About this blog
One of my earliest memories is of playing a 78rpm recording of Harry Belafonte's Mary's Boy Child, over and over again, on our old gramophone player. I must have been about three years of age.
It gave me such excitement to listen to the song, and inspired me to follow the life and teachings of Jesus from a very early age. Playing the song now, so many years later, evokes the memory in me that I have of that child I was back then: an innocent, open to love and kindness and a kind of gentle caring and understanding which has, I have to confess, made things difficult for me at times.
I've understood in the last year that I'm an empath, and it's been a problem for much of my life. Like many people on the autism spectrum, I have had problems with relationships because, contrary to popular beliefs about people on the autism spectrum having no empathy for others, the opposite is true: my empathy is something I can't turn off. It's overwhelming, and it has been all my life. Autistic people are closed off to shut the "noise" out that's coming from everyone around them. And on top of that, they feel an enormous sense of responsibility because of it. To know someone is in pain is one thing: to simply ignore than is another thing entirely.
So what has this to do with music or, for that matter, musical prejudice?
Well, it all started about 25 years ago when I asked myself why I liked the music I liked, and why I disliked the music I disliked. And, from that, why did others like the music I didn't like, and not the like the music I did?
And from there I was led to an epiphany: the music had changed me, and made me think and feel in a particular direction. As an actor, I would ask myself what motivated one person to be and do what they did. What music did they listen to, what clothes did they wear? All these pointed to character and character traits, but was there some underlying trait that guided these characters into liking the music they liked, or were they simply changed by the music they listened to?
Did I listen to Mary's Boy Child because I was me, or did I become me because I listened to Mary's Boy Child?
And so I began an experiment with my own life: I decided to listen to music I didn't like, which other people did. I wanted to understand what made others tick, what made them think and feel. I listened to classica music, and I listened to the kind of classical music that I didn't like. I listened to Jazz, then I listened to obscure Jazz like Jazz Fusion. I listened to the stuff Miles Davis was doing that sent people off him.
I listened to gospel, to punk, to heavy metal and rap. I listened to folk music, Christian Music, Indian sitar music, African music, drumming, Cuban salsa, Reggae, electronic music and experimental music like John Cage, who played on a toy piano.
And it changed me. It opened my mind.
And then I looked at all the other things I thought I hated: mathematics, fishing, swimming, heights, sculpture, modern art. I got into furniture and architecture, aesthetics, algebra, calculus, chemistry, and all the subjects I hated at school that other people loved. I learned to get the gist of all things, so that I could expand my mind.
And this, really, is what it's all about. There is so much to understand, and so many things to be passionate about. And at the core of it what I gleaned more than anything is that who we are is merely who we think we are. We are an illusion, based on the things we encounter. Not just the people, not just the ideas, not just the politics and religion and beliefs, but all the influences and prejudices.
I clearly remember as a very small child, probably around one, because I can remember my high chair and being spoon fed egg by my mother on toast "soldiers", that I didn't like cheese. And, miraculously, I had the epiphany, even then, of realising I had never actually tasted cheese.
And these are the kinds of resistances some of us carry throughout our entire lives: we resist even trying something for fear it will hurt us, kill us or change us too much.
Bodychoir/ five rhythms
It gave me such excitement to listen to the song, and inspired me to follow the life and teachings of Jesus from a very early age. Playing the song now, so many years later, evokes the memory in me that I have of that child I was back then: an innocent, open to love and kindness and a kind of gentle caring and understanding which has, I have to confess, made things difficult for me at times.
I've understood in the last year that I'm an empath, and it's been a problem for much of my life. Like many people on the autism spectrum, I have had problems with relationships because, contrary to popular beliefs about people on the autism spectrum having no empathy for others, the opposite is true: my empathy is something I can't turn off. It's overwhelming, and it has been all my life. Autistic people are closed off to shut the "noise" out that's coming from everyone around them. And on top of that, they feel an enormous sense of responsibility because of it. To know someone is in pain is one thing: to simply ignore than is another thing entirely.
So what has this to do with music or, for that matter, musical prejudice?
Well, it all started about 25 years ago when I asked myself why I liked the music I liked, and why I disliked the music I disliked. And, from that, why did others like the music I didn't like, and not the like the music I did?
And from there I was led to an epiphany: the music had changed me, and made me think and feel in a particular direction. As an actor, I would ask myself what motivated one person to be and do what they did. What music did they listen to, what clothes did they wear? All these pointed to character and character traits, but was there some underlying trait that guided these characters into liking the music they liked, or were they simply changed by the music they listened to?
Did I listen to Mary's Boy Child because I was me, or did I become me because I listened to Mary's Boy Child?
And so I began an experiment with my own life: I decided to listen to music I didn't like, which other people did. I wanted to understand what made others tick, what made them think and feel. I listened to classica music, and I listened to the kind of classical music that I didn't like. I listened to Jazz, then I listened to obscure Jazz like Jazz Fusion. I listened to the stuff Miles Davis was doing that sent people off him.
I listened to gospel, to punk, to heavy metal and rap. I listened to folk music, Christian Music, Indian sitar music, African music, drumming, Cuban salsa, Reggae, electronic music and experimental music like John Cage, who played on a toy piano.
And it changed me. It opened my mind.
And then I looked at all the other things I thought I hated: mathematics, fishing, swimming, heights, sculpture, modern art. I got into furniture and architecture, aesthetics, algebra, calculus, chemistry, and all the subjects I hated at school that other people loved. I learned to get the gist of all things, so that I could expand my mind.
And this, really, is what it's all about. There is so much to understand, and so many things to be passionate about. And at the core of it what I gleaned more than anything is that who we are is merely who we think we are. We are an illusion, based on the things we encounter. Not just the people, not just the ideas, not just the politics and religion and beliefs, but all the influences and prejudices.
I clearly remember as a very small child, probably around one, because I can remember my high chair and being spoon fed egg by my mother on toast "soldiers", that I didn't like cheese. And, miraculously, I had the epiphany, even then, of realising I had never actually tasted cheese.
And these are the kinds of resistances some of us carry throughout our entire lives: we resist even trying something for fear it will hurt us, kill us or change us too much.
Bodychoir/ five rhythms
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