Starsailor

O2 Institute, Birmingham

I’ve been a Starsailor fan for more than two decades. I’ve seen them play live 55 times. I’ve photographed them more than 20 times. I’ll never tire of either. They are my band. My music. I don’t know why, they just are, it just is. I belong to this music and it to me.

Where The Wild Things Grow may be their best album yet, or at least it contains some of their best songs. It’s bluesier; I am in love with the backing vocals, slide guitar and harmonica. There is also a country vibe to the slower, quieter songs that I love. To get to hear some of it live was something I was really looking forward to, even if I was incredibly nervous.

On top of the usual anxiety inducing factors; busy stations & trains, hoping passenger assistance would show up, getting lost, noisy hotels, unfamiliar places, finding somewhere I can eat and a million more micro things that my neurodivergent brain and disabled body have to navigate every time I leave the house or interact with another human, I was also nervous to see old friends in my newly, visible disabled state. It’s one thing to use a walker and/or crutch in public near strangers or new contacts, it’s quite another to do so with people you’ve known for almost half your life. My internalised ableism feels shame at requiring mobility aids, of being a burden, of taking up space. On the outside I may appear confident, inside I am a mass of jelly, fighting the fear of slipping up and being found out, of being exposed for the weirdo I really am. I’ve spent the last seven years learning to be myself, to feel happy to let my form of strange shine. The last year has left me so emotionally battered, by illness and life, that that my sense of self, identity and confidence has retreated. With Paraorchestra and Bill Ryder Jones I felt safer; they understand disability, visible and hidden; there are shared codes that make things easier. How would Starsailor respond to their oddball fan, wandering around with a walker & crutch?

I’d managed, just, to keep the anxiety at bay until I got near the venue. I walked round the building twice and unable to figure out how to get in or who to ask for help I had a panic attack at a bus stop. I don’t know how long I sat there, feeling like I was drowning for lack of breath, or how I managed to pluck up the courage to try again, it felt like an eternity and no time at all simultaneously. Panic, fear, anxiety, none of them are fun. Once I could breathe, I went to the back gate and found it unlocked so I gingerly went through. A confused security guard was trying to work out what to do with me when Ben appeared. He has a knack of doing that, there must be a magic drummer spell or something! Once inside, with faces I recognised, I felt a little better. Once introduced to new tour manager Steve, with photo pass in hand, with venue scoped, with assurances that I could leave Boudica backstage during the gig and that I could sit with Chris in the sound booth after I’d taken my photos, I relaxed a little. Once the boys started soundchecking and I picked up my camera things felt better.

To be able to stand in an empty venue and hear your favourite band soundcheck is fan heaven. I’ve only done it a handful of times, it is such a pinch me moment. I don’t, and have never, taken for granted the level of access afforded to me by the band. They say I’m like family now, which they mean kindly, it’s just that for me family hasn’t been a safe place. Perhaps that is at the root of why I feel insecure among them. I’ve never known how I fit. Not a groupie, not a nerdy boy into guitars, not a musician, not a lad into football & beer, not really an anything that makes sense to them or me!

Despite all the assurances, I was still dead nervous going back for the gig. Especially as I was loads later than I’d planned. I’d fallen asleep in my hotel, knackered from all the anxiety and missed the support act. I usually show up for the support, photograph them, it helps settle my nerves and gets me into the place I need to be to enjoy the experience. Despite all that, the photographs are ones of which I’m proud.

It is such a privilege to be in the photo pit. To have nothing between you and the band, no barrier, to stand next to the speakers and have the bass rumble through your body, to lean on the stage to capture a shot of the singer, to feel so very close to the music in a way no other fan gets to be. Although I am in photographer mode, I do always take a moment to just drink it all in, to savour the moment as a fan. It is also a total thrill to watch the rest of the gig from the sound desk. Not only is the sound perfect (I mean, like, D’oh of course it would be) but it affords this short arse a perfect view over the crowd. There is also space, I’m not being jostled, trodden on (how my size 3 feet get stepped on as much as they do is a mystery to me) and a freedom to enjoy the gig. And enjoy it I did. So much. So very much.

