Del Amitri
Waking Hours

They are the only band who have been a tangible part of my conscience for my entire adult life. There are times I’ve briefly drifted away but I’ve always gravitated back, as if they were my emotional centre of gravity.

They are.

I must have been about 15 when I was sat with my Mum on my school lunch break. These 2 Bonny lads appeared, sat on some steps, clutching acoustic guitars. I watched as they poetically serenaded the probably-mostly-middle-aged audience with a beautifully sarcasm-tainted view of their social surroundings. Of course, I didn’t see this at 15 years old. I just heard a song which immediately engaged with my own view of how bleak and shit everything felt as a teenager growing up in an East-coast Scottish town in the 80s.

So I bought the album. Of course. I couldn’t stop listening. The galloping 'kiss this thing goodbye' and the jangly 'when I want you' kept a pace to the album for me while 'stone cold sober' and 'empty' created sonic atmospheres which entranced me at that age. And still do. But the song which meant most to me, a pattern which JC would repeat many times over the years, was 'this side of the morning'.

I was lousy with love. For years. I still am. His songs have always spoken to me for this reason, above all. It’s a cliche, but those songs were written from my perspective. They spoke to me. And they felt like they could be from my perspective. The writing, the band, the production, the imagery, was all something I felt close to. Queen and ELO and The Cure and other bands I listened to were all big walls of sound and intricately woven patterns which on a personal and emotional level were out of reach. But Del Amitri felt like they were… close. Touchable. Mine. I felt like I could BE Justin. Like HE could understand what it was like to be ME.

So, a few years later, and several failed attempts at relationships in, and 'this side of the morning' continued to reflect my emotional state. Melancholic and accepting of my perpetual failure. Driven by my, apparently, sole aim - to find 'that relationship'. Chasing that ultimate high, only to find myself in a crumpled heap on the ground once again. Knowing all along that’s where I was going to end up. And accepting it. 'This side of the morning' was my gospel. My instruction manual and, predictably, the eulogy for my latest poorly executed attempt at love. At trying to divide ice and snow.

I tried. And I kept trying. And as I kept trying JC walked by my side, treading the same path, and documenting the way. Looking back with me and sharing our similar terrible experiences. Always with that never-quite-stated undercurrent of it all mostly being me to blame. In fact, on one occasion refusing to take the blame at all. I never played the joker that time. Always reminding me that, although I’m sure nobody’s perfect, I’m even more sure that I’m utterly less perfect than most.