Blue Monday? Let Music Be Your Medicine!

Seeing as today is Blue Monday - supposedly the most depressing day of the year - I wanted to write a blog about one of the best ways to boost your emotional and physical well-being: Music.

More and more studies are showing that music has benefits way beyond mere enjoyment.  Listening to a song that we love can cheer us up when we're in a grump.  Playing an emotional ballad when you've got a lot of pent-up feelings can be the catalyst to finally letting those feelings out (and it's fair to say that most of us start to feel at least a little better after a good cry).

But it's not just listening to music that can have an effect on our deeper well-being.  Recent reports claim that doctors will soon be "prescribing" the arts to patients suffering from loneliness, mental health issues or even dementia, such is the positive impact that playing an instrument or singing in a group can have on a person's well-being.

It's a subject I passionately believe in.  Music has always been an outlet for my emotions, as well as something comforting that I throw myself into when the world feels bleak.  Breaking out a favourite album on a bad day is like snuggling down under a warm duvet; it just makes you feel better.

But passive listening can only go so far.

In the past, when life has been difficult, I've been known to resort to "YouTube karaoke."  I could never explain it, but somehow, belting out a ballad had the power to unleash all the emotion I'd been bottling up, but in a way that felt positive and powerful.  And once the sad songs were over with, I'd inevitably end up warbling away to some uptempo tunes.  Without fail, I'd end my personal karaoke session feeling much better than I had when I started it.  

Nowadays, I sing with a chorus and I've learnt far more about how music works to boost your health - not just your mental health, but your physical well-being, too.  Did you know, for example, that singing teaches you the correct way to breathe?  Believe it or not, there is a wrong way.  And for someone like me, who suffers with chronic asthma, it's pretty important that I know the difference.

Not only has my lung capacity improved since I joined said chorus, but my posture is definitely better, too.  That's because one of the number one things you learn is that standing in a saggy, slumped position won't help you sound good when you sing.  Once you've realised that you need a good posture for singing purposes, you frequently find yourself remembering your "singing stance" for when you're standing in a long queue, or doing anything that requires you to be on your feet for long periods.

The mental health benefits were less unexpected; of course singing in harmony sounds amazing and therefore makes you feel amazing, because you're a part of it.  Singing is a fantastic stress-reliever, too.  It's hard to fret about family or worry about work when you're busy trying to nail that tricky key change.

And then there's the social aspect.  

Joining any kind of group - be it a choir, a band or a sports team - means that you're getting out of the house (and hopefully out of your own head space) at least once a week and talking to other people.  It gives you the opportunity to broaden your social circle and make new friends.  Inevitability, that group mentality leads to a feeling of support and closeness; you are part of something.  You are one of the family.

Look, I'm not about to say that joining a choir or doing some karaoke is enough to cure depression (or any other illness) all by itself.  Obviously, seeking professional medical attention when you're in any way unwell should be your first port of call.  But if you're just looking for something to boost your well-being, there is a lot to be said for allowing music to be your medicine.

It certainly worked for me.

Long Live Queen!

When my sister was only 4 or 5, she developed what could arguably be described as her first crush.  It wasn't on a youthful kids TV presenter, or a smiley-faced member of a boyband.  Nope, the object of her adoration was none other than Queen's flamboyant lead singer, Freddie Mercury.

Of course, given her young age, it was a very innocent form of love.  It was also one I shared.  Our mum was (and is) a Queen fan and we were familiar with not only the music, but with Freddie's amazing stage presence, even though we'd only ever viewed it through a TV screen.  In fact, such was my admiration for Freddie, that when I was given two rubber ducks to play with in the bath when I was only a pre-schooler myself, I had lovingly named them "Band Aid" and "Fred," in honour of the concert I'd seen snippets of on TV over the years (or rather, the group of musicians behind the Christmas song I adored), and the lead singer of the band I'd loved the most.

When Freddie Mercury passed away, in November 1991, my sister and I were absolutely gutted.  If I remember rightly, we both cried.  My sister hung posters of him in her room and would sadly kiss him goodnight, before bed.  To this day, if you ask her, she'll tell you "Freddie will always be BAE."

He WAS magnifico-oh-oh-oh-ooooh.

But whilst Freddie may have seemed the driving force of Queen - the indescribable showman - the band as a whole were - and arguably still are - a force to be reckoned with.

You need only listen to the likes of Muse, The Darkness and even Lady Gaga, to see how influential Queen continue to be.  Their brand of operatic rock still feels gloriously fresh, all these years later.  It may be a cliché, but I still can't hear that guitar solo from Bohemian Rhapsody, without wanting to break into the kind of head-banging that Wayne and Garth from Wayne's World would be proud of.

