As time off for good behaviour went to see the inestimable Lambchop play The Fleece in Bristol yesterday. Kurt Wagner took three years off from making music to come to terms with the death of his close friend and collaborator James Vincent Chesnutt and the gig last night perfectly illustrated what I was noodling on about in my previous post: that in any form of creativity, beauty should always be the servant of truth. Lambchop's new songs chart the shell shock of bereavement, Wagner's resonant voice articulating our own griefs for us. He sang from the heart about the ravages of waste and loss - private emotions, profoundly expressed, in a public space, have a beauty that is almost incidental. It was humbling and elating to listen to him.
Supplementary thought - it's really good for you, as a writer, to absorb the very best of the creative arts that are available to you - gigs in pubs, borrowed books, fine art in galleries for as long as there is free admission, sun streaming through stained glass - none of it need cost much, and it will feed your soul.
As the Spring starts to spring, allow yourself to be inspired....
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