Jackie's Coming Around : A tribute to the late Jackie Leven

My new single Jackie's Coming Around is a tribute to the late singer-songwriter Jackie Leven. Today ( June 18th ) is the date that would have would have been Jackie’s 70^th birthday. 

Jackie Leven was a Fife born singer-songwriter, who started out in rock outfit, Doll by Doll in the 70’s after having to flee his hometown because of local gang violence. After a tumultuous time, with the band imploding and a serious mugging that damaged his larynx and nearly cost him his voice, Jackie became addicted to heroin. Eventually, Jackie managed to get himself clean and headed back onto the road as a solo artist.

Here is the dip pen ink portrait that Bill drew of Jackie Leven, featured in the video below.

Bill says  “As a portrait artist I use different media and felt that for Jackie I would use old style dip ink pen. With this technique you literally scratch the lines onto the canvas – this really helped to add the intensity I wanted to draw out for the portrait.”

About The Song

'Jackie's Coming Around' merges elements of my own songwriting journey alongside a brief musical biography of Jackie Leven’s life and weaves multiple references to tracks from Leven’s 2007 Oh What A Blow That Phantom Dealt Me album throughout. 

We've recorded and produced the song at our Hushland Studio and aside from the singing, I've added acoustic guitar, banjo, harmonica, keys and soprano sax, while Bill T-B has added slide and electric guitar, bass and percussion to the mix.

RachelTaylor-Beales · Jackie's Coming Around

The Story Behind The Track 

I first met Jackie when I opened for him in Cardiff Barfly, back in 2008. Travelling the UK with my own music, I’d often heard stories about Jackie from other artists and fans, so I was curious to finally have an opportunity meet and hear the man in person. That night I was completely blown away by his songs and story telling. The dry humour and characters that Jackie evoked were wrapped up in his voice that could soar ethereally one moment and then punch you in the guts with gravitas the next. 

After the gig we chatted about Kevin Coyne, one of my long time musical heroes and the highs and lows of life on the road. Jackie offered some generous comments about my own songwriting and pointed me in the direction of Karen Dalton and Judee Sill as artists he thought I would resonate with— and he was right. I walked away from that gig commenting that it was a crime that Jackie wasn’t more well known, it certainly wasn’t for lack of showmanship, musicality or ability.

On November 14^th 2011, I was working on a collaborative project with composer Gill Stevens. Gill and I were just breaking for lunch when an enormous bang, made us both jump. A blackbird had crashed into her glass conservatory roof and died. At that same moment I had looked down at my social media and read the words that Jackie Leven was gone.

In these difficult and uncertain times, when so many of us are battling with the loss in different ways, I’m reminded of the way that Jackie Leven seemed to revel in defiance— against all the odds, he rebuilt his life and kept on following the muse and making music. Having had to personally rebuild myself after a serious accident in 2012, that left me unable to perform for a season, I’ve found myself drawn to the stories of those who have found a grace within, to begin again. I wrote this song on a day when future plans had fallen through, but hearing Jackie’s songs coming around on my playlist was a lifeline. Like so many artists right now in this age of necessary social distancing, I don’t know yet when I’ll next be back on the road and able to tour, but in the meantime as we work behind the scenes to figure our game plans, I’m grateful for the all gifts and encounters with so many inspiring people, that a life working in music has brought me. I’m buoyed by the stories of folks who have faced difficulties and yet found the courage to ‘keep on keeping on’— and today, on what would have been his 70^th birthday, I’m celebrating the music of Jackie Leven.

Watch the Jackie's Coming Around Video here 

June 18th 7.30pm  (GMT) I've been invited to contribute a live version of the Jackie's Coming Around song - to the celebration of Jackie Leven at 70 event on Facebook hosted by Jinder- alongside 

Ian Rankin

Deborah Greenwood

Henry Priestman

Michael Weston King

Jinder

Tom Burgess

Nick Hall

Phil Burdett

Joe Shaw and Kevin Foster

Doghouse Roses

Michael Cosgrove

Lance Riley 

and more...

See the link here for more info Celebration of Jackie Leven At 70 

And finally a lovely write up from Mike Davies on the singles bar- round up of singles and eps on Folking.com https://folking.com/singles-bar-53-a-round-up-of-recent-ep…/

This is what Mike writes here: 
'June 18 would have been Jackie Leven’s 70th birthday, and to honour his memory RACHEL TAYLOR-BEALES has recorded ‘Jackie’s Coming Around’ (Hushland), a Bandcamp download single that interlaces elements of her own journey as a songwriter with a musical biography that includes references to tracks from Leven’s 2007 album Oh What A Blow That Phantom Dealt Me. With Rachel on guitar, banjo, harmonica, soprano saxophone and keyboard and husband Bill playing slide, electric, bass and percussion, opening with a memory of how a blackbird crashed into their conservatory and died at the same moment she read about Leven’s passing, it’s a suitably atmospheric but musically vibrant number, delivered in her hushed, understated voice as she recalls his advice to "keep following that muse"and reminds that while he’s gone, his music lives and on 'Jackie’s coming round to play".'