That song - still loved and praised several decades after it first burst onto the music scene - has come to sum up the eclectic range of styles Queen experimented with.  They may be seen as essentially a classic "rock" band, but over the years, they played around with everything from metal and glam-rock, to disco and opera.  This was a band clearly unafraid to think outside of the musical box, frequently pushing themselves to reinvent their sound and yet somehow always sounding instantly recognisable.  You can just tell it's a Queen song, no matter what style it takes, from the very first seconds.

Talk to most people about Queen and they'll point to their biggest, brashest hits: Bohemian Rhapsody, Killer Queen or Don't Stop Me Now.  But Queen weren't just good at stadium sing-along hits.  They were able to capture raw emotion in softer songs, such as Who Wants To Live Forever?

Indeed, two of my absolute favourite Queen songs are not the ones that get your hands clapping, but the ones that get you right in the chest; Too Much Love Will Kill You and These Are The Days Of Our Lives.

In fact, the latter brings a lump to my throat every single time I hear it.  From the gut-punch that comes from the knowledge that Freddie is no longer with us, as he sings "these days are all gone now..." to possibly the most devastatingly sad guitar solo of all time, that song is just sheer emotion from start to finish.  If you've ever wondered what it would sound like if a guitar could cry, just listen to Brian May's solo on that track.  His guitar isn't gently weeping, it's wailing.  It's a primal howl and it breaks me every time I hear it.

Combine the heartbreaking melody with Freddie's terribly frail appearance in the music video (his final one) and it's even sadder, still.

I can remember being hugely excited when Made In Heaven came out in 1995.  It was to feature music recorded when Freddie was still alive, completed after his death and so hearing tracks from the album was an incredibly bittersweet experience.  One of the tracks, Heaven For Everyone, became my favourite Queen song (aside from the two previously mentioned tear-jerkers) and seeing the song reach number two in the singles chart and hearing it played at the youth club I attended back in the day, was a glorious experience for a 13 year old kid who had grown up with one heck of a soft spot for the band.

That soft spot has never really dimmed.  I often decide to have a "Queen Day," where I "binge-listen" to as much as their music as I can.  There's something about Queen's music that stirs me in a way that only a select few other bands have ever managed (the Manics being the obvious one).  Their songs still excite me.  Their melodies still take me over completely and leave me smiling and singing along, no matter where I am.

I've never been lucky enough to see Queen live.  Obviously, in their heyday, when Freddie was still strutting his stuff on stage, I was much too young.  Now, tickets for their performances with Adam Lambert sell out so fast that I'll be lucky if ever get the chance to go.  Not that I wouldn't give my right arm for the opportunity...

Queen's music has soundtracked many people's lives, perhaps without those people ever stopping to give it a second thought.  From the football fans singing We Are The Champions on the terraces, to the kids who just seem to instantly know that stamp-stamp-clap motif from We Will Rock You, even if they're not sure how they know it, Queen's music is still seemingly everywhere.  And that's just how it should be.

So, from the girl who named her rubber duck "Fred" all those years ago: Freddie, Brian, Roger and John... I still love you.

The Power of Music

Do you ever do that thing of intending to watch just one YouTube video, then before you know it, it's two hours later and you've been clicking on so many links in the "recommended" section after each video you've watched, that you're not entirely sure you remember what you went on there to look at in the first place?!

That's what happened to me, last night.

It started off as a simple desire to watch Prince perform Purple Rain, after seeing someone mention the song on Twitter.  It's up there amongst my all-time favourite songs, so I decided to head to YouTube to indulge my love of it.  Amongst the recommended videos afterwards, was Guns n Roses' November Rain, another favourite of mine, so I watched that, next.  And, sure enough, in the recommended videos alongside that, there was another song I wanted to watch the video for.  And so on and so forth, until it was well past the time I had planned to be all tucked up in bed.

Pictured: Me, last night, when I should have been asleep...

One of the things I love about music is how you can get completely lost in it.  I wasn't bothered about going to sleep.  All I wanted to do was let the melodies surround me and enjoy the sensation that each song provided within me.  

Music is so powerfully personal, too.  A song that means nothing to one person, could be the song that reminds someone else of the happiest - or worst - time of their life.  Music can bring us back to moments we'd long forgotten.  Our memories have their own soundtrack and that's an amazing thing.

Last night, whilst I was on my journey from song to song, scanning the recommended videos after each one I watched and picking the one I liked best, I wasn't expecting so many memories to come flooding back.  But that's exactly what happened.

Some of them were funny memories.  For example, when I watched the video for Take That's How Deep Is Your Love, I found myself giggling over the fact that my sister used to say that the slightly odd instrumental sound just before the final chorus sounded like "a drunk owl."

