The only source of knowledge is experience. Albert Einstein.
If you’ve read our blog before, or if you’ve been rooting around for the first time you will maybe have spotted that we’re great believers in the importance and value of experience.
OK, we would say that given that none of us have had the words Young Turks, whippersnappers or green used in recent descriptions of us.
Doth we protest too much? Doth we use it as a smokescreen behind which we wail and gnash teeth praying for the return of that great man, Johannes Gutenberg? Doth we tremble in corners as electronic equipment flashes around the room and young men with stubble and strangely sculpted beardery mumble coded words?
No, of course we dothn’t.
Sure, we may not have adopted Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 or Assassin’s Creed: Revelations as our evening hobby of choice.? We may not knock back Jagerbombs faster than you can say “Watch out! Doodlebug!” (Eh, actually, you do – Ed). We may not even like TOWIE.
But, and it’s a big but, we’ve learned a few things along the way.
And we’re not yet lining up to join that fine organisation The Colostomy Association.
So, what’s so great about being old?
Well, for a start, we’re not old; we’re experienced and as Jimi Hendrix so succinctly put it:
I know, I know you probably scream and cry
That your little world won’t let you go
But who in your measly little world
Are you trying to prove that
You’re made out of gold and, eh, can’t be sold
Enjoy it here in full and in context…
Sure, it’s a drug fuelled route to Nirvana but it’s a mind opening trip and hey, we’ve been on a few trips of our own over the years; not, of course that any of them were taken in a form of illegal intoxication you understand.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger they say? And it’s true.
The day the hired Ferrari bashed into the hired super-powerboat on an Italian quayside taught us never again to attempt pinpoint braking manoeuvres on Italian quaysides using hired equipment and Italian stuntmen in commercials again.
Wearing faux sealskin tight fitting trousers in a hot London studio immediately became a lifelong no no.
Calling a client a twat behind his back and pressing reply instead of forward was a lesson to be hung onto forever.
500 movies, 100 plays, 300 exhibitions, 1,000 books, 3 video games, 1,652 TV series, 2,000 albums, 10 houses, 1,000 holidays, 30 frescos , 60 murals, 182 altars, 182 knaves, 20 temples, 65 graveyards, 50 wakes, 200 weddings, 37 christenings, 1 near death experience, 6 broken bones, a broken heart (or two): all of these shaped us into a team that can take a brief and apply a bit of life to the solution.
Colour, light and shade, mood and tone? They all come from experience.
Mike Yarwood, God love him, Alistair McGown, Steve Cooogan even; they didn’t just turn into great impersonators overnight.
They listened, crafted and practiced. They drew on experience.
Many bands’ first albums are brilliant. But that’s because they, usually, have been honing and shaping their sound in obscurity, touring their asses off, getting better and better.
Album number two? Crap.
Rushed out, unformed ideas, badly executed. And then, a sabbatical, while they learn from their experiences; the early ones good, the latter disappointing. Quite often album number three (that difficult third album) comes out more mature, better crafted, more considered than their first two. Either that or they disappear without trace because they only ever had one good album in them.
Us? We’re long past that difficult third album.
Think of us more like Paul Weller. Constantly trying our best to engage new ideas, find new stimuli, create new looks.
But please, don’t ever think of us as The Style Council.