Chilling Out For 40 Years And Counting

I guess meditation came to me earlier than I remember.

As I look back over the decades of my life, it wasn't the deep guttural ohms from a thousand monks that brought me inner peace.

No, it was the sound of music, though at the time I didn't know I was meditating. I was drifting off, losing myself, hearing my breathing, hearing my inner self.

I didn't have a pleasant childhood. It was cluttered with desperation and anxiety from the grown-ups who surrounded me. This would culminate in violence or shouting. And so, I learned from an early age to eject myself into another world. A world where peace and calm were kings, and sunsets and warm air were all around me. Inner-peace was found.

Track One: Songbird – Fleetwood Mac -1977

One of the only good things about my childhood was my uncle. He was a music enthusiast, he loved vinyl. I’d escape to his room. I was allowed to put on his Koss Quadrafones, the latest in a long line of shrinking headphones he’d picked up from his travels. The soft cushioned headset always went over my ears before the needle hit the record.

The extra-long flex allowed me to lie on my uncles bed and look out of the window. The pause as the needle drifted down the thick outer rim that separated the tracks on the disc, before biting the music, was the moment to close my eyes.

Christine McVie’s voice filled my soul (though I didn’t know I had a soul aged 12). I never got tired of dropping the needle onto the track.

Track Two: Can You Hear Me - David Bowie

It was a non-kind of party. We’d managed to sneak a bottle of Cinzano Bianco from my house and a few tins of R-Whites lemonade. I didn’t know the girl whose party it was but that didn’t matter. Getting drunk at 15 years old seemed like enough excitement.

What ensued was a round of spin the bottle. I was hoping beyond hope that it landed on Sarah Morgan. Instead, it landed next door, on her older friend of 17. She kissed me like it was her last day on earth. My young drunken mind was well and truly blown.

As she left, she handed me a plastic bag. Inside, was one of the finest albums ever made, though (as the discovering of my soul) I didn’t know it yet.

Young Americans is as fresh today as it was in 1975.

Further exploration of the album cover told me John Lennon was a collaborator and the then unknown Luther Vandross and the incredible Robin Clark were backing vocalists.

Can You Hear Me was the standout song of the album. And a moment to drift away into the deeper layers of who I was becoming. Best of all, it was all new to my uncle, and he thoroughly approved.

Track Three: Avalon - Roxy Music

We moved out of grandmas house and for a moment or two, life was as normal as could be, with my weekly visits to my uncles record collection as the highlight. I’d learned to appreciate a broad eclectic musical spectrum.

And Songbird was the only track that had drifted me to a whole other place in my mind. That was, until 1982 when I heard the unmistakable intro of Avalon. Track 3 was four minutes and sixteen seconds of bliss.

“Now the party’s over and I’m so tired.”

It was the last time I’d use my uncles music system. He was due to get married. I was out on my own now. It was time to get my own headphones.

Track Four and Five: An Ending (Ascent) and Drift - Brian Eno / Daniel Lanois

Time was racing and I found myself living life as a croupier. After three months of training, I was good enough for the casino floor.

I still DJ’d on a Monday night. My vinyl collection had surpassed my uncles. I learned to be open-minded. His words rang in my ears,

“Don’t judge an album before you have heard it ten times, break it down, appreciate the talent."

I bought all my music from Keith. Keith had a second-hand record shop. My quest for back catalogue music saw me go there daily. Keith also came to the casino. His yellow nicotine figures carefully played the french tier section of the wheel. Oblivious to me, I hit the section 10 times in a row.

“Take $10 on me kid, you did me proud last night."

I had no idea what he meant but I was happy to have the $10. I flicked through boxes of 12-inch albums. Nothing grabbed me. The name Brian Eno flew past. I reversed my fingers. I knew his connection with Talking Heads, so I figured I'd take it.

Brian Eno's Apollo – Atmospheres and Soundtracks. It was the best impulsive decision of my life. So, it's only fitting that An Ending (Ascent) and Drift should grace my meditation playlist.

Track Six: Let it All Come Down - Simple Minds

My croupier career took me to the South of France, La Grand Motte to be precise. I had two cassettes. My favourite was Street Fighting Years by Simple Minds. It was the backdrop to a special sunset and a deep realisation.

My extra bass Sony Walkman with studio-level headphones allowed me to be transported somewhere safe at any given moment.

It was a busy day in August. The whole of France seemed to be emptying off the beach. I was walking against the crowd to the casino I worked at on the beachfront. The late afternoon sky was purple, red and orange. I was stood in a work of art like no other.

The first few bars of Let It All Come Down kicked in.

Spontaneously, I closed my eyes and held my arms out to the side, the heat of the sun evaporating me on the spot. I was away, away and gone somewhere beautiful and new.

My eyes opened, people were dodging me, giving me a wide berth. In my best French I shouted,

“Turn around, turn around all of you. Look at what you are missing."

Nobody did. Even to this day, the warmth of the sun from that late August afternoon is etched inside me. Music is a tattoo and every song a memory, a deep meditative memory.

Track Seven: Perpetual Dawn- The Orb

Back in London. It was 4:40am. I had just finished a night shift at Charlie Chesters Casino in the heart of Soho. I was waiting for the night bus to take me home. Piccadilly Circus was as busy as ever. I noticed a trendy, goth-like crowd spilling out of the Tower Records flagship store.

I looked up at the first floor. It was covered in promotional posters and cutouts of the Adventures Beyond the Ultraworld. I had no idea who or what they were.

The pavement was littered with people clutching the Adventures Beyond the Ultraworld album cover. I thought no more about it and boarded the night bus home.

However, in 1992, I stumbled into the Cairo Cafe tent at the Glastonbury Festival. I knew it would be good because the DJ from Kiss FM, Paul Thomas, was playing an ambient set. He did not disappoint.

As Perpetual Dawn started, I had to know who was responsible for the bliss I was feeling. Obligingly, Paul Thomas held up the album cover. Déjà vu. There in front of me was the same Adventures Beyond the Ultraworld album cover. I stared at the purple wheel with the Battersea Power Station sitting behind it.

The album is genius. It's a meditation in its own right. I have spent many hours lying down listening, drifting, breathing, sinking, totally still and absorbed.

Track Eight: Easter Song - A Man Called Adam

The lyrics:

"Bringing me back to life

Bringing me back to life"

proceeded by the huge and long drifting intro, pin me down and stop time. The female vocal harmonies have never failed to push the doors of my mind wide open. Closing my eyes on yet another sunset in Ibiza at the iconic Cafe Del Mar, I have relished this song on repeat many a time.

I have meditated for 25 years, but my meditative playlist began long before. At 12, I may not have known about souls or that Young Americans would be one of the best albums ever made, but what I did know was the great power music held.

When I felt alone or scared, music allowed me to drift away somewhere safe. Feeling the sun on my face, and the beat in my heart, music ground my feet to the earth and gave me hope.

“I was away, away and gone somewhere beautiful and new."