I last wrote that Magnalith’s purpose for me is music as an end in itself. It’s pretty and ugly: latticed detail over basalt slab. Weirdness is welcome and the people I work with embrace all of this. If there are any shortcomings though, they are wholly my own. I’m also not concerned: though I work hard at the songs, they’re for me and I accept them as they are. As Margaret Atwood writes, “Perhaps I write for no one. Perhaps for the same person children are writing for when they scrawl their names in the snow.” Maybe I’m being contrarian: if it really is art for art’s sake and an audience of one, why bother sharing let alone making the considerable effort to self-promote the work? I tell myself there are three reasons:

1. It’s my training. I’m a fan of other artists, I learnt the craft, I participate in the industry such as it is.
2. I want to serve the songs. My friends and I put in the effort to manifest them; I should go some way to making sure they’re at least discoverable.
3. To paraphrase Joe Talbot, it’s also about making myself feel heard. That is, not by anyone else, but in the act of holding up a mirror, I see me. Maybe others see something in themselves, and in this way a connection is made. (Hat tip: Paul McLaney.)

I like the last idea very much. The intrinsic reward of self-discovery can be multiplied by vulnerability or boldness. Both take courage as songwriting, performing, and DIY promotion offer abundant opportunities to fail. But we keep going; it’s existential. In the immortal words of Keanu Reeves when asked by his business partner why they should start a motorcycle company, “Because… we’re gonna die.”

The lyrics to “Memento Mori” try to capture this as a kind of celebration. The living can make things, can rail against the dark, and triumph in a manner through productivity not in spite of but because of the end.

Staring at graveyards
Shouting “I” in the abyss
Violent dreaming
Endlessness bores
Death’s-heads fluoresce
Memento mori

Admittedly gothy—and perhaps this doesn’t seem like it has much utility in a world of escalating socio-political and environmental crises. I think it’s always the right time to reflect on creating yourself and making meaning.

I don’t subscribe to the idea that music comes from an unknowable, divine place. It’s available to all through discipline. Picasso said, “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” My experience is: think about the craft all the time and hold that the obstacle is the way—do the work. Lots of failure, some fulfilment: all worth it. It helps to know what you like, what you’ve done, that you’re learning, and that fulfilment is going to come from within. I don’t think that anyone is better than anyone else for having created a thing. There are plenty more practiced and talented people than me. Nor does the act of creating give particular worth to the output. You still have to work the problem, edit ruthlessly, and abandon it at an interesting place. My point is we can give ourselves permission to make or else share in human creativity.

Seneca wrote, “It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste a lot of it.” Or as the old song goes, “He not busy being born is busy dying.” This record is a personal reminder to keep going, keep making. Here’s my mirror. I do hope you enjoy it.

Grab one of the download codes from here. If you miss out, let me know and I’ll send you another code. If you like it, please considering streaming and sharing with friends when released, 7 November.

M.

This post was originally published in the Rothko Records newsletter.