Music is the strongest form of magic

“When I was at home I was in a better place,” wrote Shakespeare in act 2 scene 4 of As You Like It.

But what is home?

Home isn’t necessarily defined by the concrete walls of a house. Sometimes, it is the walls of an arena or a stadium.

Home isn’t necessarily a room filled with blood relatives. Sometimes, it’s thousands of strangers with whom you simply share a common interest.

Home isn’t necessarily dinner table conversations or arguments about what to watch on TV. Sometimes, it’s the ear-splitting sound of music fans, screaming along to the songs which their favourite artist is performing in front of them.

Sometimes, home is a concert.

But why are concerts home? Why can being inside a venue overflowing with sweaty bodies for two hours make you feel more at home than you have ever felt in your own house? Is it down to the music? The artist? The audience? The songs? Just the general atmosphere? Or maybe it’s home because it can’t be explained why it’s home. Perhaps concerts are home simply because, in a packed stadium of 80,000 fans, ‘home’ has 80,000 different meanings because being there means something different to everyone who bought a ticket.

The energy which overpowers a concert venue as the musician takes to the stage is indescribable. That moment when the lights dim and the curtain falls, millions of emotions are buzzing through the air. Suddenly, the moment feels like an amalgamation of the life stories of every person in that building. You physically feel yourself connecting to those around you, as if you are joined hands and have the same blood flowing through your veins. You feel your heart swell and your knees weaken as, suddenly, everything you have ever wanted is right there in front of you. Suddenly, time freezes and transports you to a place completely outside of reality, a place free from prejudice, anxiety and troubles. A place which releases any negativity from your mind and allows you the freedom to be nothing and everything at the same time.

The next hour or so is surreal. Words could never do the feeling of hearing live music justice. The electricity which rushes through your body as the venue erupts into song, the goose bumps which scatter across your skin as what you’re convinced is an angel sings a ballad before you, the excitement which radiates from everyone in the room as the first beat of the biggest hit plays… they are not things which can ever be expressed neither in writing or speech. They are simply things which must be witnessed by the eyes and ears and felt by the heart.

Concerts change you as a person. You leave each feeling like a new version of the person you were a mere two hours ago, and you wonder how you have survived your life thus far without that one concert. They ignite a fire within you which never truly goes out. They inspire you to live the rest of your life as the most authentic you. No matter how many concerts you attend, how many different artists you experience live, no matter how big or how small, each one adds value to your life. They fill you with purpose. They remind you that hope is alive in the world. They remind you of the sheer power of music and how, in a world of seven billion, you could never truly be alone so long as music exists.

As you walk out of those venue doors, you’re hit with a wave of fulfilment, a sense of ‘wow I can conquer anything.’ Your soul feels warm and your head is spinning in the best possible way…and then, once the wave of excitement has washed over you, the tsunami of sadness comes even faster. No matter whether it’s the middle of December or beginning of summer, as you leave a concert and begin your journey to the place you call ‘home,’ a sudden coldness takes over you. A sudden freezing sensation clogs up your bones because you realise that you aren’t going home, you’re leaving home. As you leave a concert, you feel homesick.

Home has very much become a social construct. The idea no longer need refer to a building made of bricks and mortar. In 2018, home can be anywhere in the world. A place you visit frequently or a place you’ve only been to once. A place where you’re surrounded by people or a place where you’re totally isolated. A place of deafening silence or a place of roaring noise. A place of serenity or a place of chaos. Home is anything, anywhere or anyone that provides a sense of belonging. A place which fills the heart and empties the mind.

Concerts provide safety but also the thrill of knowing something could go wrong at any moment. They act as a vacuum away from society but also fill the greatest voids in our lives. They bring smiles to our faces and tears to our eyes. They touch us in a way that no physical being ever could. They transform our pain into art. They relieve us of the societal pressure placed upon us to fit into a box. They smash that box into smithereens and just give us a chance to truly live as ourselves. No matter the state of our surroundings, the corruptness of our governments, the wreckage we call ‘family’ or the hurt we feel deeply inside our heart, concerts and music are the common denominator. They are the incredible force which, as Bono said, can change the world because they can change people.

I conclude with a quote: “Music has always been a matter of Energy to me, a question of Fuel. Sentimental people call it Inspiration, but what they really mean is Fuel. I have always needed Fuel. I am a serious consumer. On some nights I still believe that a car with the gas needle on empty can run about fifty more miles if you have the right music very loud on the radio.” -Hunter S. Thompson

Emily Bashforth

Artificial Light

Can’t go home yet

Home is truth

Home denies my neverending youth

Home knows that I

Like trees towards sky

Must grow;

Home knows

Me.

