Instrumental (20 page)

Classical music has apparently needed saving for a long time now. The demise of the industry has been predicted for over a decade and there are repeated cries for an urgent overhaul, together with the obligatory panicked squawks for drastic change in promotion, branding and presentation.

I agree that something needs to change. Not to ‘save the industry'. Not to continue to ensure conductors can get paid £50,000 for a night's work. Not even to ensure that London's plethora of world-famous orchestras can continue to survive (although I desperately hope they do). I simply cannot make my peace with the fact that so few people are offered it as a valid choice.

The Proms has been heading in the right direction for a long time and is something we should be immensely proud of. When it opened its booking lines this year, it sold over 80,000 tickets in the first few hours. We should be proud to host the largest music festival in the world, attracting the brightest and best talent there is. The concerts are broadcast on radio, online and often on TV. The music reaches millions. What do the Proms do right to beat all the odds when everywhere else there are complaints about dwindling audiences? Is
it perhaps the fact that no one gives a fuck what you wear as an audience member? The variety of the programming? Start times that include lunchtime, early evening, evening and late night?

No doubt all of the above. But for me, the overriding reason for the success of the Proms has got to be the fact that it doesn't have its head up its arse. It doesn't speak down to the public; it simply manages to give the impression that whatever your knowledge of classical music, whatever your experience, your likes, dislikes, dress sense, background or intelligence, you are very, very welcome. If you want to clap between movements, then knock yourself out. Don't know how to pronounce the name of the composer? Who cares? Don't feel the urge to announce loudly and smugly the name of the encore the soloist has decided to play? Even better. And it does this in a way that few, if any, of the other big halls manage to do.

The Proms also, of course, flies the flag for the obscene amount of talent our country has to offer – Stephen Hough, Paul Lewis, Nicola Benedetti, Benjamin Grosvenor etc all feature prominently. And if somehow we can translate this idea from the Proms to classical music as a whole in the UK, then the future will look very rosy indeed. It is starting to happen already – more people in the US went to a classical concert last year than to a football game. But we must not allow the momentum to fade away.

TRACK NINETEEN

Rachmaninov, ‘Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini'

Zoltán Kocsis, Piano

Sergei Rachmaninov. A composer I love so much that I've had his name tattooed in Cyrillic into my forearm. A giant, 6 foot 6, manic, miserable, bipolar, millionaire virtuoso pianist and composer. At a time when Stravinsky, Schoenberg and others were railing against the ‘tyranny of the bar line' and celebrating the ‘emancipation of the dissonance' by pushing the boundaries of tonality beyond breaking point, Sergei stood firm, Romantic machine guns blazing away, and pumped out piece after piece of extraordinary depth, poetry and brilliance.

He was a chain smoker, underwent hypnosis to help conquer his depression, married his first cousin, and had such monumentally large hands that he could span twelve piano keys with one hand.

So many composers have written pieces based on Paganini's famous theme – from Brahms to Liszt to Lutoslawski. Rachmaninov's is the daddy of them
all. All the more so given it was written by a guy once referred to as a ‘six-foot scowl'.

IN MARCH 2013, AFTER NINE
months apart, Hattie and I started, very slowly, to talk about things. I was aware how much I needed to prove to her that I was not the terrified, flighty, control freak I had been for the five years we had been together previously. I still am aware of that. And she was aware that she missed me like crazy and had only really met freaks and weirdos, despite the allure and freedom of the single life. And after a few months of giving, listening, genuinely trying to be the best version of myself despite frequently falling short, I met her in the secret garden in Regent's Park and asked her to marry me.

She said yes.

She may change her mind. She may decide it ain't for her. There are any number of reasons it may not work out. But I know, absolutely, categorically, for the first time, that I am giving it my best shot and will continue to do so for as long as she'll have me.

It had taken me five years of being with Hattie to figure out what was going on, what I was doing wrong and, more importantly, the solution to it.