Some of them were bittersweet memories.  Design For Life by the Manics just made me think of all the times I've seen them play that song live, nearly always with my gig buddy - and one of my closest friends - by my side.  She's chosen not to be in my life, anymore, as a result of a fallout I had with someone else, so the memories of she and I, arms aloft, singing our hearts out together, was tinged with an awful lot of sadness.

But then I clicked on a song in the recommended videos section, purely because I hadn't listened to it in years and I remembered loving it when I was younger.  And that was the moment that I realised that music doesn't just soundtrack our memories.  Sometimes, it envelopes them so tightly that we don't even know we have those specific memories, until we hear the song, again.

This was the song in question.

Don't Dream It's Over by Crowded House was, as far as I was concerned, just as pretty song I used to like when I was around 12 or 13.  But, as I pressed "play," I realised that it held within its melody, memories I had buried deep within my psyche.

Instantly, as the song began to play, I was transported back to the bus I used to take to secondary school.

Now, regular readers of this blog will probably already be aware that when I started secondary school, I went from being a bright, bubbly girl who enjoyed attention, to being a very withdrawn, depressed kid, with no confidence.  That is entirely down to the fact that I experienced horrendous bullying on that school bus.  Day in, day out.

I had completely forgotten the association that particular song had with that particular time.  But, as I listened to the music and sang along with the lyrics, it all came rushing back.

That was the song that I would frequently play on the bus, turned up loud so that my headphones drowned out as much of the name-calling as possible.  I would stare out of the window and listen to those words: "Hey now, hey now.  Don't dream it's over... You know they won't win."

I clung to those words.  I was going through a painful time, in which I was convinced that all the good times in my life were over.  My enjoyment of life, my confidence in myself, my belief in the good in people... All of it had been eroded by the daily Hell the bullies on the bus so loved to put me through.  But I wanted to believe that it would get better.  And so, those lyrics were a lifeline.  My life wasn't over.  And I wouldn't let them win.

Hearing that song again and reliving all of those memories was incredibly powerful.  It stunned me that I could have forgotten just why the song meant so much to me all those years ago, but I suppose that some memories are just too painful to fixate on.  

But, once the floodgates had been opened, I realised just how many memories I have that are intrinsically linked to the music I was listening to at the time.  For example, I can't hear Don't Look Back In Anger by Oasis, without remembering myself as a kid of 13, bouncing around the living room, shrieking with joy, because the song was being played at number 2 in the charts and I knew that meant that my beloved Take That's final single before their split, had gone in straight at number one.

Music is more than just a pleasant sound in the background.  It can be what sets a mood.  It can speak to us on a deeply personal, emotional level.  And, as I discovered last night, it can be the key to memories we thought were locked away, forever.

So, whatever type of music it is that floats your boat, indulge in it.  Shamelessly.  Music has extraordinary power.  Life without it is unimaginable.

Dear Bands: PLEASE STOP IGNORING THE SOUTH WEST!

James Dean Bradfield, from the Manic Street Preachers.

Music, as the song goes, was my first love.  And, seeing as terminal singledom has apparently set in, I strongly suspect it'll be my last.

For me, music has never been just a passive experience.  It's not a case of simply pressing "play" and having a song on in the background.  Music is something I practically bathe in.  If I love a song, I want to listen to it through headphones, in the dark, turned up really loud.  I want to play tunes in the car and sing along, without caring who hears as I drive past.  There are songs that soundtrack certain times in my life.  Songs that have such deep meaning to me that they can reduce me to tears.  I even have lyrics tattooed on my skin.

When you love music - when a band has come into your life and changed the way you think, or when you share such a deep love of a band with someone that it strengthens your friendship and becomes part of the relationship you have - it's only natural that you might want to listen to it on more than just your iPod or car stereo.  You might want to hear it played live.

From the Manics to Boyzone.  Nobody can say I'm not eclectic.

The trouble is, I live in Cornwall.  Yes, we have music venues (The Hall For Cornwall, for example), but they're not places you'll find on most band's tour schedules.  If you live down here, you have to adjust to the idea of travelling out of the county in order to see live music.

That never used to be much of a problem.  Plymouth is only an hour's drive away and some big bands visit Plymouth Pavilions when they tour the UK (I've seen the Manics and Blur there, for example).  But, as time goes by, far too many bands seem to be bypassing the South West altogether.

Alex James from Blur.

In recent years, I've gotten used to travelling to see bands live.  In just under a fortnight, I'm off to Birmingham to see the Manics and I'm heading to London at the end of the month to see Busted.  But it's recently hit home that having to travel such a long way to see a band I like is a bit of a slog and, frankly, not always an option, financially speaking.

