by James Rhodes
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 day
s, 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.
TRACK TWENTY
Bach, ‘Goldberg Variations’, Aria da capo
Glenn Gould, Piano
Bach began and ended his Goldberg Variations with the same thirty-two-bar aria. Thirty-two, incidentally, being the total number of variations in the whole work. The piece has come full circle and ends where it started with the first and last thirty-two bars note-for-note identical. But of course as we listen we are in a very different place from where we were sixty minutes before (as long as the pianist has done his or her job correctly). Bach has taken us on a journey that we interpret and experience through our own memories, feelings and conditioning. You will respond differently from the way I do, and vice versa. That is the glory of music, especially music as immortal as this.
IT FELT RIGHT TO END this book as we began it, with the aria from the Goldbergs. Because that’s the thing about music – we hear a piece of music and feel something. We hear the exact same piece of music at a different time and although the music is unchanged, our response is always slightly different.
My own personal ‘Goldberg Variations’ began as a 7lb baby screaming my lungs out, and my life so far has consisted of many variations – some of them delightful, some brutal, some hopeful and some soaked through with grief and anger. I lost my childhood but gained a child. I lost a marriage but gained a soulmate. I lost my way but gained a career and a fourth or fifth chance at a life that is second to none.
A few short weeks after proposing to Hattie, we’re all sitting in my living room watching my first Channel 4 project, which is where this book started. It is the end of many chapters of my weird little life and the beginning of a new one that I hope will be filled with a little less pain, a little more music, and a lot more kindness.
When I end up performing these variations in the future I’m going to play this final aria slower, calmer, more gently than the opening one because at last, that’s where my head is at after experiencing this journey variation by variation.
Thank fuck for that.
Afterword
I’VE NO IDEA IF I’M going to survive the next few years. I’ve been in places before where I felt solid, reliable, good, strong and it’s all gone to shit. Sadly I am only ever two bad weeks away from a locked ward.
I’ve no idea if the thoughts in this book about myself and about music are going to flourish and grow and evolve into something long-lasting and worthwhile.
But I have a strong sense that there is some kind of revolution happening, personally and professionally.
The revolution within me has involved re-evaluating everything I thought I knew and being open to ideas that previously seemed alien, false and impossible. It’s taken a long time and come with a huge, barely affordable price tag attached to it.
The revolution outside myself, in the industry that I am devoting my life to, is in its infancy. And I am lucky enough to play a small part in fighting alongside a few others who share the same goals of freeing music from the tyranny of the asshole.
You can help by simply listening to it. Maybe sharing it with a friend. Or sharing it with your kids. It’s an honourable thing to do. A kind thing.
Music can shine a light into places where nothing else can reach. That great musical genius lunatic Schumann tells us ‘To send light into the darkness of men’s hearts – such is the duty of the artist’. I think it’s the duty of all of us, no matter what we do to fill our time.
And as long as I’m honouring that, then even if I don’t make it I will fall asleep happy.
Acknowledgments
THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE without whom I know, for sure, I would not be here. They have been part of my life sometimes for a few hours or days, sometimes for many years. Some are threads that have been part of the entire fabric of my existence, either from the beginning or from the middle. My experience is that as I work through my own shit, I focus on my part, where I’m going wrong, where I can improve, where I can grow up, and then there is a ripple effect. So many of my relationships, both old and new, have blossomed and grown into something I could never have imagined a few years ago. The truth is that as I grow, so do my relationships.
And amongst all of the people I am surrounded by, there is a small, core group that binds me together and continues to keep me safe and feeling whole.
My mum, who has not once turned her back on me, not once failed to be there in any way she can when I’ve asked her, who continues to support and encourage and love.
My best friend, best man, best everything, Matthew, whose wife has sewn me up, who has driven me back to hospital more than once, liaised with police and doctors, looked after my ex-wife and son, shouldered burdens and responsibilities that no one should have to shoulder and done it without complaint, with grace, with love.
Sir David Tang, who has subsidised, supported, aided and abetted me in my journey in ways that I could never begin to adequately describe while doing him justice. He is the most generous man I know, and one of the most admirable.
Benedict Cumberbatch, enemy of spellcheckers everywhere, who has offered advice, friendship, movies, dinners, premieres, company, dubious fashion advice, time and energy, many times while in the middle of shooting yet another $100 million dollar epic bloody Hollywood movie. When I knew him at school he was little, bookish, a bit nerdy, quiet, softly spoken and kind. He still is, except for the little part. He is a giant amongst men and the most talented actor of his generation.
Billy Shanahan is my long-suffering and patient psychiatrist. When I first met him (the last in a too-long line of doctors) it was clear I could trust him because he knew what I knew – that life is temporary and indescribably fragile and that there are many, many, too fucking many people for whom suicide is a valid way out. He’s that rare breed of doctor who seems to have genuine empathy and understanding, and those two assets are worth a million Xanax.