Borderlines: Remembering Rob

I began a Creative Writing module with OU last year- that I completed yesterday. I loved it all and am sad that it's finished, but looking forward to returning to an Advanced Creative Writing module after my next module this October, that explores the nature and construction of stories (which I know I'm also going to really enjoy).

The creative writing module covered poetry, fiction and life writing and many of the exercises used to spark the writing, involved delving into memory.

The piece below is an extract from a larger segment of memoir that I wrote during the course.

It focusses on a moment when my friend Rob, was very ill in the final weeks of his life... I was moved by how vividly I recalled the scene. Today is the 14th anniversary of his death and so I felt it would be a good day to share a little of that piece.

Beneath the story I will also post some songs that Bill and I have written over the years, about our time with Rob.

Borderlines

Rob lay stretched out on a sun lounger in the tiny yard outside his house.  Birdsong cut through intermittent traffic noise of the surrounding streets while bees hummed around the little white and yellow flowers that spilled over their terracotta pots and hanging baskets. Spring had truly arrived that day and the April sun was hotter than expected, especially there in that little patio garden.

We didn’t talk. Every now and then I heard snuffles and grunts coming from beneath Rob’s old straw sun hat, as he sipped water through a straw. I sat upright on a wooden garden chair and let my mind wander, meandering over the past seven years and the strange reality of the moment, babysitting this man—my friend—who was in his early forties, juxtaposed with the beauty of spring and all its promise of new life.

In the sun-lit yard, Rob turned to me,

‘Too hot, need to go in now,’ he rasped.

I watched sweat trickle down his cheek. He was so tired those days, he didn’t fill his sentences with anything other than bare essentials of need; a writer whose love of language was seemingly eroding at the same pace as cells beneath his yellow tinged skin. Once so alert and attentive, asking questions and constantly trying to download multiple ideas that came cascading out of him as poetry and prose, commentary and argument, sometimes all at once. His poetry and prose that had taken us across America and the UK, to festivals and theatres and makeshift stages in unlikely places.

I nodded in agreement and helped him stand. He shuffled slowly towards the door, leaning on my arm. We paused at the step. I’d never noticed quite what a distance it was between ground and house. Rob made several attempts to raise his legs but he couldn’t do it. He had no strength. We stayed there for a moment, stuck in the garden, as my brain lurched into problem solving overdrive. I leaned down to try and help lift his legs, but that wasn’t going to work either, he couldn’t comfortably lean on me and I might unknowingly injure him by trying to move his muscles. Panic set in as my mind conjured different scenarios of us being stranded outside of the house for hours. Maybe I could set up a big shaded area, bring out ice and cold flannels to keep him cool? I had an unhelpful a desire to giggle at the surreal image of myself deftly trying to construct a temporary shelter—like the outdoor dens I had once built with Rob’s young son, Lukas. No. He needed to be indoors, back on the sofa. 

‘Rob, I’ll carry you,’ I said.

He bobbed his head just enough to indicate his agreement and I reached down and scooped him into my arms, as gently as I could, one arm around his waist, the other under his knees, shocked at how effortless it was. He was so light.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been with him on the threshold between life and death. In some ways it wasn’t the first time I’d carried him either, though I had not been alone; his wife Sandra and their son Lukas; my husband Bill; we’d all carried Rob in different ways. Five years previously we’d carried him daily, crossing the border between San Diego, America and Tijuana Mexico, as cancer had gnawed deep into his bones. Then two years after Mexico, with unprecedented full remission, Bill and I had carried him through multiple tours and performances across the UK and America. Now here we were again, existing in a moment where the borderline between Rob’s life and death, had grown very thin.

Stepping into the conservatory, I lowered Rob onto the sofa bed as gently as I could and watched as he drifted in and out of sleep, pondering the way our lives form narrative. Life doesn’t always resemble a linear construct, more often than not it seems to pass in waves, ebbs and flow of connection within time, but sometimes these connections lead to a complete lived out story, with a beginning, middle and end.

We’d first met Rob at a festival. My husband Bill and I visiting Britain from Australia, had caught Rob, performing an energetic one-man show. Most impressed, we’d chatted with him afterwards. It was the moment that became a prelude to our story. Two years later, living back in the UK, Bill and I would find ourselves on tour with Rob and his wife Sandra­­—also a performer, as our story with them began in earnest.

The show was called Grey Daze, a futuristic sci-fi allegory of love and redemption. During the show Sandra as ‘Em’ would scoop a dead Rob as ‘Joss’ into her arms and carry him across the stage. In time this would become a two edged allegory, a symbolic enactment of all that was to come in their lives together. I always marveled at the physical strength Sandra had throughout that scene, a strength that would be matched by her own determined emotional courage, carrying her husband and partner throughout all of his illness.

How far we’d all travelled. How far we’d all come.