For a start, if you're heading to somewhere like London from Cornwall, you're looking at easily £100 just on petrol for the round trip.  Factor in a hotel, congestion charging, food en route etc and suddenly you're talking about a much bigger sum.  And that's if you can even go in the first place; personally, I currently work term-time, meaning that if I want to travel up country to see a band who are playing at any time other than the school holidays, I have to do it at the weekend (I can maybe wangle a Friday off, but if I do that too often, I'm pushing my luck).  If there are no weekend dates that are within an affordable distance, then that's it.  No gig for me.  

Some will say "oh well, get over it."  But I can't express how important music is in my life.  I can't tell you how ecstatic I've felt, hand in hand with a friend who means the world to me, singing our hearts out, together.  And I can't tell you how devastated I am right now, that a tour I've waited a year for and which I'd been quietly planning outfits and banners etc for, has happened at a time when there are no weekend dates near enough for me to get there and I just can't justify the cost of travelling hundreds of miles to the other end of the country.  I've literally sobbed, feeling left out and fed up.  I still could.

It's not a 911 gig.  In case you were wondering.

In the grand scheme of things, a missed concert isn't the worst thing in the world.  I know that.  But it doesn't stop me feeling sad.  And like I said, it's not just about music.  It's about sharing experiences with people you love.  It's about that feeling of losing yourself and forgetting the outside world for a few hours.  It's about having something to look forward to and to reminisce over.  The band I'm missing is the one I had the most fun at ever, of any concert I've been to.  The memories made the last time I saw them (admittedly in a slightly different form) are some of the ones I treasure the most.  There was never any question of me not going to see them when they toured again.  Yet, here I am, finally knowing that a tour is happening, yet also knowing that I won't be there.  I'm gutted.

And yes, there are other things in life to look forward to and other memories to be made.  But like I said, sometimes knowing that isn't enough to stop you feeling sad.  I've been beating myself up for being so upset about it, but I've finally realised that I shouldn't have to.  It's okay to be angry, frustrated and upset when you miss out on something you've been looking forward to for so long, especially something that meant more to you than just seeing a gig.  So, yes, I'm upset.  But there's something of a sense of injustice, too.  After all, it's not just me who misses out on seeing bands live because of where I live.  

Manchester, Cardiff, London, Birmingham and Glasgow.  They're the places I see on lists of tour dates over and over again.  If there's anywhere in the South West, it's usually Bristol (and sometimes, even that gets overlooked); Devon and especially Cornwall get forgotten about, time after time.

Nicky from the Manics.

Even Bristol is a three hour drive away, but it's a drive I'm happy to make, providing I can afford it and I'm not going to have to haul my backside out of bed early for work the next day.  Plymouth or Exeter would be even better - and like I said, I have seen some pretty big bands in Plymouth - but what about Cornwall?

The Hall For Cornwall has a capacity of just under 1000, so it's not likely to play host to One Direction any time soon (no, that's definitely not the band I'm sad about missing), but for an intimate gig, it's amazing and I can assure you, a Cornish audience is a grateful, receptive one.  The Hall For Cornwall has staged a gig by the Manics and it was one of my favourite Manics gigs (and I've been to a lot), because I was just so thrilled to have my favourite band in the world, performing at a venue barely forty minutes drive away from my house.

The Eden Project's arena has a capacity of 6,000 and many major acts have played there.  Each year, they hold "The Eden Sessions" series of concerts, which attracts big names, but I'd love to see more live music held at Eden; not only is it a beautiful setting, but it's a great opportunity for large-scale gigs.

What we really need, however, is a purpose-built, large-scale music venue.  It's something we badly lack down here, since Cornwall Coliseum closed (that venue held 6,000 people).  The argument is always that Plymouth Pavilions took away most of the business Cornwall Coliseum needed in order to survive, with bands preferring to play there, instead.  But without a large-scale music venue in Cornwall, how can we ever entice bands back?!  We boast beautiful beaches and a busy tourist industry, but music-lovers are still, by and large, being forced to leave the county in order to see the bands they love, and we're not enticing gig-goers in to the county, because we have nowhere for them to go.  That needs to change.

I drew a stage.  Now go build it, Cornwall County Council.

I get that tours tend to be planned with a business-minded eye; it's about filling big venues and recouping the money spent on staging the shows, I know that.  And not having a major concert venue down in Cornwall is a big reason for the county being overlooked.  But Plymouth Pavilions has a capacity of around 4,000 and Exeter Westpoint Arena has a capacity of 7,500 and yet still Bristol is as far South west as a lot of bands go (if they even make it there).  

