Unease and Finding Peace

This week has been a challenging one, dominated by a strong sense of injustice felt on behalf of someone I care about deeply. This heightened sensitivity to unfairness, particularly when it affects loved ones, is a common trait associated with ADHD. While it fuels a desire to fight for what’s right, it also leaves me emotionally vulnerable and raw. The perceived injustice manifested as a dark cloud, impacting my overall well-being. It brought on brain fog, making clear thinking a struggle, a persistent headache, and a crushing fatigue that made even simple tasks feel overwhelming. 

Adding to the week’s difficulties was a situation involving my own health. I’d been feeling dissatisfied with my clinician, a nagging sense that my needs weren’t being adequately addressed. Gathering the courage to request a change felt like a monumental undertaking. It shouldn’t be so difficult to advocate for one’s own health, to express needs and concerns. Yet, I found myself minimising my concerns, apologising for taking up time, and uttering phrases like, “I don’t want to complain,” and “I’m sorry to be a nuisance.” This pattern of appeasing and self-abnegation is a familiar one, rooted in past experiences where asserting my needs was met with resistance or dismissal.

It’s a stark contrast to how I would act for someone else. I would readily fight for them, fueled by righteous indignation, confronting any obstacle in their path. I’d find the words, the strength, and the unwavering commitment to champion their cause. But when it comes to advocating for myself, I become hesitant, apologetic, almost invisible. It’s as if a different part of my brain takes over, prioritising conflict avoidance and maintaining the status quo, even at my own expense.

Despite the internal struggle, I managed to push through. I articulated my concerns and requested a different doctor. Navigating the hospital bureaucracy wasn’t easy. There were f explanations to provide, and a palpable sense of resistance. But I persisted, and eventually, they agreed. Securing a new appointment brought a quiet sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory, but it felt significant. It was a step towards breaking free from self-denial and reclaiming my voice.

The weight of the world also loomed large this week. The constant influx of news, the pervasive sense of global unease, the feeling that everything is on the brink of collapse. I try to limit my exposure to “the news,” but I also feel a responsibility to stay informed. Finding the right balance is a challenge. I avoid social media battles, recognising their futility. I try to approach every story critically, acknowledging the existence of multiple perspectives. But it’s exhausting. The sheer volume of information and the constant negativity take their toll.

Even attempts at escapism proved counterproductive. I started watching a popular supernatural drama, hoping for some light entertainment. However, the first episode was unexpectedly frightening, triggering unwanted anxiety. I’m not someone who enjoys being scared. I value my peace of mind too much to willingly subject myself to that kind of stress. So, I turned it off, resisting the urge to continue. Sometimes, self-care means setting boundaries, even with entertainment.

Seeking a mental reset, I turned to mundane tasks. Folding laundry, cleaning the kitchen – these simple, repetitive actions proved surprisingly therapeutic, helped ground me, bringing me back to the present moment.

That night, I anticipated nightmares. The week’s intensity and emotional rollercoaster seemed destined to surface in my dreams. Instead of a monstrous figure, I experienced a different kind of nightmare. I was driving too fast on a narrow, winding road on a remote hill. The road was so narrow I couldn’t see what was ahead. Reaching the hilltop, I braked, but the car accelerated, sending me careening forward, out of control. The dream was filled with anxiety, likely a reflection of the feelings of helplessness and uncertainty I’d been experiencing.

Today, I recognise the need for rest. I need to allow myself to step back, to recharge. It’s tempting to feel guilty about taking a day off, especially with so much to do. But I know that neglecting my well-being will only hinder my ability to function effectively in the long run. So, today is for me. It’s a day for quiet reflection, gentle self-care, and simply being. Tomorrow is also a day off, a day dedicated to doing absolutely nothing. It feels both wasteful and incredibly necessary. A waste of time, perhaps, but also a crucial investment in my mental and emotional health. It’s a chance to disconnect from the noise, let my mind wander, and allow my body to recover. It’s a chance to simply be present, without the pressure of deadlines or obligations. It’s a chance to breathe. And in a world that feels increasingly chaotic and overwhelming, the ability to breathe, to simply be, feels like the most radical act of self-care.