There are so many self-help books about love and relationships. They use words like ‘co-dependency', ‘boundaries' and ‘mirroring'. They're brilliant to read but they have rarely worked for me. In my opinion they are similar to those
Men's Health
/
Cosmopolitan
cover stories about perfect abs – worthy and exciting for about four minutes until you realise it involves a total 180-degree change in diet, exercise,
discipline and routine. It's hysterical that I'm about to offer relationship advice. But hear this – ask a guy who's used heroin for years and then stopped how he did it and it'll be a hell of a lot more informative than some GP who wouldn't even know how to shoot up properly.

I've had a train-wreck of a marriage and almost lost the one great love of my life because I was trying to figure out how to do this shit on my own. And finally, although it's taken me fifteen years, I've managed to figure out a relationship guide that seems to work for me. If you can get rid of your ego, it's simple. If you can't, it'll never work. But the one thing that is abundantly clear is that the problem is you and never the other person.

Argue all you want about why I'm wrong about that, I couldn't give less of a fuck. I guarantee you that if there is something ‘wrong' in your relationship, if you are unhappy and starting any sentence with ‘if only he/she did/didn't . . .' then you're fucked, the relationship will not last and you'll be miserable. Which is fine for some people, especially people like me, because I loved feeling miserable. It gave me energy, reinforced my beliefs that the whole world was both shit and actively against me, and kept me nice and comfortable in my little self-pitying huddle.

It amazes me how many people love being unhappy. Unhappy about their bodies, sex lives, relationships, jobs, careers, families, homes, holidays, haircuts whatever. Our whole cultural identity is centred around not being good enough, constantly needing things that are shinier, faster, smaller, bigger, better. The advertising industry makes a fortune from it, the pharmaceutical, tobacco and alcohol industries also clean
up as a result. People used to be happier. Much, much happier. Society during times of rationing, immense economic hardship and war was emotionally better-off, more closely knit and fulfilled than we are today with our fucking iPhones and fibre-optic broadband packages.

And we transfer all of those expectations onto our lovers. After the initial phase of mind-altering chemicals wears off (six months if you're lucky, usually a few weeks), men want women who are younger, tighter, filthier, hotter, sexier and skinnier. Women want more security – men who are richer, more emotional, stronger, empathic, talkative and confi-dent. It's bullshit, but it is woven into the very fabric of our society. If, at this moment, you are with someone you love and you both want to settle down then there are a few simple things to be done that will pretty much guarantee you a happy, long-lasting relationship.

First off, you're wrong. It doesn't matter about what; if you know you're right, if all your friends tell you you're right, you're wrong. He forgot your anniversary and you're angry? You're wrong to be angry. Shut up. She keeps moaning about how much time you spend focused on work and nags you over and over again about it and you're pissed at her because of it? You're wrong. Stop being a dick. The biggest killer in any relationship is point-scoring. The great Persian poet, Rumi, wrote, ‘somewhere out there, beyond ideas of right and wrong, there is a garden. I'll meet you there.' I have a pal who'd gone to couples therapy with his girlfriend and used to save up shit to ambush her with in their session. One week they'd been given homework to do and she hadn't done it. Clean forgot. He'd done his of course. Did he gently remind her about it, hoping that if they both did it the chances were good they could move forward and get closer together? Did he
fuck. He delighted in the fact she hadn't, waited until they were in the session and then pounced like some smug fucking kid who'd finally done something right in class and wanted the whole world to know about it. Jesus.

Celebrate being wrong. Come from a position of ‘I have got to work so fucking hard to make up for being wrong all the time in the hope she'll forgive me' and you'll be golden. Treat every meal/outing/ walk/talk together as a first date with someone you are desperate to impress. Worry about what to wear, get anxious about whether or not you'll get something in your teeth over dinner, wash your ball sack thoroughly on the off chance you'll get lucky, bring flowers, ask for the most romantic table in the restaurant, be present and listen to every word spoken as if your life depended on it.

Give. Give all of the time. Give until you are exhausted and then give some more. When she's driving you nuts and you just want to throw yourself out of the window, go and make her a cup of tea, give her a massage, go down on her, buy her a fucking diamond. It is the most amazing exercise. Do it for a month and see what a difference it makes. And don't you fucking dare do it with any expectation of rewards or thanks. Do it because you love this person, they are spectacular, you adore them and you want them. If these things weren't true you wouldn't be together. Do it because deep down you know that you should be so fucking lucky to have the opportunity to go out in the freezing cold and driving rain to buy her her favourite kind of flowers.