Fans in the South West are just as dedicated, just as passionate and just as keen to have gigs in our lives as fans anywhere else in the UK.  Missing a gig because of the sheer cost of having to travel to the other end of the country just to get there sucks.  So, here's a double-edged plea:

Dear bands and tour organisers: Please stop thinking that the UK ends at Bristol.  Please remember that there are venues available further south and that the fans living in the South West would dearly love to see you.

And Dear Cornwall County Council: Isn't it about time we had a new music venue in the county?!  Somewhere with the capacity to entice big names and stop music lovers from having to make the choice to either shell out hundreds of pounds to travel across the country just to see a band live, or to have to miss out entirely and deal with the sadness and frustration that that can cause.

Let's bring music back to Cornwall in a big way.

In Praise of "Part-Time Fans."

Hello, everyone.  Today I would like to share what might be an unpopular opinion.  I would like to sing the praises of the part-time fan.  At this point, every obsessive (possibly teen) person reading this is in the process of throwing their phone/laptop/iPad out of the window in disgust, so I'm not likely to reach the people who need to read this blog, but here goes, anyway...

Look, I'm an unashamed fangirl.  I belong to many different fandoms, but for the purpose of this blog, we'll use the Manics as my main example.  I've been a Manic Street Preachers fan for over half my life.  I've seen them so many times it runs into double digits (I think it's 13 or 14 times, but I've lost count), I've met them (at least, I've met Nicky and James; Sean is elusive and Richey's... well, that's a whole other blog) and I own every album they've ever released, plus books about them, signed postcards, signed setlists, badges and goodness knows what else.  I even have their lyrics tattooed on me.  It's fair to say I'm a big fan.

I had this poster on my wall for years, until I kissed Richey's face off.  Literally.

Now, in every fandom, you get the hardcore group who own everything the artist has ever produced, go to multiple tour dates, hang around outside TV/radio studios to catch a glimpse of their idols etc.  I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that, necessarily (although I've talked about when fandom crosses a line before), but there's an ugly sense of superiority that can creep into the situation when you talk to some of those hardcore fans.  I've been queuing for a Manics gig before and had fans sneer: "Oh, so you never saw them with Richey?  Not really a fan then, are you?"  Um, Richey disappeared when I was twelve.  My bedroom walls were plastered with Take That posters at that age.  Does that mean I'm not a "proper" fan, now?  Of course not.  

I can usually prove that I'm a "proper" fan, by showing off my lyric tattoo, talking in detail about my favourite album tracks, or reminiscing over past tours.  But the point is, I shouldn't have to.

Recently, I've seen a few bands who've been under the radar for a while come back into the limelight.  As is to be expected, people start talking excitedly about new music, or tours etc.  But then they spoil it with the ugly superiority again.  "I bet loads of people will pretend they like them, now.  I bet all the part-time fans who weren't around when the band weren't doing anything will come creeping out of the woodwork when new stuff is released."

Here's the thing:  I'm a part-time fan of loads of bands. There are plenty of bands that I go through phases of listening to every now and then, rather than obsessively.  There are bands I like, who I only own one or two singles from.  Or I'll like a band, but only to the point where I own the Greatest Hits.  None of those things makes me unworthy of listening to that music.  None of it means that I'm not allowed to go to a gig, if I choose to.

For example, I like Muse a lot, but I've not got their two most recent albums and I've never seen them live.  I own all their music up until a certain point and then, whilst I never went off them, I just stopped being quite as in love with them as I had previously been.  The other day, a Muse album track came on in the car (I had my iPad on shuffle) and it was quite literally the first time I'd heard it in a couple of years.  I did the biggest grin and indulged in some quite serious in-car dancing and some Bellamy-esque dramatic singing.  It was fabulous.  But you can bet your ass that if I went to see Muse live, there'd be that hardcore group in the queue that thought I didn't have as much right to be there, because I don't own everything they've ever recorded and I can't tell you Matt Bellamy's birth date.  And that, my friends, is utter rubbish.

You see, fandom isn't a competitive sport.  There's not supposed to be a hierarchy, with the people who've met the band the most often and who own that limited edition CD sitting at the top.  This isn't YouNow and you can't just buy your way to being "top fan" (don't get me started on my love/hate relationship with YouNow, because that's a whole other blog).  Music - or films, TV shows, YouTubers, musical theatre or anything else that a culture of fandom builds up around - is there for everyone.  That's the brilliant thing about it.  You don't have to obsessively collect everything an artist has ever created in order to say you like them.  You can dip in and out of music, choosing to listen to something because you like the sound of it, without feeling an urge to rush out and buy every album the band has ever made.  You can go to a see a band live, based on the fact that you know "a lot of their singles," rather than because you're hoping that that hidden song between tracks six and seven on their debut album might get played.  Being a "part-time" fan of any band just simply means liking them, but not devoting yourself to them.  And that's fine.  You don't have to listen to the same stuff religiously.  And if a band you've decided you quite like takes a break, you don't have to keep listening to them for the whole time they're gone.  You're allowed to find other stuff to sing along to and you're still allowed to be intrigued or even excited when the band returns from their hiatus.  IT'S FINE.