Soul Cooking

A strange craving for vegan sausage casserole last week revealed a culinary oversight: I haven’t owned a proper casserole dish in years. A perfectly acceptable hob-top version fuelled my desire for the real thing – a heavy, dependable cast iron casserole, a cauldron for slow-cooked dishes, infused with love and intention. Yesterday, I found it in my favourite shop.  I’d already been to Freeman Street Market for my veg. I am trying to buy all my fruit and veg locally these days, enjoying the connection to the growers and the rhythm of the seasons. On my way home I imagined the dish I would cook and the rich, earthy scents of a slow-cooked Imbolc meal, marking the first stirrings of spring.

Back home, a rummage in the fridge unearthed the week’s leftovers: half a tin of butter beans, half a red onion, half a butternut squash, potatoes on the verge of sprouting, and some slightly sad-looking celery. I have a particular ritual when I cook, a way of creating a calm and focused space. First, the kitchen is cleaned. Then, I select my knife, and place my ceramic bowl, bought at a festival decades ago, ready to receive peelings and trimmings. My chopping board occupies its usual spot between the sink and the cooker, a small but efficient workspace. If I’m not careful, my culinary enthusiasm can quickly descend into messy chaos, so I try to be mindful and contain the spread.

The potatoes, butternut squash, and carrot were chopped into roughly equal chunks and placed in the steamer to soften. While they cooked, I turned my attention to the aromatics. The remaining half red onion, the celery, and two cloves of garlic were finely chopped and sautéed in a couple of teaspoons of olive oil.  A good pinch of dried chives was added to the pan, their subtle oniony notes complementing the other flavours. Once the vegetables were softened and slightly caramelised, I added the butter beans and a generous handful of Quorn pieces for protein. A dash of gluten-free soy sauce and a drizzle of maple syrup were added, coating everything in a glossy sheen. The heat was turned off, and I waited for the potatoes, squash, and carrot to reach the perfect stage of tenderness.

A pint of vegetable stock was made up using my favourite gluten free stock cubes (a convenient cheat). The oven, meanwhile, was preheating, humming quietly to itself, a promise of warmth and deliciousness to come. When the steamed vegetables were ready, I carefully tipped them into the brand new cast iron pot, joining the sautéed mixture. Everything was thoroughly combined, seasoned generously with dried sage, sea salt, and freshly ground black pepper. For extra depth of flavour I added a more generous glug of red wine than I intended. A moment of panic ensued as the casserole turned an alarming shade of purple. But I have faith in my cooking instincts. I knew that given enough time in the oven, the colour would mellow, and the wine would work its magic. Into the oven it went, the heavy pot feeling satisfyingly substantial in my hands.

I usually give my improvised casseroles about forty to fifty minutes in the oven, checking and stirring every ten minutes to ensure everything is cooking evenly and nothing is sticking to the bottom. And I always allow the finished dish to stand for at least ten minutes before serving. This resting period allows the flavours to meld and deepen, and the casserole to thicken slightly.

Last night we enjoyed our Imbolc dinner together in our cosy living room. The bobbing heads of the white roses I’d bought, a symbol of spring’s tentative arrival, seemed to nod in approval. The casserole was wonderful – hearty, rich, but not overly so. The red wine, despite its initial purple outburst, had mellowed beautifully, adding subtle complexity to the flavour. The meal was nourishing, both physically and emotionally, and filled with the love I feel for my Best Human. Nourishing him, caring for him through food, is something that’s deeply important to me.