It was a heavy set, full of big songs and I did miss the quieter and more gentle songs to balance out all the noise. Starsailor are one of the loudest bands I’ve ever seen, I mean they aren’t Mogwai loud, but who is? Somehow even Way To Fall and Lullaby seemed heavier than usual. I’d wanted to hear most of the new album, there was about half of it sprinkled throughout the set. I wish there had been more.

Highlights? How brilliant Tony was on guitar and harmonica. He added so much to the sound and made old songs sound new again. I might start a petition to keep him in the band permanently! And as good as Andy was as the substitute bass player, having Stel back was ace. He is such an accomplished player. All his experience playing with Spiritualised, with Tony, and as a producer, comes out in the sound. I’d never tell him to his face how good I think he is, because we’d be too busy taking the piss out of each other, but Stel you are superb. To use a terrible football analogy, Starsailor are the unshowy, solid players who go underappreciated while the star striker is feted. There is also something in the, I won’t say chemistry, but a something, that makes the four of you sound so good, a harmony maybe, a history, that just works, that has always worked.

I cried during songs that aren’t really emotional, that I’ve not cried to before. I had a good old weep, tucked safely to the side of the sound desk, sat where no-one could see the tears I shed. It was a release of tension and anxiety. It was overwhelming joy at hearing my band again. It was knowing I could, and had, achieved being there at all, having missed the last tour through illness. It was being filled full of memories of all the times that have gone before. It was so many things. The tears fell so freely. When I cry it isn’t because I feel sad, or maudlin, or grief, although it can be. There are also tears of relief, of overwhelm, of joy, of love, of a lot of emotions I can’t name. All I know is that I really needed this music, this band, this experience, to release those emotions. It’s like feeling hungry, eating and being sated; live music relieves my emotional hunger. Like a favourite dish, or a whole gluten free trifle (bring that back M&S, I implore you), Starsailor’s music fulfils me like no other. They always give of their best, they even soundcheck like its a full performance. In all of those 55 gigs there has never been a duffer. Some better than others for sure, but never a bad gig. I know where I am in a Starsailor gig, wrapped in music like a comfort blanket. In a place where I feel safe. That’s worth some tears in a life that’s been anything but dependable or stable.

Tell Me It’s Not Over stings; it’s a song that could have been written for me. I’ve been the wife that left. It also expresses the feelings of loss, that I could, did & have at times, lost live music and myself along with it. Better Times and Where The Wild Things Grow both needle parts of me that need encouragement. They help me feel I can grow wild and find my place again. I wish they’d played Hard Love and Last Shot too, maybe I’ll get to hear them on another day. I waited a long time to hear Restless Heart after all.

I could have picked up my camera and taken shots from the sound booth, I chose not to. I wanted to sit with this one as a fan. To hear and feel the music deeply. For it to be as close to the old days, when I would have been on the front row, singing and dancing my heart out with all the friends I’d made, as it could. I know those days are gone, nothing in my body can hack standing for that long any more and I’ve lost some of those friends along the way. To be reminded of memories, while making new ones, is helping me move towards acceptance of who I’ve always been and to not let go of courage or hope in my changing circumstances.

It was an emotional gig, a loud gig, a gig I sorely needed.

O2 Bristol

I got home from Birmingham and almost immediately fell asleep. Physically and emotionally, I badly needed the rest. It meant I missed the early soundcheck (shakes fist at the universe). I headed to the venue anyway to pick up my photo pass and work out access issues. The security and management team are the most officious of any venue I’ve ever been to. It’s one of the reasons I dislike this place. It makes me feel unsafe, which is the very opposite of what a security team should be doing. Access? Well without my close relationship with the band allowing me a seat at the sound desk, I would have been seated in the access area, right at the back, next to the bar. It’s always noisy and brightly lit up there. Why shouldn’t disabled fans have a choice over where to be in the venue, just as non disabled fans do?

This time I was early enough to catch, and photograph, Andrew Cushin’s set. He may be a young ‘un (I’m old enough to be his Mam), but he’s a talented one who has grafted his way into support slots for Pete Docherty, Louis Tomlinson and Starsailor among others. I’ve no idea what he sounds like with his band, or on record, but with an acoustic guitar he sounded great. Some of the songs were heavy and emotional for him to play; music is clearly his therapy. He gigs a lot, he’s a hard working lad, so I’m sure he’ll be playing somewhere near you soon. Go see him, he’s an absolute sweetheart.

