LYRIC: How Do You Ignore? (August 2025)

How do you ignore a genocide?

(Practice, man, practice)

This isn’t the first

And it won’t be the last

Our lives bathed in blood

That we try not to think about

How do you ignore the climate crisis?

(Practice, man, practice)

We’ve been in trouble

Since before I was born

The future a precipice

We try not to think about

Just try not to think about it

We try not to think about

How do you ignore this creeping fascism?

(Practice, man, practice)

Swastikas carved

Into primary school desks

Just everyday terrors

We try not to think about

How do you ignore how fucked up everything is?

(Practice, man, practice)

The problems never change

It’s a feature not a bug

Of the unjust structures

That we try not to think about

Just try not to think about it

We try not to think about

What if we thought about it?

What if we stopped ignoring?

Did more than just post about it?

Did more than just empty warnings?

Well how would we sleep at night?

Where would all the fun be then?

We can’t stop ignoring!

So just try not to think about it

How do you ignore a genocide?

How do you ignore the climate crisis?

How do you ignore this creeping fascism?

How do you ignore how fucked up everything is?

We just try not to think about it

LYRIC: The Actor, The Cello, and the Dark, Dark Cloud (July 2025)

This one’s really more of a poem, as the song is spoken word, but hey — it counts:

I sat and watched a fallen childhood hero

sincerely sing and speak from literature,

over cello, violin, and piano

in Birmingham’s Symphony Hall.

It had seemed so funny as a kid

to see Venkman hitting on Dana

in her haunted New York apartment.

But these days it just reads like harassment.

Another woman’s life made worse

By an entitled man without boundaries.

But it’s still my favourite film.

Ray’s parents left him that house; he was born there!

Meanwhile my grandmother lived and died in Dana Barrett’s building:

55 Central Park West.

If there are ghosts, she might still dwell in the service elevator

where she fell dead after brunch at Tavern on the Green.

The same place the Keymaster, Vince Clortho,

invaded the body of Louis Tulley.

Another entitled man in violation of bodily boundaries,

which I think about as I try and square my enjoyment of the actor,

singing covers of Tom Waits and Sondheim,

with the circle of his alleged wrongdoing.

What else do you expect from a vegetarian

who knows he probably should be vegan

but is too lazy to do all that cooking and food prep?

The world is much more grey

than it was ever black or white.

A reference to Michael Jackson,

perhaps,

who I occasionally also still listen to,

although I know I shouldn’t.

Ghostbusters was the first movie I fell in love with,

and Thriller the first album.

My grandmother,

the one who died in Spook Central,

and who might have made my mother’s life hell sometimes,

used to send me clippings

every time Jackson was mentioned in the papers.

She didn’t know who he was!

Was more into classical opera than the King of Pop.

But she knew her grandson loved him,

and that was enough.

Just as I still loved my grandmother,

no matter what my mother’s feelings.

Whatever the actor might, or might not, have done,

his performance was beautiful that night in Birmingham,

on the same stage where,

the year of its grand opening,

my grandmother had travelled from America to take us,

unwillingly,

to see the CBSO.

My only memory was of Sir Simon Rattle’s

wild and wonderful hair.

All these years later,

I would give anything to watch that concert I ignored again,

and spend one more precious evening with my gran.

But instead I get my favourite ghostbuster,

putting a little love in my heart.

He gave me a rose as he took his bows,

which sits now drying in a cupboard.

An artefact of a memory

I didn’t realise how much I’d cherish

when I guiltily bought the ticket,

and felt somehow like I shouldn’t.