It made me think about the women who instilled in me a love of cooking: my maternal Grandma, my Great Auntie, and my Mum. They taught me not just how to cook, but also how to appreciate food, to understand its power to connect and comfort. I grew up surrounded by good food, shared meals, and the warmth of family. Our dinner tables were places of laughter and conversation, of occasional disagreements and outbursts but mostly of togetherness. In my community, where I live and work, many of us share this belief in the power of food to strengthen the bonds of friendship and neighbourliness. Growing, cooking, and eating together forge deep connections, taking us on a journey from the soil to the table, united by the shared experience.

With Imbolc passed and the days lengthening, my thoughts are turning to the garden. It’s time to start planning, to sow seeds, and to prepare the soil for the food and flowers I’ll grow and share in the coming year. Spring is stirring. The snowdrops are already blooming, and there are whispers of more life to come. This is a season of delicate beauty, a time to put our hands in the earth, to nurture new growth, and to embrace the slow, comforting rhythm of slow-cooked food. In a world that often feels fractured and disconnected, cooking and sharing food is an act of defiance, a powerful affirmation of our connections to each other and our commitment to nurture and care. It’s a way of building community, one meal at a time.

Containing Multitudes

One of the most important things I have learnt over the past few years is that no person is just one thing. This might sound obvious but in a world where tribalism is in the ascendant and when public discourse is often at a comparable level to caged monkeys throwing their excrement at each other, I think it’s worth exploring what it means to contain multitudes.

In Song of Myself, 51 Walt Whitman writes;

The past and present wilt—I have fill’d them, emptied them.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Listener up there! what have you to confide to me?
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.)

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Recognising the contradictions in ourselves and being honest about them opens us up to a richer experience than if we remain closed and rigid, binary in our thoughts and our actions. Of late I have been able to acknowledge the pleasure and privilege I have in my work in being able to meet and talk to people from a rich variety of backgrounds and experience. In truth, a few years ago my own prejudices and bias might have got in the way of being able to do that. I have to acknowledge the role our monthly Philosophy group has had in bringing about transformational thinking and the agility to step away from dogmatic positions. If anyone would like to join our ongoing conversation, you can find us here: https://pipsgy.wordpress.com/

Bob Dylan acknowledges Whitman in his song I Contain Multitudes the opening track on his 2020 Rough and Rowdy Ways album. I was lucky enough to see Bob in Hull on October 27th last year. For me it was a significant event for a multitude of reasons. Bob is the artist that has had the most profound effect on my life, having discovered him at age 14 and having been inspired and intrigued by him ever since. At 82 he is now a sage and almost a myth. To be in the same room as him was enough. I had a dream a few days before the gig whereby I was in a concert hall somewhere waiting to see him and he walked past me wearing a huge white hat. He patted me on the head as he walked by and half smiled. The dream is a precious one. The words of the song tell us that Bob is not one thing and that has artistic life has been a flow of change and growth, incorporating experiences and interpreting them in his art.

Walt Whitman and Bob Dylan see the multitudes within, the truth of our being. We are not just one thing. We are of many dimensions and we should rejoice in that and see it as strength. We can debate the purpose and meaning of life endlessly, and we should; our consciousness is a gift we should use. As part of that, we can look within and explore our strange and beautiful contradictions and work on being the best version of ourselves we can be.

I am in an interregnum at the present, between things and I am waiting patiently to see what unfolds. It is comforting to me to know that there is not just one possible road ahead, but many, and whichever one I take will be OK because I have learnt to be free, to not be rigid and fixed.

As spring continues to struggle to arrive (the poor weather is a worry) I hope all beings can enjoy their multitudes and be peaceful with their contradictions.

Beltain and Unseasonal Cold

I am sick of being cold! The sky is deceptively blue and clear today but the wind still has bite and although May arrives tomorrow there is still not enough warmth to tempt me back to the garden or anywhere near the sea. I put my fingers in the sea a couple of weeks ago and I knew that the rest of me would not be following for a while.

The unseasonal cold seems to match the coldness in the culture. We are seeing an increasing disregard for others in the wider culture and a tolerance for the most unpleasant aspects of human behaviour; bullying, xenophobia and corruption, combined with intellectual laziness and philistinism. What a time to be alive.

