So it’s 2016 all over again, and tempting to feel a sense of despair as we find the world’s most powerful country back in the hands of a narcissist without the attention span to read a page of text. That’s not to say the Biden administration was inspiring. It wasn’t. It was downright feeble on issues like stopping genocide and climate change. That seems to be at least partly why Harris was abandoned at the polls by groups who should have been her natural supporters. But if the likes of Netanyahu and Putin are celebrating Trump’s election, that’s surely a pretty good indicator things are going to get worse. In foreign policy terms, Trump was elected on a platform of pure self-interest. What doesn’t directly threaten America he doesn’t care about. What boosts the US economy (in his terms) he’ll actively encourage. Conflict and war included.
I linger on Twitter, despite its X-ification and pushing of the owner’s teenagery/fascistic bullshit (always entertaining to see how Armando Iannucci trolls him). That’s where I came across Margaret Atwood warning against too much Trump-induced despair. My American/Irish friend in Glasgow, musician Jill Lorean, was saying a similar thing. We’d been commiserating about the groundhog horror of waking up to a Trump victory. But Jill also lamented the tendency of Democrats to fail to do anything but gnash their teeth or sling mud at the other side. We agreed that demonising 72 million Trump voters isn’t going to help. Offering positive alternatives, respectful dialogue – they’re the only ways.
Like Atwood, Jill’s a lifelong creator. She used to sing in a great band called Sparrow and the Workshop. Now she’s about to launch her third solo album, Peace Cult. The last one, This Rock, was one of cult Glasgow record store Monorail’s albums of the year. I’m not much of a music writer, but quite simply, This Rock rocks. Here’s one of the songs from it, with a gorgeous video too:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0Bmo0ZK0OQ
Jill gave me a much-needed caffeine hit and we moved from Trump to chatting about the creative process. Spread over her living room table were cutouts of symbols she’d seen at ancient pagan sites in Ireland: circles with dots and arms suggestive of stars or other astral features. She also got some of them tattooed on her fore-arm, a photo of which is on the new album cover (we joked about her starting a cult; in fact not a bad idea, maybe she should target spiritually needy Trump fans). She was excited to show me a preview copy, and as I lifted the record out of its sleeve, I marvelled at the beauty of the crafted physical object, from the LP itself (pressed by a Scottish start-up in Haddington), to the liner sheet with lyrics to every song. It took me back to my teenage years, when my Dad’s record collection was a portal out of the limited ideas-field of the countryside north of Inverness. Books were always important to me, but just as vital was the thrill of lowering the needle on Highway 61 Revisited, or Desire, which Jill and I share as our favourite Dylan album.
Before heading down to Langside Library to work on my novel, I noticed another image recurring in a series of charcoal pictures taped to Jill’s living room wall. It looked like three standing stones, or hooded figures stooped in worship under three dots. After a frustrating memory blank saved by a handy image-searching app, Jill told me this symbol is called the Awen. It’s thought to have represented inspiration, the power of the creative moment for those ancient people.
I’m not much into druidism, don’t have any tattoos, and generally hate clothes shopping. But if there are Jill Lorean t-shirts with Awens on them, I’ll definitely be in the queue to get one.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PtMNvpzuXqI
T.Y. Garner Writer 