I always try to choose the music according to each concert's individual concept and atmosphere and attempt to ignore the obvious crowd-pleasers, instead going for thematic development according to my perception of the event's mood. Sometimes, locating that mood can be almost as difficult as interpreting it. 

There's a sense of panic I experience, a panic that increases in intensity until the final set list is unveiled. Then a moment's grace before the panic returns with even greater ferocity when I realise that, (because of the rarity of my live performances these days,) I'm unfamiliar with much of the material. And, worse still, that I have little time available to remedy this problem.

Time-constraints mean that certain things are always left to the last moment: a flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, wing-and-a-prayer, jump into the deep end, tightrope walk without a safety net situation. It's all down to luck and sleight of hand. I'm probably as unscientific a performer as anyone could wish for. It's a wonder that my fingers can form a single chord, so many of them are crossed. But, superstitious or not, it's magic I'm after. Not so much a musician, more like a conjuror who dreams of being a sorcerer.
I was telling John Spence today how much I worry about standing up in front of an audience, how nervous and stressed-out I get. More and more these days, I find myself thinking that, if I could get away with it, I'd probably retire from live concerts altogether and just work in my studio. THAT'S where I'm most at home, painting with sound rather than performing the music in front of an audience. The stage has become an increasingly akward and uneasy environment for me. I have little confidence in my ability to entertain and have to fight hard to enter the performer's mind-set. 

It wasn't always so. In the past I had the shield of youthful ignorance and naive bravado, believing myself invincible and marvellous. Life eventually teaches us that it's otherwise. Perhaps this loss of certainty is why we should continue to create, to attempt to communicate and perform. To transcend our personal limitations.

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Incredibly, despite the years of wear and tear, (or because of them), many of us discover that, at this late stage of our lives, we actually have something of real depth to share with our audience, something hard-won and meaningful. The emphasis shifts from the reckless energy of youth to the compassionate warmth and wisdom of maturity. Worth sharing, I think. 

I sometimes wonder though, whether 'rock' music audiences in general are prepared to have us share our maturity with them, rock music being increasingly predisposed to the realm of the teenager. So many people seem to regard music as little more than a disposable distraction, rather than as a life-affirming, illuminating and spiritual, (for want of a better word,) exchange.

Performing live is always a two-way process but the gulf between artist and audience can sometimes be vast. Expectations, presumptions, demands and so on can weigh heavily on both sides of the footlights. It's a very odd relationship, sometimes. 

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Entertainers, on the other hand, seem better equipped to deal with such things. The best of them are born to it. 'Artists' (as opposed to 'artistes'), are often crippled by insecurity, too anxious about the next step, too wrapped up in their own dark and private worlds to step into the bright theatre of other people's expectations. Secretive, furtive, full of fear and trepidation. Just too hung up? 
At least, that's my experience. No need to speculate about alternative universes, some of us have been cast adrift in them for what feels like an eternity. And music acts as both our distress signal and our life-raft.

The entertainer seeks and gets instant gratification but there's an inevitable time-lag, an eternal disappointment that accompanies almost every public flickering of the true artist's latest flame. Then, year's later, some long-rusted lever is freed and thrown and a light goes on in minds that were previously dark or indifferent. How often does recognition come long, long after the event? So often that it's become a cliche?
Again, this is how I see it though it may not be the experience of others. But there's no doubt that it does take a while for some things to blossom. I could list several pertinent examples from my own career. (But, graciously, won't.) 

Why there should be such a time-lag, I have no idea. I always presume that my audience is perfectly in step with me, intuitively making the same connections, crossing the same bridges over the same rivers. And, of course, a great many of them ARE doing just that, willing me on, holding my hand, encouraging me to keep up the pace, dragging me along behind them even. 

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I completed another video backdrop piece earlier this week and have now delivered all the video material to Paul who will fulfill the role of Nelsonica's projectionist next Saturday. 

My hope, with all these recent Nelsonicas, is to help shape them into a complete sensory experience. They reach beyond the limits of a fan gathering and aspire to something more satisfying and unique. That they've blossomed so much over the last few years is testament to the dedication and imagination of the Nelsonica team, a group of generous and hard working fans who, between them, have carefully expanded the event's potential. 

The team members have become highly adept at preparing the details of Nelsonica over the last few years. Their energy, enthusiasm and imagination seems boundless as my attempts to keep up with them sinks under the weight of the year's work. They are, of course, much younger than me, so perhaps I can be forgiven for appearing exhausted by comparison...But I couldn't wish for a nicer, more genuine and caring group of people to look after the foundations of the convention for me. They're family now. 

The core of the day still provides the opportunity for fans from both the UK and abroad to meet each other in harmonious and pleasant surroundings. This year there are more American attendees than ever and also several UK 'first timers.' But there's much more to Nelsonica than this. The new venue will, I think, be the best yet. It feels like the perfect space for what the team and myself have in store. All we need now is a little good luck and lots of good will and everyone attending should depart with happy memories of a day spent amongst excellent friends.

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I really wish I could afford to park my work for twelve months and travel through Europe with Emi. We have a wonderful rapport with regard to architecture and art. I've never enjoyed such an intimate and relaxed understanding in previous relationships. We take in sights and sounds as one, swooning over the same beautiful things. I'm very lucky to have found her at such a relatively late juncture in my life. She's quietly given me the calm confidence to be absolutely myself without fear of being viewed by others as odd or strange. It's a wonderfully subtle and, (dare I say it), sophisticated understanding we share, perhaps invisible to the outside world but close, warm and tangible to the two of us. We're soul mates, in the proper sense of the phrase.

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