In the dark moments, it is easy to turn to despair, to be overwhelmed by a sense of hopelessness, by anger and depression. I have to fight the dark and make the effort to look to the light. In my case, the light is found in the work I do, whether that is leading the East Marsh Peace Choir in song on Tuesday teatimes, or admiring the trees East Marsh United and Create Streets planted together in February, or having a brew with like minded folks to develop the next stages of the incredible plans we hope to deliver this year.

I also find the light in simple, mindful activity, such as hand stitching, crafting and when it warms up, gardening. In order to truly flourish, we must find the things that bring us peace and hope and joy.

The dark is always present, times are always hard for millions of beings on this beautiful planet of ours. But the light is always there too and it will bathe and hold you if you let it in.

Wild Bells, Strange Places

A dear friend sent me Tennyson’s Ring out Wild Bells as a New Year greeting and its words are always apt;

Ring out false pride in place and blood,

the civic slander and the spite,

Ring in the truth and right,

Ring in the common love of good.

Over this break I’ve watched Twin Peaks Seasons 1 and 2 for the umpteenth time.  Every time I watch it, I experience it differently, according to my context.  Bob always terrifies me, the uncanny nature of it always disturbs and I always love Special Agent Dale Cooper but this time I found much that hasn’t travelled well through time.  I found Donna and James insufferable, and the presentation of most of the female characters much more problematic than previously.  I also found the Norma and Ed relationship more tragic and moving this time, perhaps reflecting my age and I was much more drawn to Deputy Hawk than to Harry Truman.  

When I first watched Twin Peaks, in weekly instalments in the early 90s, I was utterly compelled by it and David Lynch is an artist who I have admired greatly ever since.  When Dale’s shadow emerged from the Black Lodge at the end of season 2, leaving the fan base in a state of shock, I was desperate for closure, for a different ending. I went on to explore Lynch’s work with obsessive interest, writing my MA dissertation on the place of the unconscious in his films and Twin Peaks, travelling to Paris in 2007 for his major exhibition, The Air is On Fire at the Fondation Cartier and experiencing tears of joy when Twin Peaks The Return was announced in 2016.

Lynch finally gave the dedicated fans their different ending.  I am saving my next watch of Twin Peaks, The Return for my next extended break.  It is the ending of season 2 that I am dwelling on, after seeing that terrifying face in the mirror looking back at Dale, who is not Dale at all; because ‘the good Dale is in the lodge,’ and Laura has told us that she’ll see him in 25 years. 

The good Dale is an archetype. The good Dale, Special Agent with the FBI embodies spiritual and material qualities of goodness and virtue throughout seasons 1 and 2.  He is a philosopher who follows the Dalai Lama and practices stoicism. He guides the dying Leland Palmer into the light and exercises restraint and good self-governance at all times. Even in the most violent and painful moments, he is composed, compassionate and brave.  Kyle MacLachlan portrays a different kind of lawman to the jaded and cynical cops that are the mainstay of TV dramas. He makes friends with local law enforcement, becoming an honorary Bookhouse Boy and a deputy to Sheriff Truman when he is suspended from the FBI.  He is the moral centre of the show, which is why it is so devastating to see him overcome by his shadow, the doppelganger that leaves the Black Lodge to bring forth the dark id into the community the good Dale has loved, served and protected.

There is no doubt in my mind that we are living through a time of great harm to our individual and collective psyches, a time of id rampaging unchecked through our culture, a time of shadows and darkness in the ascendant.  We lack strong moral figures in the culture, where influencers and billionaire antics instead dominate our discourse. All times bring their challenges but we are facing the threat of nuclear conflagration, climate catastrophe and deepening inequality, while those that are in government show nothing but libidinous self-centredness, lack of moral character, lack of compassion, lack of emotional intelligence. The lack list goes on and on.