Home is love and

Home is feeling

But home has four walls and a concrete ceiling

That blocks out

The everblazing sky.

Artificial light pours through the front door

I’m here

I can’t pretend anymore.

Words : Naomi Crisp

Photo : Hope Naisbitt

In-Between

“You’re going on a gap year, where are you travelling to?” This is a popular question that often arose towards the end of my exams to which I always responded “nowhere, I’m staying at home. I just need to learn how to really live before I go and live” only to receive the surprised tone of “Oh… right, okay…” the truth: I was not really ready to leave home yet. There seemed to be something missing. When reaching a certain age, that is the beginning of adulthood but not quite – it can be said that one can feel as though something is missing. It is as though, for me at least, I know that there is a person that I want to become. She is in there somewhere, the person that I ache to feel come out of me. Not often showing herself, but when she does it is a relief because it is proof that she is not this ideal being in my head. This seems to be a phase of being in-between; the lull of ‘not quite there’.

Presently I am sitting in my bedroom, we live on a main road, and there is a constant ebb and flow of cars, their lights, red and white with their incessant passing. Watching the cars always reminds me of night drives home from anywhere that I always found comforting as a child, and now really. The back of a car can only be complemented by the night. And especially in winter when it is darker, and colder. I always used to think, the idea that this car, mobile and warm on a cold dark night is to be settled at my home soon, in-between ‘a’ and ‘b’ (much like me), except in this case, there has never been anything more serene. The hum of the engine, the soothing sound of “everything will be okay”. For the most part, this setting is what I have often thought about when thinking about the whole concept of ‘home’, the word ‘home’ itself is associated with family members, or lovers, structure, order, comfort, and dark nights on the way to home. ‘Home’ is something that is supposed to be a constant, much alike the cars that flow outside my window that I have seemed to sit watching these past years. Watching, now I realize, is something that can be done for too long. I realized recently that ‘home’ will not forever be a constant. That family will not always be here; that these four walls that I am currently behind will not always be here either. It has taken a while for this to sink in for me.

Yet, suddenly this is the beginning of my realization that it seems that where growth is concerned, words begin to mean different things as the world becomes more accessible to an extent (when my ambitions transcend my home). ‘Home’, just three months into my year of ‘living’, is a word that now I associate with something that goes beyond a light on a dark night and the faces of people that I love. The definition of the word ‘home’ initially (a place to live, to come to in any form of distress) has almost diminished once the preparation to leave it commences, ironically.

In order to free myself from the confines of my own cowardice, disassociating the word ‘home’ with the meaning that it is commonly known to have was something that had to be done. I learned a new definition of ‘home’. It made me feel more in control, and just as safe as the last definition. And it summed up what the remaining months of this year would be dedicated to: becoming solely dependent only on myself, independent. That step closer to her, the she who sits at my core and waiting – the ‘could-be’. One can often forget how healthy it is to not rely on others for anything. To not be attached to anything. In truth, it takes strength, detaching oneself doesn’t it? Having the power to just want and have but not need. Letting go of attachments and just being.

A roof and a bed is a home, a foundation – but a body, this shell we’re given is a home; it is a constant until it stops. It is almost as though in light of realizing that my home will be a long drive away, it is myself only that I will have to lean on. As beings aren’t we all singularly our own only security? This question once daunted me, now it is just a challenge. After all, we live in a world that mocks the solitary, the lonesome. Speeches such as: “Why on earth would you want to go there alone? It won’t be fun, how lame” are often accompanied by pitiful sighs and laughter; or at least this is a discovery I have made in this year so far. I’m beginning to think that the world mocks and ostracizes the lone perhaps because the lonesome are intimidating. They are capable of just being themselves, with others or alone.

By becoming your own home, you become your own force. You have no need for anything except surviving and growing, which you can do constantly until you end. Arguably, this is the part where you gain more choices, you can choose to have or to not have attachments. In a sense, once you know that it is safe to stand alone in any situation, individuality becoming a new foundation, you can become free. This is the part where who we’re supposed to be appears.

