Steve
Steve is a mechanic.
His wife Sallie died in 2017.
“We used to do the music on a Monday afternoon. That was Sallie’s day off from the salon, because Saturday’s a hairdressing day.
Me and my friend John would play for a few hours. Then we’d go down the pub for a couple of beers. Afterwards we’d come back to mine and have a listen.
Sometimes we’d get Sallie to sing. She’d be just off somewhere and we’d twist her arm: “It won’t take a minute!”
When Sallie got ill, that put the lid on it. I packed all my equipment up into one of the spare bedrooms out of the way.
I’ve got a lot of stuff recorded as demos. I’ve got the basic formula but I’ve not gone back and finished them.
I’ve got songs written where I’ve no music, and I’ve got music with no lyrics.
I had a violin at school but I didn’t like it; the chin pad dug into my collarbone.
My brother gave up with the guitar so I thought I’d have a go. I used to borrow my dad’s library ticket and I’d read about electric guitars and how they worked.
Then I saw a red guitar in a secondhand shop. I’d saved up a bit of money from potato picking and I bought it. I’d put records on and try to play along but I’d put them on slow - so if they were 45s, I’d put them down to 33s.
You can only get so far twiddling around on your own. You need to interact with other people - like, “You play that and I’ll play this.” See where you get to.
With gigs, you spend the whole day nervous but then you stand up to play and the next moment it’s over. Time just seems to disappear.
If you don’t get that flutter of butterflies, I think you’ve sort of lost it.
When you lose someone you really love, it never goes away.
Whatever might have been isn’t going to be, and whatever was supposed to have happened didn’t.
I’m getting my head around everything that’s happened. If words come to me, I quickly scribble them on a piece of paper. I’ve got lots of ideas down like that.
When you first think ‘Right, I’m going write a song’, you need a topic to fix on. A fast car. Someone you want to get to know. What you might say to them.
After Sallie died, there wasn’t the “Are you going to play it for me?” or “I really like that” any more.
But with Why Can’t You Hear Me and Who Cares, I can tell her how I’m feeling.
I met someone who was friendly with Sallie just by chance recently. She said did you ever hear anything back from the hospital?
I told her I’m waiting for a thousand answers but they never come. She said that sounds like a line from a song. I said it does. She said I’ll WhatsApp it to you, you should use it.
“Whatever might have been isn’t going to be, and whatever was supposed to have happened didn’t. ”
I intend to play music for as long as I can. To be honest, I can’t think of anything else. I’ve got some classic cars but I lost all interest in driving those. It’s no fun on your own.
With music, I just have to turn the light on in the room and switch it all on and I’m ready to go.
Some people might have a better set-up than I have, but I’ve got what I need. And anyway, it’s not about having the best kit. It’s about using what you’ve got.”
You can listen to `Steve’s music XXXXXXXXXXXX
Written by Laura McDonagh