I’ll draw this to a close with Tennyson’s words in my ears and the good Dale’s moral character as a reminder of what goodness and virtue can be. They have to, like all things, be imagined before they can be enacted. We would be wise to seek out the good, the virtuous, the decent and the loving. In reaching for these things, we are reaching for better versions of ourselves. Better versions of ourselves can make the small differences that lead to big changes. Our shadows are ever present, our id part of who we are, but they don’t have to be in charge. We begin the process of being better by beginning. The last word goes to Special Agent Dale Cooper;

I have no idea where this will lead us. But I have a definite feeling it will be a place both wonderful and strange.

Northern Nostalgia

It’s a difficult world at the moment. There is a pervasive bleakness that is impossible to deny and it would be easy to sink under the overwhelm and hopelessness that characterises the times in which we find ourselves. What does an individual do in times like these?

In our Philosophy in Public Spaces group (you can find out about us here: https://pipsgy.wordpress.com/) we regularly conclude our discussions with Voltaire, and the conclusion of Candide that we should cultivate our own garden. This doesn’t mean turning your back on others and ignoring the troubles of the world; it means focusing on that over which you have some control, finding the place where you can have agency and impact.

At one time, I was an avid consumer of MSN and was easily drawn into the drama of the daily news agenda that is determined and decided for us. Having given up on MSN, withdrawn from watching television and listening to the radio, life is quieter. It is not less well-informed, just informed differently. I would rather listen to the wind and the blackbird singing than to the superficial propaganda from the relentless news cycle that tells us what to think and feel.

In spite of withdrawing from regular television, I like to watch good stories on a screen and for those stories to take me to another time and place, when the world was different. Presently, my favourite place to go and find a meaningful story away from here and now is in Cicily, Alasaka, the early 90s. I am taking a slow and joyful amble through Northern Exposure, a place where community matters, where people live in synch with the natural world and where being in the true sense of the word is explored and celebrated. I often find myself in tears at the end of an episode because something profound and beautiful about our existence has been shared. A recent episode I watched featured Chris in his artistic persona planning to fling a cow from a giant catapult. Because of the show’s moral centre, a cow was never truly at risk of such an horrific death but I was disturbed at the thought. Chris eventually flung Maggie’s fire damaged piano and the scene was beautiful. The conclusion was that the act of flinging was more important than the object being flung. This has stayed with me. I’ve thought about my own propensity to hold on to things, to not release them. I could do with a giant catapult to do some flinging. Or maybe, I could just mentally fling and release some of the stuff that is long overdue flinging.

There is, of course, nostalgia attached to watching a show that first aired thirty years ago. It is not current. It is not a work of our times. The nineties feel like they were better times than now; in truth they probably weren’t. But spending time out of now through the medium of a good story is a restorative activity.

Cicily, Alaska, as presented in the show provides a different model of how to live well, in community. The natural world is respected, the indigenous community is respected and people find ways through their troubles and adversity to a greater understanding of themselves and others. It seems to me that therein lies a simple recipe for a contented life. I hope we can find a way to make this a reality where we find ourselves now.

Light

In times of darkness where fear and uncertainty are endemic, it might seem naive to focus on the light and to search for ways to let it in.  However, whether it’s naive or not, it’s clear to me that sitting in the dark and letting it overwhelm me is something I have to resist.  I have experienced many dark days of late  – as have we all – and at times it has felt like despair is the only rational response to the tumultuous horror show out there.  

I can’t do very much about the out there that is the catastrophic failure of this appalling government or the terrible behaviour and practices of systems and organisations, including the media, that add to the sum of human misery.

What I can do something about is the in here, my interior life, my own moral centre and practice of how I choose to live.  There are days when I am so enraged I want nothing more than to burn down Valhalla and everything in it. Sometimes I am so engulfed by outrage I can barely speak and inevitably I internalise the pain and make myself ill and upset. The person that suffers because of this, is me. 