Tayla Halfacre

Hygge : a playlist

Falling Short : Lapsley

Beach Baby : Bon Iver

Naked as We Came : Iron & Wine

Mystery of Love : Sufjan Stevens

Oliver : Brooke Bentham

Blanket : Siv Jakobsen

Super 8 Eyes : Benjamin Francis Leftwich

Archie, Marry Me : Flyte

Vincent : James Blake

Amsterdam : Gregory Alan Isakov

Love No Less Worthy : J. Tilman

Rivers : The Tallest Man On Earth

Places We Won’t Walk : Bruno Major

Wanna Know : Sabrina Claudio

Say a Little Prayer : Lianne La Havas

Alaska (acoustic) : Maggie Rogers

Don’t Break Your Heart On Me : Gabrielle Aplin

Lucy Harbron

Change

Megan Hemsley

Lands

Lowlands

The pressure pops and I’m shocked out of sleep.

Up north the heathered hills gave me shelter,

But they glowered down like traitorous guards

Whose spears would turn if the clouds gathered right.

Evening sun lies heavy on the lowlands.

These great skies, huge enough to hold old gods

Now allow me to gaze from here to her,

To see the line of her heart lying flat

As the fens do.

They never change, come rain,

Come sun, come the wind that whips you sideways

In winter. They lie damp, concealing dark

And deathly secrets, never to reveal –

For there is not one relenting crevice

With which the ground could breathe out the horror.

She will become one with this green and lush

and unforgiving land, returned to worms

Who unblinkingly devour her kind face,

kind mouth, her bright and glittering kind and godly eyes.

Highlands

Tonight, the city flickers in concert.

Every light winks invitingly from the soft roll of the valley’s belly below,

Blurred by the curtain of drizzle that separates us

The gentlest of seductions.

The metallic glows of red and orange leave a trail of warmth below the scar on my stomach, but I will not be drawn.

If I just brush the cold pane I touch them all a little,

Fingers quivering over each one to tease, and then I withdraw.

I wonder who sees my own glow, their eyes playing over it like a child’s hands on the strings of an unfamiliar guitar.

Tomorrow, a new clear-water light will wash the city clean,

In the hollows between the fires of the night will be steel, glinting;

Every inch of the valley sprouting startling redbrick and concrete growths.

What lies behind each measured edge, each broken stone?

I might run down the road below, still rain-soaked and steaming in the sun

And gladly let the maze swallow me whole.

Words : Pippa Le Grand

Photos : Rachelle Cox

Beacon

You can see the world from up here.

It makes me scared to ever look away.

I recall first seeing you in this light,

and how the silver darted off your lips

into the unexpecting dull of my retina.

White flares lit up your face

so that you squinted as your gaze

spiraled upwards to match mine.

The clouds were spitting glass,

but you didn’t seem to mind.

Maybe if we never left this place again, then

everything would be okay. We could pitch up

and forget all existence; passive onlookers

in a world where nothing else matters.

You could reside here in timeless tranquility,

while I find a way to make food out of timber.

Something like that. I don’t really mind.

But away is the sound of porcelain cracking

on cold wooden slats. And no more

bitten nails, tearing through my back

as you try to explain yourself. Never again

need I excuse pink stains on white shirts,

or hold you soft under cover as your world

burns hot lava around you.

Because, while it will still get dark and scary,

ripping a hole wide through the night

will be one sole beam of evangelical light.

And with it, will bring a feeling so close to home,

that we’d forget we ever left at all.

Words: James Huxtable

Art : Saskia Phokou

Warmth

Ashirbad Roy

Home Was Never A House For Me

When I was a little girl, I’d always fantasise about going to the fair

Every time I was there, it felt like I was returning home again

I’d eagerly await to go on the pretty carousel, so I could feel the wind in my hair,

Blowing away the fears of the future, and the pain from the past, or even the present for that matter

Then there was the candyfloss, which was my favourite sickeningly sweet treat of all time back then

It tasted like childhood, freedom, innocence, and pleasure, all rolled into one

Except my Mum, and my grandparents never wanted me to eat it, because it’s no good for me

And they wanted to keep me grounded, away from all of my fantasies

In case I got carried away with myself, and accidentally let loose to other people that my dad was actually the devil in disguise

Don’t we all just wish our lives were like those in fairy tales, and our wildest dreams?

Something that always brought me back down to reality with a thump was seeing the haunted house, looming threateningly, and dangerously in the distance. The air around it seemed grey, foggy almost, and that was unsettling to me, because surely that meant it should be avoided at all costs, right?