SAVE YOUR HATE FOR TICKET TOUTS.

Seriously.  Screw those guys.

The thing is, even if you truly, desperately believe that you somehow are a superior fan, because you own every album and you've seen the band ninety six times and you've met the drummer's dad, there is still literally no excuse to hate on those people who casually like the group that you obsess over.  Sure, it's annoying when someone goes "oh my GOD, I love them, their debut single is so awesome" and then they namecheck a song that was released years after the band formed (as a Manics fan, if I had a pound for every time someone referred to Design For Life as the band's debut single, I'd own a freaking mansion by now), but it's not impacting you in any way.  It's irritating to hear someone make out like your favourite band is also their favourite band, when they seem to know much less about them and they haven't appeared interested in them for ages.  But that's all it is; a bit irritating.  It's not stopping you from buying their singles, or from going to a concert.  It's something that should be easy to ignore.

What shouldn't be so easily ignored is the fact that, whether you like it or not, without the "part-time fans," the band you love so much might not even exist at all.

Think about it: if only the most hardcore fans bought singles, then those singles wouldn't chart as highly.  I know I've bought plenty of singles on iTunes, not because I'm a massive, obsessive fan of the artists who released them, but because the songs were good.  Simple as that.  That's what happens - people buy singles based on what they like at that moment.  That's how songs get to number one; if enough people think "ooh, I like that" and buy the single, it rises up the charts.  Those people doing the buying might never even have heard of the band before they made that purchase, but that one song got under their skin and they figured "it's only 99p, why not?"

And if only the hardcore fans bought albums, sales would drop.  Because, like it or lump it, some of the sales that bands achieve come from people who buy music on a whim, just because it makes their ears happy.  Some of those sales come from people who've heard one single, liked it and fancied checking out the band's other stuff.  So, if those casual listeners, or part-time fans all unanimously stopped buying albums, sales would drop.  A drop in sales could lead to another form of drop; the band being dropped by their record label.  The music biz is a cruel world.

It's the same deal with concert tickets.  Those part-time fans, who own maybe one album and mainly like the singles from it, might choose to go to a concert for a fun night out.  So, they fork out for a couple of tickets.

what I'm trying to say here, is that the revenue created by casual listeners, or part-time fans, contributes towards keeping the band or artist you obsess over going.  Without them, you might not have a band to obsess over at all.

Most of us are pretty well-rounded people.  We don't just like one band, or one TV show, or one genre of film.  We have multiple likes and dislikes and that's what makes life interesting.  Essentially, we're probably all part-time fans of someone or something and that's okay. And, though we may not realise it at the time, when we download a single on a whim, or buy a ticket for a tour just because we think it'll be fun, we're helping to keep a band, artist or celebrity afloat for the people who adore them.

Part-time fans and casual listeners aren't people to be mocked.  They're people to be thanked.

Bringing this back to me and my Manics-love, I can put my hand on my heart and say I love to see casual fans at Manics gigs.  Because so often, their reaction is to smile and jump around and say "wow, this band are brilliant."  

Maybe they'll go home and buy the whole back catalogue and the next time the band tour, they'll be down at the front, singing along to every word.

Maybe they'll go home and go back to dipping in and out of the band's music and never love them the way I do.

It really doesn't matter.  

What matters is that they stuck their hands in their pockets and bought tour tickets.  They might have bought an album.  And in doing so they're helping to keep the band going.  That is what matters to me.  

So, next time you decide to hate on part-time fans, remind yourself that you are probably a part-time fan of someone or something, too.  And remember that without those casual fans, the very thing you love wouldn't necessarily stay around for as long as you'd like.  

Let the hate go.  

Songbird

Pictured: Me.

What feels like a million years ago, my first real boyfriend took me to the cinema to see Bridget Jones' Diary (he told me we were going to see a far more blokey film and I nearly had an over sentimental weep when he confessed that he was actually indulging my extreme girliness, by taking me to what was essentially, a "chick flick").  In the opening scenes, we see Bridget, a little tipsy, sitting alone on her sofa, wearing her pyjamas, singing/miming along to All By Myself in a dramatic fashion.  Sitting beside me, my ex's shoulders began to jiggle up and down.  Then a big giggle burst out of his lips.  Before long, he was laughing out loud, to the point where I thought "maybe he wanted to see this film more than I did..."  But then he turned to me - still chuckling - and said: "That is so you."

