Welcome to Letters from Quotidia Hologram 11. At the edge of the universe, an unimaginable distance from us, lies a vast ring which for all intents and purposes is a two-dimensional surface upon which is inscribed everything that exists; that serves as the template from which is projected all that there ever was, is or will be: from every vibrating string at the Planck length up to the Quipu Superstructure measuring over 1.3 billion light-years in length which contains over 200 quadrillion solar masses.
These mind-bending musings of advanced theoretical physicists are very like the advanced theological conjectures one may come across among religiously inclined scholars. One may say that vast ring at the edge of the universe is the eternity ring of God! Or not, as your beliefs will guide you. As you may surmise, the first part of this Letter and the first song engages with the concept of rings. They’re everywhere, the rings of Saturn, the Olympic rings, spy rings, engagement and wedding rings, and those itchy, red circles on the skin left by ringworm.
Yes, from the sublime to the ridiculous, but that’s how my mind sometimes operates. It throws a spanner in the works to prevent the ring imagery cycling through Wagner, The Lord of the Rings, and God knows how many more references to rings! But I can’t leave the roll out of ring references without us all singing that children’s rhyme, Ring-a-ring o’ roses,/ A pocket full of posies./ A-tishoo! A-tishoo! We all fall down.// It occurs in the British Isles, America and Europe. Once fashionable to connect it to the Great Plague researchers now think this is a stretch. Its origins probably has pagan roots, and anyway, children in all cultures make sure the inner meaning of their play is hermetically sealed off from the prying eyes of adults!
In the aftermath of the atomic attack on Japan, a parodist in 1949 came up with the variant, Ring-a-ring o’ geranium,/ a pocket full of uranium,/ Hiro Shima,/ All fall down.// Be great if this variant fades into obscurity but, for now, it still casts a threatening shadow. Another sort of ring is a boxing ring, and this is the setting for my first song. The Queensbury Rules are not in play here, though. This ring is a great metaphor for the struggle each person has between what is right and what is wrong. St Paul in Romans chapter 7: verse 15 puts it thus: For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Sound familiar? Human nature, eh? If it were not so, every New Year’s resolution would be kept and year on year each of us would climb towards perfection as mere temptations are swept aside as the human race approaches its apotheosis. Instead, I reach out for yet another glass of wine as I present my first song, The Fight. [insert song]
I was listening to the Rock City Saints play their final set at St Mary’s Leagues Club in outer western Sydney recently. Friday night and the club was buzzing. The band struck up Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns n’ Roses and tears dimmed my sight. The epic opening riff composed by Slash was the last guitar piece my son, Brian, played for me before he was killed in a motorbike accident at 15 years of age in October 1989.
Ever since our folk band, Banter, folded a couple of years ago, I seek out live music every weekend. I find it at St Marys Leagues, one of the best music venues in metropolitan Sydney. The acts that I go to see are those groups who actually play their instruments in real time and who disdain the use of backing tracks which really just transform any session the are used into a Karaoke occasion, IMHO.
As the Rock City Saints gave a powerful rendition of this hit from 1987, I was transfixed by the memory of my son’s playing that iconic riff, note for note, as I recall. Each of you listening will have a similar story of how a few notes of music can transport you to a different time and resurrect the emotions you felt in that place. So, I was deeply vexed and not so much the customary old man shouting at clouds as another geriatric fool crying in his beer.
My son would now be approaching his mid-fifties and who knows how he would have turned out, who he would have met, and if we would have had any more grandchildren. The title of the Guns n’ Roses song sparked memories of a poem I had come across before by Edgar A. Guest, who published, in the Detroit Free Press and beyond, many popular pieces of verse that were optimistic and, for my taste, too sentimental in tone. Here are a few lines from the beginning and end of his poem, A Child of Mine, to introduce my final song.
