THIS IS THE SOUNDTRACK TO MY LIFE

HEAR ME WHEN I SAY by Rachel Derham  

it usually starts like this

These aren’t just songs that I’ve written and recorded. This is the soundtrack to my life. It’s in the pssshht pssshht of the fly spray automatically going off, in the screams of the kids (as much in fury as in delight), in the rising screech of the washing machine going nuclear on the spin cycle, in the birds and the cicadas and in the door slamming.

Garageband. It’s a great way to get the soundscape blowing around my brain out of my head. I send small sound-bombs out to a circle of friends and acquaintances from time to time. I put one out on a community page a while ago and got more likes than anything else I’ve posted. It is cool to send them out to complete strangers from any and everywhere in the world.

That’s what it’s all about isn’t it, artistic expression? Connection?  If we’re honest, it’s pretty much about therapy as well. When I write music, I’m trying to find the right way to settle something within myself. If somebody else listening to it gets to settle something in themselves, then that’s a big thrill.  Connection therapy.

That’s what music does for us. It’s a beautiful way of reminding ourselves we’re not alone in feeling what we feel. There’s something for everyone with millions of tunes out there. We’re all different and inhabit different ‘clubs’ of music tastes. The opening bars of ‘Hey Ho, Let’s Go’ by The Ramones get me pogo-ing round the room but Glen Miller’s more like to get my mum tripping the light fantastic. I can’t second guess who’s going to like my stuff, that’s what makes it so interesting. I want to find out who’s going to like it. And why.

Yeah, of course I want to go viral and write a tune, which just gets into everyone’s head like a worm and I want to earn myself success doing what I love. Isn’t that the holygrail?

But if they all just make up the soundtrack to my life, I’m ok with that. Like a sound diary. Cars, screams and birds. The birds at the end of this song are kind of magical – a complete accident of timing, couldn’t have done it better if I’d have tried and I didn’t know they had done that until I listened back. Thank you, birds.

O LORDE, HELP YOURSELF

O LORDE, HELP ME

O Lorde you are 17.

I am old enough for you to be my youngest child and still have an eldest child twice your age. Technically. Help me.

I have been writing songs and singing them long enough for you to have lived to the age you are – twice. Help me.

O Joel, where were you when I was 13? Nurturing myself is something I am still crap at. Help me.

I have been trying not to get too freaked out by the tsunami of acclaim foisted on you, the current Chosen One. Just as I am trying to reclaim some public song time for myself before I slip into utter irrelevancy, you rock on by and show me the mark where I failed to capitalize on any talent I may have. I know, maybe I have none. Though I know I do, and so many like me, striving to achieve some way of paying for the babies we let slip in to our lives when, as struggling artists, we should have known it was the rent and then the demos that needed us most. That somebody in the band had to sleep with the A & R guy, back in the day before the communication highway changed life as we knew it. ‘O Lorde, open your heart and keep your eggs unfertilized’…..words that will never have to be said to you, saved as you have been by cool music teachers, talent-spotting home-recording geniuses, supportive parents and amazing big hair.

O Lorde, You are so ubersuperCOOL right now that a chilly cloud forms around your name as I speak it. You are so smokin’HOT that you threaten to smash the global warming chart toppers! And boy those selfies! You made T. Swift look plainer than her k-mart sweater and Mrs Carter well, she played the slightly tarty older sister from another vagista to your proportionally defiant innocent beauty.

You are good – precociously good. Did you get those lyrics by writing about what you know? I suppose we can all feel we ‘know’ the life you describe because we can sit in our suburban hair salons reading about the lifestyles we don’t experience. We have E! to see them. Jersey Shore, Kardashians, Playboy Mansion, so many great and insightful shows! It must be really galling that you rejected the very people who will be lauding (pun intended) your name right this minute!

I read an account of the meaning of your lyrics. The writer pinned personal experience to the greater part. I am concerned. They alienate me from what everybody else is experiencing.  I have a tiny handful of cheap diamonds that sparkle in my ears and on my engagement ring. Plus I am kinda proud of where I live, it’s really a great bit of kiwi patch, close to a beach and surrounded by the bush. I thought the North Shore where you live had some great beaches? We are KNOWN for our great beaches here in Auckland. We need the tourists. In my experience of 16 years here (gosh, you were but a baby when I arrived!), there has been no tank parade up and down Queen street, no civil disturbance to match the one Dave Dobbyn started in the 80’s! And yet, north of the harbor bridge you have suffered riots by the sound of it?

