Music and Madness

Do you remember a BBC headline from early last year – If your child is a goth then they are more likely to suffer from depression. Typically arse backwards as if the music made you depressed as opposed to people with depression often seek solace in music that can possibly help them to articulate their feelings.

So yes I have a penchant for music in a minor key. Joy Division, The Cure later Talk Talk, M83, Baltic Fleet etc. I have just googled the most melancholy chord – the balance of opinion is that no one chord represents melancholy – it is the chord progression that is important. So a good one is Am:D7:Fm:C, apparently anything written in the Locrian mode works well.

But I also get a buzz out of something a bit more uplifting, not in a Shiny Happy People sort of way, but some soaring chords in a Sigur Ros song. Lyrics can play a part but I like to put my own thoughts to the music whether uplifting or melancholy. I never want to know what the artist says it is about, it is my interpretation that works.

Two years ago I started a weekly blog about 52 songs that plotted my life – I stopped around week 13 – I knew where it was going to lead and I wasn’t ready to go there – perhaps I will pick up in week 14 this year.

Day 26 – 30 mins

That was cold, proper cold. I park at the transmitter, deciding that I will run out and back along Scout Scar even as I leave the car I know it will be cold. But when I am heading south on the scar, I am running in to a bitterly cold headwind. I suddenly remember the weather man saying that we would have an unusually cold southerly wind. But this is way beyond ‘unusually cold’ this feels like the arctic ice cap has relocated itself to Morecambe Bay. I wasn’t sure what to photograph but I now know it will be the transmitter at the end of the run. Too cold to wander about looking for an image. Plus there are two places that I have sworn never to photograph. One is Ashness Bridge and the other is the ‘Mushroom’ on Scout Scar. It is a relief after 15 minutes to turn round and head to the car with the wind at my back, but even now the cold cuts through me. I am pushing myself but there isn’t even a hint of sweat, no ‘Ready Brek’ glow. Past the unloved mushroom, well by me at least, I drop down to the quarry and the car. A hasty photograph and in to the car and home.

Transmitter, Cunswick Scar