“Sparse, shrunk-down to pain and black and white …” (5:25)
“… I always think of a sharp pain as a flash of white … vixen screams … tendril things …” (5:35 – 7:34)
“… ney flute … warm sheen … when the son is crossing the son is crossing the river …” (7:50 – 9:26)
“virtual synth patch from the beeping alert [of the dialysis machine] … continual merging and changing … never a point of conclusion …” (10:05 – 11:04)
“… the click click click sound – I was trying to compare it to an old fashioned shutter slide, as a new chapter begins …” (10:40 – 11:14)
“… the piano was being a tolling bell quite a lot, going ‘dung dung dung’ in the low notes …” 🙂 (11:30 – 12:24)
“the main theme … derived from me trying to reflect … where Rosie’s drawing the dialysis machine with lots of wires and strings … that ‘stringy‘ tune, the twining, wind-y, rising and falling intervals of a 6th …” (12:25 – 14:05)
“… that’s not the sort of thing you normally get to do … to be able to generate the opportunities for the sound to tell the story … with the prison sequence, it’s so dark … but you can hear an awful lot of the prison …” (15:12 – 16:23)
“… [the kestrel sound] introduces a real note of panic … the whole feeling of fear comes across very strongly in that scene …” (16:45 – 17:05)
“… almost a kind of amnesia to the film, with these repeated sequences … the daughter at school, the son in prison … it feels like someone trying to grapple with different memories …” (18:50 – 19:55)
“… a series of deliberately ambiguous sounds … the fact that he was living in both past and present at the same time … the sound of the pouring coffee became the rain in the gutter … the rain led to thunder, which turns out to be a bomb, so back in his memories in Syria again … one big plane of existence, nostalgia and present day suspended reality …” (19:55 – 20:25)
“… that British scene of people rushing past buried in their mobile phones … perhaps all our lives are suspended …!” (21:30)
“One of the most powerful bits is how long we sit on his face as he watches his son get hurt … I fade in a bit of the original speaker … it was such a sad room, there was so much heaviness … and I feel that comes across in that little snippet of audio …” (23:00 – 24:54)
“… the final sequence … in Rosie’s images and in the more emotional music than we’ve had, this is our – hopefully quite tactful – comment: we’re saying, “this is how we feel about it” …” (25:00 – 27:38)
My friend and colleague Jenny Leigh Hodgins has started podcasting. In this piece below she stands side by side with her mother, looking mortality square in the face as the Kentucky storms rage around them.
It is so good to hear a voice from a carer (other than the ubiquitous ‘mummy blogs’). Caring is a life so often unheard. Yet carers are a thread throughout the fabric of every town and village, in every country on the planet, that if pulled out would lead to society’s unravelling.
It is usually a female perspective. And it is an existence governed ultimately by the natural rhythms of life, no matter what else you squeeze in around it, and by quiet perseverance, and by finding the light inside people, including yourself.
I was privileged a few years ago to act as a musical transcriber and arranger for a carer with no musical training who wrote songs, Linda Bailey. She died rather suddenly of lung cancer, but the glimpse into her life altered my perceptions of what it is to be a person. She was forced to find resources she didn’t know she had, and wrote about finding the light inside herself that helped her carry on.
I’m really grateful to Jenny for sharing where she is. Her thoughtful writing and lovely reading made me slow down and really listen. A window into a mind and a life, right now, in its own present. Also, I’d heard her piano music before, but I think the gentle, reflective tone fits this material perfectly.