And I am disturbed by the apparent fact that you have already passed your experimental phase – ‘grey geese trippin’ in MY bathroom is not something I’d like to see! Thank the lorde I’ve always been too scared to try the A list lollies. Life has always been crazy enough despite the non-rioting, middle class life I have led. Mind you I did march for nuclear disarmament after a night munching mushrooms. That was fairly explosive.

Blood stains I’ve had a-plenty, sometimes embarrassing – is this a coming of age give-away? I could never have been so up-front about that kind of thing! Some of the rest of your imagery I will have to google, ‘cos I’m too distracted to understand what you’re talking about. Most of us will never be royals (famous) this is true but I have a sneaking suspicion that despite your claim that it’s not ‘our kinda buzz’, you wanted it and you wanted it a LOT. No alcohol and tear soaked pillow half baked you must be dreaming dreams for you. Your buzz was washed clean – I saw through your penchant for adding an ‘e’ to words! I spotted the soap reference. Good girl. No wonder it came true for you. Clarity. You DID have diamonds. But whatever else might be going on for you, you are no longer in a position to be too cool for the fantasy – you are living it!

Do take advantage now that you will be limousined to every imaginable party between Hollywood and Wellywood, to try to forget the dark thrill of counting your pennies on Auckland’s friendly train service. You could have still been playing that role – and you could have busked for the dollars! Just a thought. But you were not destined to struggle. Only to write about it.

I do hope that your amazing elevation to this incredible success will not present you with all the cares that you have been fortunate enough to avoid, despite the rioting in the ghettos of Takapuna. 🙂 A word of warning – it can be apparently challenging as you press for that elusive ‘difficult’ second album. If you are stuck for ideas, at least you will be able to afford to wait until you have lived a little longer and gained some more experiences with which to excite an entire world of music consumers and the machine that observes those consumers. And don’t go spending the deserved rewards for your hard work and incredible level-headedness on anything less pure than really good champagne, which you will be able to drink in the safety of your own home. Where the machine will be trying to observe you. Good luck honey, you’ve cut your teeth.

[Verse 1]

I’ve never seen a diamond in the flesh

I cut my teeth on wedding rings in the movies

And I’m not proud of my address,

In a torn-up town, no postcode envy

But every song’s like gold teeth, grey goose, trippin’ in the bathroom

Blood stains, ball gowns, trashin’ the hotel room,

We don’t care, we’re driving Cadillacs in our dreams.

But everybody’s like Cristal, Maybach, diamonds on your timepiece.

Jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold leash.

We don’t care, we aren’t caught up in your love affair.

And we’ll never be royals (royals).

It don’t run in our blood,

That kind of luxe just ain’t for us.

We crave a different kind of buzz.

Let me be your ruler (ruler),

You can call me queen Bee

And baby I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule.

Let me live that fantasy.

[Verse 2]

My friends and I—we’ve cracked the code.

We count our dollars on the train to the party.

And everyone who knows us knows that we’re fine with this,

We didn’t come from money.

But every song’s like gold teeth, grey goose, trippin’ in the bathroom.

Blood stains, ball gowns, trashin’ the hotel room,

We don’t care, we’re driving Cadillacs in our dreams.

But everybody’s like Cristal, Maybach, diamonds on your timepiece.

Jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold leash

We don’t care, we aren’t caught up in your love affair

And we’ll never be royals (royals).

It don’t run in our blood

That kind of luxe just ain’t for us.

We crave a different kind of buzz.

Let me be your ruler (ruler),

You can call me queen Bee

And baby I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule.

Let me live that fantasy.

Ooh ooh oh

We’re bigger than we ever dreamed,

And I’m in love with being queen.

Ooh ooh oh

Life is great without a care

We aren’t caught up in your love affair.

And we’ll never be royals (royals).

It don’t run in our blood

That kind of luxe just ain’t for us.

We crave a different kind of buzz

Let me be your ruler (ruler),

You can call me queen Bee

And baby I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule.

Let me live that fantasy.