My contemplations paused when I heard the car pulling up outside, as Sandra, her mother Analisse, five year old Lukas and newborn baby Lena, just one week old, all arrived home from a shopping trip to the Mothercare outlet.  Sandra entered the kitchen space all strength and smiles, but I could see her anxiety in her posture. As a professional dancer, Sandra always held herself with elegance and poise, but right now her tense raised shoulders signaled all that she was carrying; far too much weight of worry and sorrow for one person to hold.

‘Thanks Rachel,’ she said, placing tiny, baby Lena, into her bassinet next to Rob. Here was that juxtaposition again, all hope and beauty and promise of new life, lying curled up and sleeping, next to her dying father.

I helped Sandra to unpack her bags, while my mind sifted through myriad thoughts, arriving jumbled and incomplete, mostly flashes of our life lived on the road. I saw the car that we’d travelled in, when Rob, Sandra, Bill and I toured the breadth of the UK with shows. I saw us at midnight under a pitch black sky, disconnecting the trailer that held all our theatre equipment, trying not to trip as we fumbled in the dark— one of us holding a torch and the rest of us heaving the trailer off the back of the car… I saw crystalline icicles hanging from snow-laden pine forests, in Sandra’s hometown, Ludwigstadt, where we’d visited after Rob’s dramatic recovery... I saw baby Lukas on my knee, in a shuttle-bus in Mexico…  I saw stages— in halls— and theatres— and festivals. I saw audiences; vast crowds of tens of thousands and rooms holding less than fifty… And I saw myself. So many versions of me; laughing, arguing, crying, succeeding, failing, loving, surviving…

Two weeks later on the first of May, Bill and I sang the song By and By. It was a song that Bill had written in the transit lounge at Chicago Airport, on his way to join Rob, Sandra, Lukas and I, in Mexico... We knew as we sang it we were saying goodbye. 

At that same moment Rob was crossing his final border.

Lock Down 2020

Some Lockdown thoughts and staying creative…

During this time, Bill and I are trying our best to stay creative- both of us find it helps us to be distracted and have a focus. Like so many right now who work in the arts the future is completely unknown. The projects and tours that we had planned in our diaries are either indefinitely postponed or cancelled. We’re looking at logistics of moving some projects online and I will be doing my first live stream gig in the next few weeks- once I’ve finished my final creative writing assignment for my current OU module.

In some ways the experience of being housebound for the best part of a year after my accident in 2012, has really helped my psyche with this lockdown. In the first few days and weeks of lock down when we were in complete self isolation (due to mild coughs and temperature symptoms)  I was struck with a strange sense of familiarity or deja vu... Eventually I pinned it down to the fact that I’d already lived through an experience of house-bound isolation as well as having my social life and work life suddenly snatched away indefinitely, by circumstances out of my control.

During that first time round, I learned that after the initial shock from change of momentum, things do eventually settle into a new rhythm. I also learned back then that there are good days and also very tough days when the loss and grief of what has been, hits big time.

Of course there are many differences this time round, reality has changed for everyone and the loss around us is so vast and far-reaching. 

The other thing I've realised is that all the moving I’d done as a child, has given me a sort of resilience to the experience of my world suddenly becoming streamlined to only immediate family. The international moves between Australia and the UK meant being cut off from all of the people, places and life I’d known. This scenario happened an awful lot when I was growing up- moving home, schools, countries meant that fairly regularly I was in a position of having to adapt and rely on my own company for a time as we lived in limbo rebuilding and resettling…  It’s something that has shaped me for better and for worse, but in this particular lockdown phase I recognise that it may well have been a foundation that strengthens my reserves to some degree to help deal with the likes of this situation. ( Most likely this is a perspective written from one of the 'good days' and I would not view it quite like this on one of the tougher days?!) 

Anyway enough introspection… a little always helps, too much and I will end up down the rabbit hole…

In the meantime here are some of the creative things that I’ve been involved in since March.

Bill and I are making various musical and video collaborations as Sir Silence and Lady Hush- which can be seen on The Lady Hush racheltaylor-beales.com/lady-hush page on my website 

I signed up to the Positive Songs Project positivesongsproject.org and last week Bill and I managed to co-write a track called Chemistry that has gone live today... 

And finally... my new painting titled Faraway...

Really glad to have captured this moment on canvas- it was the last time we were out before lockdown, in a cafe on Bill's birthday, my daughter lost in the world of the Magic Faraway Tree... 

For me painting reminds me of the way people describe 'mindfulness'. My focus becomes only the moment of what I am seeing and the particular colour or form I am making. I become absorbed into the tiniest of details and the rest of the world is pushed back during that time.

It has been such a lovely thing to reconnect with painting again in the last two years. Touring life took up so much of my time and energy previously (prior to injury bringing that sudden halt to my life on the road) painting was always left on the back burner and I found that I just wasn't making space or time for it.

I'm loving rediscovering how to draw and paint again. Looking forward to my starting my next portrait, of my friend Helen soon.

So signing off for now and hoping you all stay well and safe... looking forward to seeing so many of you in person again... on the other side!