Going forward, then back, and forward again...

One of the most amazing things throughout life is how often the very best things, or the most incredible spectacles and events, remain largely unknown in the general public consciousness—mostly left unseen, and often unrecorded, and yet still spoken of in certain quarters.

That’s the fascination: discovering that thing which upends the established hierarchy and order of things, or even better—unearthing that insight captured long ago, which has the potential to transform the prevailing narrative today.

In the age of social media and mighty search engine, it feels as if there’s hardly anything left to really ‘find’ or discover, at least not in the magical sense anyway. It’s all been neatly curated—either by you, or the algorithm. Go ahead, reminisce all you want—about those etherial moments while driving down a country backroad, when the FM dial randomly served-up that song that perfectly encapsulated your environment and the heightened emotional state you felt at the time—yes, that song. These days, if you’re lucky, you might glean a faint reflection of that awesome serendipity in shuffle mode, but only just.

I remember a few instances when we’d drive for hours with a friend to see a gig, some band, and usually on the hope that we’d catch a truly epic performance, and afterwards be able to say, ‘I was there when..’. Failing that, we’d happily settle for some crazy story (often embellished for entertainment purposes), about something that happened en route, or a bar fight that nearly was. Somehow, you instinctively recognise that initial seed of hope, fertilised with anticipation and the potential, with the remaining gaps in reality filled with a whole lot of imagination. That coveted moment. What followed was the real payoff; the rumours would permeate back into the ether, as word would spread along the trans dimensional grapevine about an epic performance and unforgettable night. With any luck some strange intrepid music journalist just might give it a mention it in a magazine column, coloured with the some clever idiom, or in the parlance ‘the industry’—and just like that, a legend was born, or maybe a bona fide star is born, but usually not. Either way, you were there. And for those that made the effort—that made the cause, the experience, however obscure or blurred by the evening’s festivities, remains firmly etched in the mosaic of our life. That’s how magic happens.

The profound can also be pedestrian. It could be the busker you nearly tripped over in Camden Lock—who could be the next Ray LaMontagne. Or when you’re turning the corner in some museum and suddenly you’re confronted with a stunning portrait whose eyes are staring right back at you. Or walking in some foreign metropolis and stumbling upon a other worldly architectural wonder that momentarily teleports you back to another place and time.

The thrill of the encounter, and the authentication of the real experience. Maybe that’s why I followed the trail of journalism. Looking back, it definitely had something to do with it.

As vast and all-encompassing as it appears to be, what with all the boundless potential and infinite knowledge—the online experience can’t deliver that feeling.

But for some strange reason, a good book can.

For me, it’s still the closest thing to actually being there, and maybe not surprisingly, a lot more intimate than surfing the world wide web.

There’s the cross over.

That brings me back to Substack. The kind of posts I’ll be sharing here will be a bit different from the type of content and deep research we are publishing every day on 21st Century Wire.

Initially I’ll be aiming to do more personal content and takes, and later I will start injecting some deeper analytical pieces into the mix. I would like to be ambitious and say I will also by reviewing lots of ‘must read’ books, and although I will try and do that from time to time, at this moment it’s been a steep challenge (I’ve got about two dozen I’ve started but have yet to finish) between presenting and producing three live shows and participating in a number of podcasts each week. So for now, you can have a look at what I’m perusing on the side, some of which I’m sure some of you have seen, or read yourselves.

I am known by most as talking mostly about politics and geopolitics, war and peace, but I have an eclectic spectrum, and I’m at the greatest risk of disappearing when roving between the aisles of a secondhand bookstore. When traveling, I tend to judge the level of cultural vibrance of a place by how many good secondhand bookstores a city or town has). It’s about the search for that book whose title you don’t even know yet, until you see it. And maybe knowing something about its previous owner. You’d be surprised what I’ve found on the inside cover page. More than that, it’s about knowing that somewhere, behind that curtain of history, the treasures of El Dorado are waiting to be discovered. If I could remake Dr Who, the Tardis would probably be recast as a used bookshop in Falmouth.

With that in mind, I would like to develop a way to perhaps share a few of my notes and reflections after appearing on some of the various shows and podcasts. The process for me is as interesting as it is frustrating. First, the host or their producer reaches out to book an interview or panel discussion, after which time I try and anticipate where the conversation might be heading, but invariably (nearly always) it takes on a totally different character and direction than anyone planned. Usually without fail, it turns out to be a lot deeper and multilayered than any of us expected. Afterwards, I will ruminate over what wasn’t said during the exchange, but what could’ve been had the discussion gone another hour. In other words, what you see on the program is only part of a conversation that was sketched out during the preparation.

This will also include some rare video clips that I’ve unearthed from our vast interview archive—especially past commentary which tends to echo in Dolby TrueHD, meaning it’s even more relevant today than it was in the original broadcast. This means going back 10 or 15 years in our digital media Tardis to rediscover those rare takes. It’s always interesting—and often unnerving—to see just how dialed-in and accurate we were back then, especially considering all the ground that’s passed under our feet since then—all despite how the world seemingly has changed, but in so many ways hasn’t really. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Onwards…