He was right.  Sadly, he was also hugely prophetic, seeing as all these years later, I am currently single and have been known to wear novelty PJs, drink wine and warble along to power ballads...  But he was referring to the tendency to totally (and dramatically) lose myself in singing and he was utterly spot on.

Ever since I was little, music has been a passion.  And from listening to music, came my love of singing along to it. 

My mum has a really nice voice.  When I was a little girl, she'd play old vinyl albums and sing along to them and I absolutely loved to listen to her.  Even now, when we sing together in the car, I find myself thinking what a sweet tone she has.  

As I became more familiar with the songs mum played, I started singing along.  The Beatles, The Carpenters and several other bands who were technically "before my time" became my staples and I'd practise singing their songs in my room.  When I was only around eight or nine, I sang a duet with my mum at a karaoke night in London, whilst visiting my grandparents.  We sang For All We Know by The Carpenters.  It was the first time I'd really sung in public and I was buzzing, afterwards.  I had been so nervous as I went up to take the mic, but as soon as the music ended, I wanted to do it all over again.

As I got older and more into musicals, I started experimenting with different styles of singing.  I was too scared to have singing lessons (I thought I'd be told I was rubbish), so I taught myself how to sing from the diaphragm, when to use a "head voice" and when to use a "chest voice" and I taught myself harmonies.  I even sang scales to myself, in an effort to increase my range.  I toyed with the idea of doing music or drama at GCSE/A-level and going off to study musical theatre at university.  I had big plans to join a choir, or an Am Dram group.

Sadly, once I started secondary school and was bullied to the point of severe depression, my confidence crashed through the floor.  I didn't believe in myself enough to even contemplate taking my love of singing any further.  I eventually joined a couple of choirs, but I never tried out for a solo.

But whilst my rather lofty dreams of being on stage might have been shattered, my love for singing never dimmed.  It simply became less about practising for an audition I'd never be brave enough to attend and more about liberating myself from my self-imposed shackles.

When you lose your confidence, you stop yourself doing a lot of things you want to do.  But when you sing - and I mean really belt, not caring who's listening - it's one of the most freeing things in the world.  All of that pent-up emotion comes spilling out.  All of your troubles disappear in amongst harmonies and choruses.  You're not that quiet, shy person who doesn't dare say boo to a goose.  You're a Diva.

By the time I reached my late teens, my sister had taught herself to play guitar and had become really good at it.  She had (and has!) a great singing voice and we'd "jam" together for hours, recording covers and writing songs of our own.  For a while, we were in a band with a friend who played drums (although we never played a "gig" - we were too busy recording demos and writing our own stuff!).  I still have a cassette tape of a recording session we did one lunchtime in the music studios at school and I absolutely treasure it.

Nowadays, singing is just something I do for me.  I'll have a glass or two of wine and fire up karaoke videos on YouTube.  I can easily lose a couple of hours that way, trying everything from show tunes to rock ballads and anything in between.  And yes, I am that girl you pull up alongside at traffic lights, only to find I'm belting along to whatever I'm listening to in the car, with no regard for who might hear.  Because I don't care - singing makes me so happy, so liberated, that I don't stop to worry about what I sound like.  Not too often, anyway.

I don't have the best voice in the world.  I make the odd flat sound and there are definitely high notes that I can no longer hit (years of using inhalers for my asthma has dried my throat out and left me a lot more raw than I ever used to be, sadly).  But when I lose myself in a song, I'm having fun and I'm feeling free.  That's what it's all about, as far as I'm concerned.  

I might actually be Bridget Jones, these days, but when I sing, I'm a Diva and the whole world is my stage.

Boyzone Live at Newton Abbot Racecourse (a review)

Cassette.  Because I'm retro.

Let me set the scene for you.  There's a girl aged thirteen years old.  She's being badly bullied at school.  She's shy.  She's not particularly happy.  But she has a few things in her life that make her smile.  One of those things - the biggest thing - is music.  Every night, before falling asleep, she pops one of her favourite cassettes into her Sony Walkman and listens to boybands, singing songs of love and happiness.  It's not much, but it makes her feel better.

I don't have to do the dramatic "that girl was me" reveal, because well, it should be massively obvious that it was.  And the two cassettes that I listened to far and above all others, were Take That's Nobody Else or Greatest Hits and Boyzone's debut album, Said And Done (pictured above: my very well-loved copy).

Said And Done is a fantastic pop album, perfectly filled with a mix of up-tempo numbers that make you want to dance and swooning ballads that teenagers fell for in their millions.  Of course, all of those young listeners had a favourite member of the band.  Mine was - and despite his death in 2009, remains - Stephen Gately.

Sleep soundly, Steo. xxx

On more nights than I care to count, I lay awake, with my headphones on, listening to Stephen's sweet vocals in my ears.

