Notes from the Boneyard: Pearls of wisdom

by Mark McCausland

AFTER a month on the road some solitude is needed. For someone who enjoys their own company, gigging every night can be socially overwhelming. You reach your limit.

There’s only so much small talk you can muster in a day to a different set of complete strangers every single night. That’s why when you meet a friend on the road; it’s a godsend.

A little golden nugget to break the cycle. Usually it’s another touring musician.

You end up crossing paths with fellow road warriors, some of them you haven’t seen in a decade, but it’s like you just saw them yesterday.

You pick up where you left off.

There is no small talk here, it’s right into the deep stuff, the conversations that mean something. They need it too.

You dive right into it. It’s a form of therapy almost.

You throw your inner thoughts at each other like they are the only other person on the planet who understands what you’re talking about. You might only get to see them for five minutes before the show, but those short conversations are the ones that stay with you, you take them home with you and stew on them for months.

Nuggets of advice and understanding from someone who knows you. It’s priceless, and makes it all worth it.

You don’t get to see these people in real life when you’re going to the shop for milk. They live in a forest in Norway, in a swamp in New Orleans, in a ranch in Portland or in the desert in Arizona.

You only get to see these people out on the road, where paths cross, in a tiny bar in Hebden Bridge, in a rainy street in Soho, or at a petrol station in Kerry. And who knows where/when you’ll see them again. You won’t be able to plan it.

You’ll be thrown upon each other again when the universe decides. Until then you cherish their words. Those pearls of wisdom. It might be all you have to get you through. We live in a world where chocolate digestives are £3.

We need all the help we can get.