I am working on a way of being in the world that looks to let the light in wherever and whenever possible. It’s easy for me to turn to the dark, to anger and distress and to become lost in shadow and torment until I am so depressed I can barely function. 

Over the past five years I have worked hard to turn my face to the light and to not venture into the darkness. And it’s really hard to do and I don’t always succeed. These past five years have been the time of the greatest adventures and the greatest challenges of my fifty-four years on this planet. I have navigated more storms and traumas than I care to remember. But I have also discovered true friendship, love, camaraderie and a sense of purpose. This is in no small part down to our Philosophy in Public Spaces group where we share our sense  of injustice and our outrage and positively explore how to respond through rigorous philosophical inquiry. Additionally I have work that produces positivity and a strong sense of community. I have also learnt who my friends are; and although that sounds like a cliché, it has been one of the most significant learnings of my life. 

My creative life has also been central to my battle with the darkness. My work explores the dark and the power of light. In the poems for Requiem, which I wrote in 2018/19, my focus was on the international conflict that was so destructive over a hundred years and more and which remains an ever-present threat through the power of the industrial military complex. The piece concludes with this simple prayer:

Let there be rest. Let there be peace.

Let bloodshed, war and violence cease.

Let us seek with all courage that which is right,

When darkness falls, let us search for light. 

I look back on the experience of writing and touring Requiem, of performing with The Alan Barnes Octet as being one of the best and most fulfilling creative experiences I have had. I remember it with great love and hope that one day I might get to do it again. 

The Alan Barnes Octet and Josie Moon: Requiem

In this time of enormous darkness, of creeping tyranny and oppression, of vacuity, corruption and sleaze it’s important to keep searching for the light, to not give in, to not let the dark win.  It’s hard as hell, relentless and exhausting.Unlike the dark, which isolates us and makes us feel alone and afraid, the light casts warmth and brightness. It allows us to find each other and join hands. 

Peace, Josie 

Umm Kulthum: Enta Omri

Umm Kulthum was born Fāṭima ʾIbrāhīm es-Sayyid el-Beltāǧī on 31 December 1898, or 4 May 1904. Birth registaration was not enforced in Egypt at that time. She died 3rd February 1975. She was a singer, songwriter, and film actress working between the 1920s and the 1970s. She was given the honorific title Kawkab al-Shar meaning Star of the East.

Umm Kulthum was renowned and admired for her vocal ability and style. She sold over 80 million records worldwide, making her one of best-selling singers of all time from the Arab World. In her native Egypt she is regarded as a national icon and has been dubbed the voice of Egypt and the fourth pyramid

Part of my reason for undertaking this Listening to Women project was to ensure I explored music beyond my usual ranges of taste and experience. Music from different cultures and traditions is much more readily available now than when I was growing up and discovering music for myself in my teens. In the 70s and 80s I was listening to music via Radio 1, Top of the Pops and whatever my parents were playing – which to my good fortune was curiously eclectic, ranging from Chris Barber to Earth, Wind and Fire to Tammy Wynette. The latter will always have a place in my heart.

My tastes have expanded over my life but have been firmly western for the most part. Furthermore, I have realised that I was listening to a lot of men, with women being in the minority of artists that I regularly turned to. This lack of balance is a reflection of the wider culture and the sheer dominance of male voices, musicians, producers in the music industry. I am making a deliberate and concerted effort to address these imbalances and to seek out work by women, not only in music but in every field.

Listening to Umm Kulthum has been a beautiful experience. Her voice is complex, with range and depth that has a profound emotional impact. She has been lauded by fellow artists, as diverse as Bob Dylan and Maria Callas and it is clear why. Her voice reaches in and demands a response. I listen and find myself emotionally engaged in her music, committed to it, following her voice note by note. She sings in a language I don’t speak but her music transcends that. I have looked at lyrical translations but of course in English the words do not have the same resonance. I decided not to worry too much about that and to focus on the sound, the emotion, the sheer beauty of her work.

