda so that the attention was placed on those protesting against the horrors of wars and clamping them down, rather than the masters of the wars.
The nuance of language we choose to use is vitally important if we’re to attempt to bring people together. It could be argued that the call for the death of or dismantling of a violent regime and its task force is ultimately as much about peacekeeping as songs about love and connection, just expressed in a very different way, with punk attitude from those who are probably at the end of their tether over the hypocrisy of those who are defending what many indeed see as genocide. At least more and more people are now waking up to the media machinations and the divisive political games.
Bob Vylan talked about the sanctity of human life and freedom of speech. This, plus our sense of our own sovereignty and keeping our moral compass intact is what will ultimately win through. The sense of hope and big change is palpable, whether expressed from a place of joy and serenity or from parallel place of anger and rage. This is where the line between forceful protest and reconciliation comes into sharp focus. We need both in parallel as we remember that movements for change are often fuelled by music. And that can come in many shades.
My own awakening to songwriting came last year, after completing The Artists Way book and course (by Julia Cameron). Of course I’d written music before but that had gravitated towards wide-screen ambient, cinematic soundscapes (My Chilled By Nature album of 2006, ‘Under One Sun’). Back in those heady days of The Big Chill, I’d realised already that my calling, as an activist, pacifist and catalyst, was always about bringing people together and finding our voices and our purpose, individually and collectively. I’d seen at first hand the power of community to transform.
In an age marked by division and disconnection, I was a relative newcomer to the revelation of collective singing (until you’ve done, you don’t realise…) and I woke up to the fact that it is more vital than ever right now. It reminds us of what it means to be human: to raise our voices in harmony, to listen deeply, to come together around a shared vision; thrilling in its power and glory.
Bringing music back into my life as the central focus was prompted by meeting choir leader Gitika Partington who came to our Campout event in 2023. Within a few months we had established common ground and wanted to try out a new collaboration by working on a few songs together. The way it generally worked was that I’d come up with a lyrical concept or a melody, usually both together and send the song to her. She would then come back with an edit (often I’d be sending her up to ten verses and she’d suggest concentrating on maybe two that she liked!) and she might offer a second or third part of the song musically. Before I knew it, we had half a dozen songs as possibles for community singing at the 2024 Campout and the basis for an album. It was an exciting way of co-creating.
The Campout singing experience was everything I hoped it would be, expertly led by Gitika and to hear the songs sung by 30 or so people sent a huge and rather thrilling tingle down my spine as I sang my heart out to ‘If I Had a Voice’ ‘This Is The Fire’ and ‘Bubble of Love’. They became themes for the weekend, around the fire and the latter was also sung at the closing ceremony.
Such was the response that I felt inspired to write more songs in autumn and around ten more emerged in November. At this point, Gitika had encouraged me to widen my net and work with other collaborators too so I was in full flow and also learning the Logic programme to an elementary level where I was able to develop a song to demo level.
I instinctively knew that I now had an album’s worth of community-powered material so made the decision early this year to set that intention. After developing some of the tracks in Paros and Wales in spring, I put out a teaser video for the album, which attracted the attention of Gerry Diver, a producer I had admired in recent years for his top-level production skills and versatile multi-instrumental dexterity. Gerry then approached me about prodding the album, I played him the demos and he got really excited about the possibilities… which led to this crowdfund.
We are getting some wonderful messages of support which are tranferring into funds. Here’s an example from Barbara Franken:
“For too long, we’ve been taught that to be spiritual means to sacrifice, to suffer, to stay small and poor, waiting for some reward in heaven while denying our own creative power here on Earth. But that old story is dying.A new truth is rising:
Abundance is your natural state. Receiving is sacred. Giving is a declaration of trust in the flow of life. When you support another person’s sacred work, like Pete’s crowdfund for his music and art, you’re not losing anything. You are circulating energy, affirming:
“I am part of the new way. I support what lights me up. I am not afraid to give. Because I know how to receive.”
Why am I doing this?
Partly because of the messages of encouragement like the one above. But also because I wholeheartedly believe in the power of music to change the way we see the world and because I am really excited by the new songs I have written. They are songs designed to be sung in community, some of which we have already unveiled at our Campout last year.
Much empowerment (both individually and collectively) has come from building community and facilitating an environment where optimism can flourish and where social change can happen. That is the primary focus of what I hope will be my first album in two decades, a community-powered record that is bringing together songs of hope, of inspiration, of protest, of heart connection and of universal love.
It's worth remembering that moments of change are often fuelled by song. As Brian Eno famously said "Singing together is the key to world peace”, described by BBC 5 Live on my interview as “lofty” in its aims. But yesterday’s ‘Kumbaya’ is today’s ‘Lofty’. We have to start from a utopian viewpoint. How else would we be able to reimagine a better world? Let’s not forget to dream big.
Protest music of any era comes from the heart and the times we live in. We need to reinstate songs which provide a visceral response. Reclaim the ‘Kumbaya’ spirit, take it back from the cynics and to dream a new world into being through song.
There is an indefinable quality to the buzz we can all feel when in glorious song with others, each playing our part but creating harmony together. It's a great starting point in establishing common ground, imagining the changes we need to be making to find hope and inspiration through connection and through finding our voices, individually and collectively. Once we find our voices in community, the sense that anything is possible starts to come into play…
Could we be on the verge of a new era of communal singing? Could the next great protest song emerge not from a recording studio, but from the voices of a crowd, in the streets or around a campfire?
So the calling is to craft this album of multi-purpose simple and timeless melodic pieces rooted in a hymnal folk tradition, songs intended for everybody to sing that can work in a variety of settings. The perfect antidote to a fragmented world.
That's why I am very excited to be launching 'This Is The Fire' as an album project. The songs are already written and ready for that special production touch that will transform 13 songs into a work of art. I hope you will come with me on this journey and support the realisation of this dream.
https://tinyurl.com/thisisthefire