For many reasons, I never got around to seeing Boyzone live.  By the time they split, I was a Manics fan and going through a rather pathetic "I only listen to rock now" phase.  When Boyzone got back together and went on tour in 2008, I didn't go.  I don't even really know why, because I loved their comeback single and I loved the idea of seeing the band.  But I never went.  

In October 2009, Stephen died suddenly as a result of a pulmonary oedema, brought on by a heart attack caused by an undetected, congential heart defect.  He was just 33 years old.  I vividly remember hearing the news and being moved to tears that night as I lay in bed, listening to those same songs from my youth and bitterly regretting that I'd never seen the band live.  My best friend recalls travelling to London with me and sitting on the tube, opposite a man reading a newspaper report about Stephen's death, listening to me say over and over how sad I felt and how utterly tragic it was.

Fast forward more than five and a half years and you'll find that same girl who once lay in bed listening to Boyzone's debut album, delightedly heading to Newton Abbot Racecourse to see the now four-piece Boyzone appear live in concert.  Better late than never...

I was a bit excited.

Before the boys appeared on stage, we were treated to an opening spot by Alesha Dixon (perhaps better known for her TV judging roles, these days).  She got the crowd jumping and cheering and I freely admit that I was really impressed with her set.  So often, you spend the time that a support act is on stage, wishing they'd hurry up and finish so you can skip to the main event.  Not so, here.  As excited as I was to see Boyzone, Alesha was a fun opener and I didn't feel that quiet urge to fast forward to the bit I was really there to see.

Whilst waiting for Boyzone, my friend Tracey and I tried to decide on which song the band would open with.  We settled on the classic When The Going Gets Tough (The Tough Get Going), but we were wrong - the boys came on stage shortly after 8:30pm and immediately launched into a much more recent hit - Love Is A Hurricane.  The up-tempo mood continued with Love You Anyway, which remains a firm favourite of mine.

Despite missing Stephen, the boys were a solid vocal unit and had a fantastic stage presence.  The lads talked about how close they've become in the wake of Stephen's death and it certainly showed in their interactions last night.  The banter, the encouraging smiles and the tight harmonies were testament to their genuine friendship and their professionalism.

Stephen may have been absent in person, but he was absolutely there in spirit.  The band included him in several different, beautiful ways.  The first came in the form of a heartbreaking version of Bread's Everything I Own, which didn't even need a dedication for the fans around us to realise who the band were singing it for.  Later, during Words, Stephen's image was flashed up on a giant screen, with the song's opening lyrics, "Smile an everlasting smile..." written beneath his beaming face.  It was almost enough to cause the tears to fall.  But those were saved for later.

After a few up-tempo tracks, including the fabulous When The Going Gets Tough, the band left the stage and the screen once again filled with images of their lost friend.  After a few VT clips of each remaining band member discussing their thoughts on Stephen's passing, the opening chords of Gave It All Away, the final Boyzone single to feature Stephen's vocals (which was released posthumously), began to fill the air.  Before long, we heard Stephen's voice, singing those most poignant of opening lines: "I will learn to live before I die..."

The band arrived back on stage to sing along with their friend, whilst the tear-jerking music video that accompanies the single played on the big screen.  Just the sound of those sweet vocals would have been enough; the images of Stephen tipped me over the edge and the tears fell to the point that I briefly worried that they might never stop.

After Stephen's final refrain rang out amongst the crowd, the band spent time toasting his memory (albeit with no drinks!) and talking about their lost brother.  To round off the tribute, the band sang the beautiful Every Day I Love You, once again using Stephen's recorded vocals with their own live ones.  The result was stunning and there were many moist-eyes amongst the 7,000-strong audience.  Mine included!

Gave It All Away.

Every Day I Love You.

Once the tribute was complete and the tears had dried, the band continued with a cracking pop show, fusing much-loved Boyzone tracks with fresh-sounding versions of classic Motown tunes.  The live band were absolutely on point and the boys sounded brilliant, with their harmonies standing up to scrutiny, despite having lost the member most known for them!

The concert seemed to be over far too soon, as the band exited the stage with the audience frantically cheering for more.  Those fans were rewarded with an encore that saw the band wow the crowd with an empassioned rendition of their 1996 song, A Different Beat, followed by their first big hit in the UK, Love Me For A Reason.  The group ended the pop spectacular with a rousing version of Ronan Keating's solo smash, Life Is A Roller Coaster, which left fans bouncing up and down and singing their hearts out.

Life really has been a roller coaster for these four pop veterans, especially in the last six years.  But with a powerful, polished performace, Boyzone have shown that whatever life throws at them, they're able to come back fighting.  One star may be sadly lost, but this band still have their sparkle.