Umm Kulthum was politically engaged and post the revolution in Egypt in 1952 she became persona non grata for a while. Her music was banned from airplay. Nasser insisted that she be restored to her prominent position and even timed his broadcasts to not interfere with her performances on the radio. She became friends with Nasser – who is of course a problematic figure. Her story illustrates yet again that politically engaged artists can and often do face danger in countries and regimes where their work is considered a threat to power.

Listen for yourself and prepare to be captivated:

Buffy Sainte-Marie: It’s My Way

It’s My Way! is the first album by folk singer Buffy Sainte- Marie, released in April 1964 by Vanguard Records. It is a seminal folk album, marking the beginning of an extraordinary career for an extraordinary artist. The album is both scathing and topical, examining the plight of indigenous Americans and critiquing war in the album’s most famous and enduring song, The Universal Soldier.

Buffy Sainte-Marie is an indigenous American-Canadian musician, educator, artist and activist. Blacklisted by American radio stations during the 1970s, her music has nevertheless endured. She has managed to successfully cross over from folk protest music to mainstream success, winning an Oscar in 1982 for the song Up Where We Belong which was the iconic song performed by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes in the film An officer and a Gentleman.

It was Donovan’s version of The Universal Soldier that was the first protest song I heard. It led me to Dylan and Masters of War when I was about fourteen and both songs continue to move me. It is Buffy Sainte-Marie’s version that I prefer to Donovan’s these days as her authenticity and originality touches me deeply.

The album sounds current. The vocal is strong and powerful, particularly on the track Ananias which is the one I have listened to most during my weeks of listening to and appreciating this album. Buffy Sainte-Marie has a voice as distinct and powerful as her contemporaries, Joan Baez and Joni Mitchell. Although widely known and highly respected she is arguably not the international household name that she deserves to be, most likely due to her heritage and the racist misogyny that too often undermines women’s careers.

Buffy Sainte-Marie has a string of awards and credits to her name that indicate her power, relevance and artistry. She has remained a life-long advocate and activist for the rights of indigenous peoples. She has the gravitas and grace of a true elder, a woman who rightly commands great respect and who stands up to multiple listenings.

Shadow Kingdom: Bob Dylan, July 2021

Shadow Kingdom: Bob Dylan

Live Stream Event – July 2021

From the opener When I Paint My Masterpiece to closer Baby Blue Bob Dylan gives us a mesmerising fifty-minute glimpse into his Shadow Kingdom, over which he presides, elusive as ever, wearing the masks of jester, crooner, mage and poet simultaneously; only occasionally allowing us to see his true, astonishing face in close up.

Bob Dylan at eighty is the artist of our age, Nobel Laureate and weaver of worlds. In Shadow Kingdom across thirteen songs, he creates a mood and atmosphere that linger long after the show ends.

Shadow Kingdom is subtitled The Early Songs of Bob Dylan. The set list is drawn mainly from the period 1965 – 1967 with a couple of early 70s inclusions.  The stand-out song in terms of period is the 1989 What Was It You Wanted? from Oh Mercy; arguably Dylan’s finest 80s album. It sticks out in a set that otherwise represents that late 60s purple period when Dylan was producing brilliant album after brilliant album.  Perhaps Dylan is asking us to reflect on what is wanted from him, both now and back in the later 60s when he hit his stride with the tour de force that begins with the snarls and growls of Bringing It all Back Home and ends with the thin wild mercury of Blonde on Blonde. 

Shadow Kingdom is filmed in soft monochrome tones, directed by Alma Har’el and shot in Santa Monica over seven days. It perhaps defies any expectations that the audience might have had before seeing it.  What was it we wanted; a concert movie? A live set? Whatever it was we wanted, what we got was a beautiful surprise. The band is stripped back, the black and white sets are curious and mercurial Dylan is diction-perfect.  