It reminded me way too much of my home situation back then, as that’s where my father’s darkest demons would come out to play, late at night, when nobody except my mother and I was around in the flat

I’d have visions of him being in that haunted house, terrorising children, and teens when he was drunk, cackling away at the fact that he could intimidate them

They would all get sucked into the thrill of it, and laugh away, whilst secretly shivering in their seats

But little do they know, he didn’t need a mask; my father was already intimidating enough without one

Thankfully, bright lights allowed me to remain the carefree child that I should have been all the time, taking me off into another world, one where only the most enchanting fairies, and the most captivating unicorns existed

Loud music sends shivers down my spine, and through my entire body, forcing me to forget my fears, and live within the moment, because that’s all that is meant to matter when you’re merely 6 years old

Where’s the magician? He should be around here somewhere,

Maybe he can help the past vanish from my mind, and my memory

I can build a proper home within this fairground, and ride every rollercoaster a thousand times over

Letting go of all the hurt, and all of the uncertainty

I will allow the Ferris wheel to lift me up high, and keep me there, so I can have a few moments of normality, away from the chaos, so for once, I know I am better than, and above all of that

Yet, my home is only temporary, as it only ever comes to town for a few weeks at a time

This is simply all a fantasy, a figment of my imagination, and nothing more

At 6 years old, I couldn’t possibly escape the chaos for more than a couple of hours a day

No matter how much I knew in my heart that I wanted to stay

I had to wave goodbye to any hope of happiness, and say hello to the haunted house, once again when all of the magical lights had gone out.

Jade Millard

An Ode to my Teenage Bedroom

I never really imagined I’d become as nostalgic for my teenage bedroom as I did. When I moved to uni, I was ready to leave behind any bad memories I had associated with it. To begin with, I forgot how special the space had been to me. It informed my teenage experience, shaped me as much as I shaped it, and reflected my growth. I had been at uni for a couple of months when my mum rang me to tell me that my bedroom was being redecorated.

I knew that moving away meant a new beginning. My teenage bedroom would no longer be a reflection of me when I moved home. University was a clean slate, or, in this case, a clean poster-free bedroom wall. My room had been my world as a teenager. It was where I stayed up too late for a school night, writing, crying over my first crushes and listening, almost exclusively, to Morrissey. It was the room where I’d formed all my dreams, ideas and theories about how my life would pan out. The room itself became an outward expression of all this; morphed into a weird coglomeration of collaged walls, Morrissey shrines and growing stacks of fashion magazines. Seriously, my parents told me more than once that they were worried my ceiling would fall in and whoever was sitting downstairs would meet their end beneath a pile of Vogues. (I thought that sounded like quite a glamorous way to go.)

I often felt selective about who I would let into my room. My melodramatic teenage self-imagined that my room had become a Wildean reflection of my soul itself. It was bursting with all the passions that I spent some time trying to repress in the hallways of my boring grammar school, where academic success was valued much more highly than expressions of creativity. I remember seeing my room as a sanctuary from all that. My room tended to be most chaotic when my mind was. It was in that room that I first encountered depression, hence the repetitive Morrissey listening, and my bedroom was comforting in this time. Having my idols plastered all over my walls and piled up in my magazines made me feel less alone.

It was not only my own room that interested me. I became fascinated with looking at other people’s bookshelves, CD collections, posters when they invited me round. I embellished all of this with some deeper significance, judging people on these superficial criteria. The importance I placed on this meant that I never viewed changing my room around as a waste of time. Inspired by Tavi Gevinson and other teen bloggers at the time, I saw working on my room as a deeply creative task. Most alterations would inevitably be posted on my blog. My room was like my journal, with less self-absorbed whining and random lists. In one corner, I drew a heart and wrote “The Smiths” inside it with a black Sharpie. I covered this up with another poster. I sometimes felt bad about defacing my room so much. Whenever a picture fell from the wall, it left very visible marks where the paint had come off. So, another picture would replace it.

When the time came for me to move to university, I felt ready to leave my teenage bedroom behind. I had stopped redecorating with such fervor and some of the references had begun to feel alien to me, as though they were only relevant in a past life. It needed updating as new people began to influence me. When my mum told me she was redecorating, I felt a dull ache of nostalgia, but I knew it was time to let go. I certainly felt that that room made me more me. I doubt I will ever inhabit a space quite like it again. Without that room, all its mess, obsessions and endless books and magazines, I’m not sure I would be the same person today. Our experiences as teenagers play a large role in defining who we become, and, for me, my bedroom was part of that too.