I will lend you, for a little time,/A child of mine, He said/For you to love the while he lives/And mourn for when he’s dead./It may be six or seven years,/Or twenty-two or three./But will you till I call him back,/Take care of him for Me./and the poem concludes, but should the angels call for him,/Much sooner than we’ve planned,/We’ll brave the bitter grief that comes,/And try to understand.// Yeah, 37 years and counting and I’m no closer to understanding. Here’s My Lost Son, Farewell Again. [insert song]
It’s been twenty year since I last wrote a song about my lost son. But songs spring out of events experienced and this one came from the events described before. Now, while Brian didn’t live to hear Enter Sandman I have a premonition that when it comes time for me to go off to Never-never land he will come and join in the chorus as we sing, Exit light/Enter Night/Take my hand/We’re off to Never-never Land. We’re all off to never-never land, sometime- but not just yet, eh!
The Fight (words and music Quentin Bega)
Intro: A2 E7sus Amaj7 Verse:F#m Bm D A C#m Chorus: D A D A D A E Extension: Bm D A E Interlude: F G G# A
The ring stands spotlit in the dark as I approach the ropes
As I climb through I feel the canvas coarse on my bare soles
My second tells me not to think too much and furthermore he hopes
My preparation over years was sound, my grit he extolls
My heart beats like a drum as I advance into the centre
The referee wants a clean fight and a fair fight on this night
He turns to my adversary and beckons him to enter
Everything now depends on how I conduct this fight
The Referee announces let the bout begin Which one will be vanquished which one will win
(interlude)
He landed a sharp uppercut and to the deck I fell
In the first seconds of the round was I out for the count
But I jumped up and kicked him in the face and just as well
It allowed me to recover and a fierce fightback to mount
It seemed the contest lasted decades as for the win we fought
We probed and parried for the weakness that would end the pain
As we battled through the heat for the prize we sought
One would wear a spotless robe the other an eternal stain
The referee he stands there at the final bell
Which one will find heaven which one will find hell
The referee he stands there at the final bell
Which one will find heaven which one will find hell
My Lost Son Farewell Again
(Music Quentin Bega, Words Quentin Bega, Guns n’ Roses, Metallica)
Sitting in the Sapphire Lounge of St Marys Leagues in the crowd
Listening to the Rock City Saints blast it out so loud
Relaxing with a beer as on the floor the dancers sway
Wondering if the next song will be as good anyway
I hear the riff that makes my old eyes dim now with tears
And I am taken back to that place through the years
Where all of your tomorrows came to a crashing end
When you came off your motorbike on that fatal bend
If you could be here by my side my long-lost son
But “if” is such a weasel word when all’s said and done
And still the band plays that old song, sounding oh so fine
I’ll miss you after the chords fade out, sweet child o’ mine
Hey, listen now they’re playing Enter Sandman, but I forget
You never heard this massive hit and I do regret
That you’ve missed so much of life that we could talk and riff about
I know if you were here we’d raise our voices as we shout
Exit Light Enter Night Take My Hand We’re Off To Never-never Land
But as the chorus fades away so does Peter Pan
The lost boys are a fiction, but your loss is real as pain
Exit Light Enter Night Take My Hand We’re Off To Never-never Land
The lost boys are a fiction, but your loss is real as pain
My lost son farewell again sweet child o’ mine
My lost son farewell again sweet child o’ mine
My lost son farewell again sweet child o’ mine
Credits: All written text, song lyrics andmusic (including background music) written and composed by Quentin Bega unless otherwise specified in the credits section after individual posts. Illustrative excerpts from other texts identified clearly within each podcast. I donate to and use Wikipedia frequently as one of the saner sources of information on the web.
Technical Stuff: Microphone-songs Shure SM58; (for the podcast spoken content) Audio Technica AT 2020 front-facing with pop filter); Apogee 76K also used for songs and spoken text. For recording and mixing down: 64-bit N-Track Studio 10 Extended used; Rubix 22 also used for mixing of microphone(s) and instruments. I use the Band in a Box/RealBand 2023 combo for music composition.
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