LYRIC: The Poverty of Low Expectations (June 2025)

An education is a battle

Fought each day against our schools

In the gaps between the classrooms

In the gaps between the rules

And what is learned cannot be tested

At your isolated desks

In coercive competition

In examination death

The real assessment comes from living

Yes living lives much better than

The lives they had timetabled for you

Yes living lives against the plan

LYRIC: Ballad of an Aging Punk with a Keyboard (May 2025)

Fingers stained black again

Those fanzines marked me

in more ways than one

Filled my head with strange ideas

Like anyone can have a voice

Do things for passion, not for pay

Create the worlds you want to see

And champion all the things that you love

Here’s three chords now start a band

And when the band breaks up

Just keep on Doing It Yourself

Doing It Yourself

Bands nobody heard of

Except all of us that had

Records shipped from bedroom distros

To ears all over the world

Singing:

We accept you one of us

No more gatekeepers of talent

Ability in the beholder’s eye

Make your own kind of noise

Here’s three chords now start a band

And when the band breaks up

Just keep on Doing It Yourself

Doing It Yourself

This life’s not like the pop songs

This life’s an ugly mess

This life’s not perfect plastic

This life’s what we protest

Re-used envelopes through the door

Packing tape and thick black marker

Missives of hope from better worlds

That truly saved my life

Don’t let the bastards grind you down

Call out whatever needs calling out

And when the bullshit gets too much

You’ve got to get in the fucking van

Here’s three chords now start a band

And when the band breaks up

Just keep on Doing It Yourself

Doing It Yourself

LYRIC: I’m Alright, We’re OK (April 2025)

It’s not all depression and despair

I like to laugh as much as anyone

Not the wild-eyed cackle of the lost and deranged

But sitcom sofa chuckles

The joy of silly voices

Goofy comedy songs

I sing around the house

To amuse my wife and cat

I like to go on walks to pretty places

see the trees and mountains

Hills and lakes

With my favourite person in the world

That said

It’s not like everyday is perfect

I’m alright

We’re okay

There is so much to be thankful for

Weekends we watch the football

In between too many hours

of professional wrestling and sometimes baseball

My music is misinformation

Showing only my bleakest self

While behind the lyric sheet

contentment reigns

My otherwise wonderful life

Causes me no urgent creative crisis

I tend to write most of my songs when I feel down

That said

It’s not like everyday is perfect

I’m alright

We’re okay

There is so much to be thankful for

That said

It’s not like everyday is perfect

But mostly it’s okay

I read a lot and listen to music

Write my songs and play my bass guitar

Everyday is perfect

I’m alright

We’re okay

There is so much to be thankful for

LYRIC: The World’s Not Worth Saving Anymore (March 2025)

I miss the world I used to know

Though it’s a world I used to hate

For though a better world seemed far away

I never doubted it’s our fate

Today it’s hope that seems far away

I look around and blink my eyes

I miss the bad old times we’ve lost

I miss that world I once despised

Because

The world’s not worth saving any more

I think of all the things we learned

How quickly it was thrown away

I once believed we’d found the path

But sadly that was yesterday

Because

The world’s not worth saving any more

LYRIC: The Worst is Not (Feb 2025)

I’m feeling crazy, feeling panicked, feeling very very scared

This time is not like the last time

My head it felt so better when I had it buried under sand

They say that ignorance is bliss

A broken clock will turn out to be right at least two times a day

Still you don’t believe the boy who cried out wolf

The worst is not,

So long as WE

can say

‘this is

the worst’

The monster in the closet isn’t just some naive childhood fear

Sometimes those burning eyes are real

As much as I would like to make believe that things will be alright

I know sometimes that they are not

Every day the world is full of many other tragic tales

of people far worse off than me

The worst is not,

So long as WE

can say

‘this is

the worst’

This

Is not

The worst

This

Is not

The worst

LYRIC: Right Now (Jan 2025)

We are not all journalists

Despite the tempting sound of this

We have no column and no beat

No urgent deadlines to meet

So why do all our phones go ping

With every alert that comes in?

Why do we interrupt our lives

To keep on top of their headlines?

Why all the urgency?

Need for immediacy?

To see as soon as we can see?

All the latest tragedies?

Do

We really

Need to know

RIGHT NOW?

Keep up with the conversation

Hot takes which divide a nation

The quickest comments get liked first

Encourage us to be our worst

They said become the media

And we did, losing who we were

Hijacked the discourse way off course

We need a digital divorce

Why all the urgency?

Need for immediacy?

To see as soon as we can see?

All the latest tragedies?

Do

We really

Need to know

RIGHT NOW?