There is a distinct Lynchian vibe in the settings; this band would not have been out of place at The Roadhouse in Twin Peaks. The interplay of shadow and light, the ubiquitous cigarette smoke are tropes that are familiar to those who know the Lynchverse. But with Lynch, it is always the darkness that dominates. In Dylan’s Shadow Kingdom, the light is equally important. There are even visual jokes.  Two hard staring tough mamas flank Dylan as he croons I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight; one even flicks lint from the shoulder of his jacket. During The Wicked Messenger, the lead guitar player is wheeled into shot three times to play the riff.  There is humour at work.  There is also compassion. Queen Jane is no longer approximately, and the song is more reconciliatory than accusatory. Forever Young drips with love – imagine having that written for you as a kid? Tom Thumb does not sound as pissed off as he was in 1966; perhaps he and Juarez have come to terms with each other after all this time.  To Be Alone With You gets a re-write, reminding us that the bard can do as he likes with his own words; he doesn’t have to please anybody but himself.

The bar setting for half of the set features a cast of characters from another time; the late 40s, early 50s. They seem to be an ensemble of outsiders, cast in a dignified light, noble, enigmatic and strange.  A louche, drunk girl lounges against the back of the stage. Unlikely couples dance together, reminding us of a time when dancing with strangers was not a danger to health. Dylan delivers his poetry and music with intensity and gesticulation that add to the gravitas of his performance to a largely indifferent audience. Even stranger than a broken down roadside bar, semi–derelict with a  cast of characters looking for a novel, is the room with the black and white chequered floor, where light and shadow create a dream-like space and where without the audience, all eyes are on Dylan and his musicians.  

Dylan holds the space across liminalities. The setting, the audience are out of time. The past and present collide through the poetry and the music, through Dylan’s presence, his voice, which is rough and rich. His band play behind face masks; the clear and present danger of our times reflected in their inscrutable, hidden faces. They play stripped back Americana, without drums. They are consummate players providing acres of space for Dylan’s words to cast their spells.

The audience is without masks They smoke endless cigarettes, are proximate to each other. Over this out of time kingdom of shadows and light, Dylan presides; his words the laws of the place, his face, grave and wise, etched with the lines of a life richly lived.

Dylan has given us other rich gifts during the period of the pandemic. His seventeen-minute opus Murder Most Foul was released on March 27, 2020 as a single.  It is a moving and troubling work that examines the murder of John F Kennedy through an inquiry into the impact of traumatic events on the culture.  It was followed by the release of Rough and Rowdy Ways on June 19th 2020, Dylan’s 39th studio album. The album is undoubtedly one of his finest.

Hopefully Shadow Kingdom is a beginning and not an end and Dylan might treat us to his later songs or a filmic setting of Rough and Rowdy Ways. However, it’s best not to live in hope; Dylan will do what he wants, as he should. That’s what makes him the artist he is

Set List Details:

1.           When I Paint My Masterpiece:  1971 – Bob Dylan and the Band                                   

2.           Most Likely You Go Your Way and I’ll Go Mine:  1966 – Blonde on Blonde                            

3.           Queen Jane Approximately:  1966 – Highway 61                                   

4.           I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight:  1967 – John Wesley Harding                                    

5.           Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues:  1966  – Highway 61                                 

6.           Tombstone Blues:  1966 – Highway 61                                        

7.           To Be Alone with You:  1969 – Nashville Skyline                                    

8.           What Was It You Wanted:  1989 – Oh Mercy                            

9.           Forever Young:  1973 –Planet Waves                             

10.        Pledging My Time:  1966 – Blonde on Blonde                                         

11.        The Wicked Messenger:  1967 – John Wesley Harding                                       

12.        Watching the River Flow:  1971 – Single with Leon Rusell   

13.        It’s All Over Now Baby Blue:  1965 – Bringing It All Back Home         

Personnel

Bob Dylan – vocals, guitar, harmonica

Alex Burke

Buck Meek

Shahzad Ismaily

Janie Cowan

Joshua Crumbly