Take a vow that – barring infidelity or serious abuse ' leaving is off the table. It is not even to be discussed. The starting point is you
are together, a team, full stop, end of. Any problems, no matter how serious, are dealt with as a team. There is simply no walking away. And take that vow in the same way as smokers who have successfully quit have taken the same vow about cigarettes. No matter what, they do not light up. Doing the same thing with marriage/relationships is ten times easier because cigarettes won't blow you and they'll eventually kill you. You're simply committing to be with this person no matter what, to stand together, to fight alongside each other, to be a united front, to be bigger than the sum of your parts. It's what you told her hundreds of times in the early days, what you've written to her thousands of times every time you texted you loved her, what you whispered in her ear every time you fucked. Man up, stick to your word, own it.

Do not ask questions about each other's pasts. Under no circumstances ask about exes, how many lovers they had, did they ever do anal with anyone, did they used to swallow, have you been to this country/hotel/restaurant with anyone else etc etc. Do not analyse the relationship with one another, do not examine where you are or where you're going. There is no possible upside to doing so.

Anticipate the other person's needs, do things that make them feel good, even if you think it's stupid, wrong, indulgent. Take ten minutes at the end of each day to check in with each other. Five minutes for each person to chat uninterrupted about their day – a few things they're grateful for, a few things the other one has done that touched them, a few things they're excited about, a few things they're worried about. Always end with an ‘I love you' and a kiss. Always.

This is all especially important if you have kids. Your kids should
know absolutely, and beyond question, that Mum/Dad comes first. You guys are the primary relationship and deserve the main focus. Love your kids, spoil them rotten, be there for them and give them everything you didn't get from your parents. But never, ever cut short a conversation with your wife just because they come barrelling into the room demanding a fucking ice cream. Don't change your plans to indulge them. Don't make them the centre of your universe. They will resent you for it eventually and, even worse, they'll grow up with a sense of entitlement that will take decades to undo – if they're lucky.

None of this is rocket science. The only thing that can ruin it is you, or more specifically your ego. Of course you'll both want to fuck other people. Of course you'll get annoyed they've put on a few pounds and don't look quite as pretty/handsome. Of course you'll think it'll be easier with someone new and fresh and exciting. It won't. You'll waste another ten years, end up in exactly the same position, and hate yourself a bit more. Stop it. Realise you can be totally happy with the person you're with right now, get to it, and put all of that ‘what if/if only' bullshit energy into other, more constructive things.

The best thing is that all of this can be summed up in two words: be kind. Do not confuse kindness with weakness. Kindness is a dying art. It is the single most important quality in this world and one which is sorely lacking.

When all else fails, think about what your life would be like without your lover. And not the fantasy of shagging everyone in the whole world, having tons of disposable income, sleeping until whenever you like and shitting with the bathroom door open. The gut-wrenching, lonely, cold reality of day after day without that person. Walk a
thousand miles in those shoes and then do it again. Spend a few hours really inside that space and looking at it from every angle. Feel it. And then stop being a dick and get back to the job at hand.

Funnily enough, since I've realised this stuff, I have never, ever been happier in a relationship. Hattie and I share something that I never used to understand but always envied in others. We just fit. I am stronger with her in my life, more open, kinder, more able to deal. I fuck up again and again and then I own it, make it right, try harder, put us first. It is the only way, the best way, the most rewarding way. I see her, she sees me and all is well. I look ahead to a future filled with concerts, filming, travelling, writing, living well and my life would be inconceivable without her in it. The best part is that she really, truly digs me. Bafflingly, she thinks I'm hot, talented and occasionally funny. She gives back to me in ways that are unexpected, delightful, considered and wonderful. She is loyal and messy and weird and a brilliant musician and writer. My version of winning the lottery is she and I holding hands at the bus stop in our seventies, one of those couples who people can't help but smile at.