Current level of convictio0n in own genius: 6
Amount of creative activity achieved in last 24 hours: 0
Hair day: sound.
This last week has been a very weird one, with the run-up to the July 7th commemorations and my involvement in it through a vocal trio I wrote escalating wildly. Over the last week, the piece, The Song of Doves (which sets a poem written by the stepfather of one of the victims of the Piccadilly line bombings last year), has been heard on Radio 4's Today Programme, and soundtracked an evening feature, appeared briefly on all national and some London-based tv new stations, been referenced in most national newspapers and went out live on BBC News 24, when it rounded off the evening memorial service in Regent's Park. Phew. I felt a complete charlatan being there to listen to Trydyyd sing my piece, surrounded by discreetly emotional survivors, with the ashen-faced bereaved on my right and the bus driver of the no. 30 nearby. It was a highly-charged service, and I wanted to erupt into noisy tears but felt I had no right to.
It was obviously wonderful to have my piece so exposed - thousands more people will have heard a snippet on Friday than have ever heard any of my music before - but slightly upsetting that, apart from the Evening Standard, it was never mentioned who the composer was, or even misinformed that the song had been written by the families or by survivors. It's hardly important in the whole scheme of things, but just so you know: it was me, honest.