With After The Rain being fourth in the set list, I hadn’t been able to really concentrate on hearing it in Birmingham as I was scrambling my way out of the photo pit, through the crowd and over to the sound desk. For this gig I grabbed my gear and stood in the crowd for this one song. I had to. It’s one of my favs on the new album. I’ve been through an awful lot of rain, any reminder to not give up just yet, is powerful. There have been times in the last year when I’ve felt as if it will rain forever.

I cried less, but I danced more. My body told me not to, even as I was doing it and I was supremly concious of not falling over. Not just for the damage it would cause me, but because I was worried I’d rip out a power cable or short the fuse to the sound desk and ruin the entire gig! But dance I did, using my crutch for balance and with enough painkillers in my system to quieten a small horse. I think it was Better Times that got me on my feet, but it could just as easily have been Where The Wild Things Grow or Best Of Me. I know I was moving to Tie Up My Hands, a song that has always sounded a million times better live than it ever did on record. It was a young mans yearning song once, now its a middle aged lament. Having freedom of movement in body is something I miss only with music. I can live with more limited mobility in almost every other way, but to be limited in the ways I can move to music kills me.

Tony sounded even better this gig, freer somehow. The crowd were well up for it too, once again Bristol doing me proud. I love watching the band respond to the crowd, I’m sure Ben drums harder and I think I even saw Barry smile a couple of time in response. I smiled more than I cried. Although I still cried enough to end up with mascara and glitter eyeshadow half way down my face. There was a moment when I was sat next to Nick and it felt like old times, whilst also being new times. Once we’d been fans on the front row, now we were crew and friends of the band. I gave his arm a squeeze, I’ve always felt a bit like a proud auntie to him, and said how it felt like a dream to be where we are now.

At the close of the show, Good Souls as always, I felt a sadness. It felt like an ending and not just of this tour (for me). With all that has happened to me in the last year I don’t feel I can have faith or confidence in the future. In what will happen next. I have to approach every opportunity to gig like this as if it will be my last. That’s so bittersweet. Starsailor and their music have given me so much, the thought of living without it, without them, breaks my heart.

Epilepsy is such as bastard/bitch of a disease. Like a thief in the night, it has robbed me of a sense of safety, of confidence. Of self. It’s truly shaken me in ways that no other illness or disease I live or have lived with has. With most of those I’ve had options, medicine and/or surgery, ways to manage and help. Epilepsy is a treatable disease, but it is also a mercurial one that just does what it wants. It’s like having a petulant teenager in charge of your brain. The longest I’ve gone without a seizure in the last 8 months is 19 days. I never know when the next seizure will happen. Every one of them is frightening and every one of them is exhausting. Most of my seizures happen in sleep or rest, which makes going to bed at night kinda scary. I’m single. There is no-one to offer me comfort in the night when I have seizures. It’s incredibly lonely. I can’t even take heart in them happening to me at night, when I am safely in a soft bed with little risk of injury, as epilepsy could easily change its mind and start happening at other times too. I went almost forty years without a seizure. I don’t know how I’ll ever rest easy again.

The two late nights, anxiety and general exhaustion did lead to seizures. Clusters of them every time I tried to sleep or rest. Almost every part of my body was hurting. Nerve pain is like a fire that travels inside your body down pathways, trailing itching and burning sensations as it moves. I don’t recommend spinal cord injury or epilepsy. I’d take a hard pass on both if I could. It’s taken me 3 days to feel my normal self with my normal level of pain (I’m never not in pain) and normal level of seizure activity. That’s why I feel I may not be able to gig like this again. I can do it, but there is a cost and I don’t know for how much longer I can keep paying it.

I have 22 years of glorious Starsailor memories. I hope I get to make more. I’ve been the best of me and I’ve seen the best in so many others with this music. Something beautiful happened as a result of me sharing this level of vulnerabity with others; they opened up to me about theirs. That is the real power of music right there. To give us channels of communication, to allow us to be human with each other.

Barry, Ben, James, Stel, Tony, Nick, Chris, Steve and Andrew, thank you all. I needed both of these gigs more than I knew, more even than all these words express. You have helped me find green shoots of recovery, of hope, that may yet grow wild.