Wednesday, 9 May 2018

Hidden Treasure

I am at an age when most of my friends are married-off. All I have are thirty love poems and some sun-lit holiday photos. The pub can be a lonely place after six pints.

'You are both so lucky---to have someone. This is what I was thinking at your weddings, privately. To know that someone loves you and will not leave you or choose another man over you. I'm beginning to think I am one of those people who will never get married. A male spinster.'

When emotions are loosened, tears thick with pain trickle down.

'You'll get married Dan. You're still young.'

Then a face comes into ones mind and fills it with grief. The married men are supportive, rational.

'Keep going mate and you will get there.'

'Have you tried the internet?'

All I can see is her red-cheeked face. She is sitting in the chair opposite. Drinking a Bailey's with my school friends. In another dimension? The future? I cannot communicate in conversation what I want to say. It can only be illuminated in a sober light. Poetry is the language of paradox. Some free woman have loved me.

'I still think she is the one.'

'Come on mate.'

'Another drink or food?'

'Food. I could murder a kebab.'

The simple words of friends heal the heart so easily. I will publish my poems. They are a map to the hidden treasure which lies buried between a man and a woman. Only prose can fill in the gaps. Poetry merely distills the passing into blue on white.

30 Love Poems by Dan Sandman...coming soon...

Wednesday, 25 April 2018

Charity Library Concert

I am the youngest of five siblings. Nobody in my family has ever taken up a musical instrument or performed on stage. My father listened to Beethoven and Caruso. He was an electronic engineer and my two brothers took degrees in electronic engineering.

'Daniel. If you studied as much as you played guitar you'd be going to Oxford.'

My dad never did understand what literature and music meant to me. When something fell apart he would always suggest that I take up engineering.

'Dad. I spent three years studying English. Not engineering.'

So I took up guitar teaching.

'Daniel. How are your finances?'

'Okay. I have twelve lessons this week.'

'Do you have enough to support yourself?'

'Yes. But I need to find ways of making more money.'

'Why don't you try engineering?'

This cycle would continue for another decade. I would make albums and write articles. Organize events that never seemed to profit. I was stuck in an invisible circle of my own creating.

'What are you working on Daniel?'

'A new album. It will be my best yet.'

'There's no money in music.'

'That's why I'm only making fifty copies this time.'

'What about the seven-hundred you have in the attic?'

'As I said. That's why I'm only making fifty.'

We would always laugh about this. I can hear my father now and see him smiling. His beard is untidy, he is wearing his blue sweater. I inherited his green one when he died. One remembers the voice of a lost loved one that always stays in ones head. The sound and texture of it. Its notes, timbre and dynamic. A rhythm played harmoniously without conscious breath.

'You need more lessons. Why don't you advertise?'

'I do. But it's more important to retain the students I already have.'

My father was always problem solving with his children. This was not always entirely effective.

'I am an engineer and we engineers like to find practical solutions to problems.'

'But I'm a musician. Not an engineer.'

So I carried on making music; and so my father kept suggesting I give it up. I wish my father could have been there at the concert last Saturday. With his grandchildren helping to put out the programme sheets on the chairs. It was a beautiful summary of all that a community-minded musician can achieve. We had a full house of appreciative listeners. Ever vigilant, my mother Carole volunteered on the door. The chief executive of The Winch gave a speech. My students attended and were happy. Supporters of the open mic were taking drinks out for the interval.

Then we had that grand piano dominating the centre of the room, a great pianist at the helm and two poets dressed up for a concert. Knowing me, knowing you; they were dancing once again, as the dancing king and queen.

Daniel and Angharad are available for your event:

Angharad and Daniel
Saturday April 21st, 2018

Saturday, 7 April 2018

Community Volunteering

The inter-generational mix we had last Thursday, at our open mic, was an incredible moment for me as a community volunteer. I believe free access to local libraries can be life changing for people: young, old or middling. The unique combination of grime, folk, pop, rock, classical and poetry that occurred was more than art; greater than music; far more significant than an open mic. It was a community of people engaging in a cultural exchange. This is exactly what we had envisioned when we originally discussed the plans for the event. Pictures or videos do not do justice to it. Come along to one of our open mic events and see for yourself what a difference giving folks a stage to perform on can make to a group of individuals.

For an entire decade, I performed for myself and for my own selfish reasons. This meant that I could create art from life: and I am grateful to everyone who supported; especially those attended gigs or purchased music. But what happened last Thursday has changed my entire perspective as a musician. Of course, I will continue to create songs, write poetry and compose instrumental music for a public. However, now I can see that my social, organizational and communication skills can be used for the power of good, I am further inclined to employ myself towards actions that benefit directly society.

I am grateful to all those people in my community who have steered onto this path: a winding road that I continue to tread with occasional side-tracks and mishaps.

Swiss Cottage: a Communal Space

Saturday, 2 December 2017


Album Notes

I am certain that the music will speak for itself, but I will do my best to write up a few truths. Some of the material for Underpaintings had been whirling inside my head for a very long time indeed; some of it came to me last November. Loss is a recurring theme on this tenth outing. In chronological order: it is new year 2011 and I am worrying about losing the people I love; a notepad mysteriously goes missing in summer 2016; that long coach trip home from Oxford last winter, where I sank my cold tears into an empty envelope; it is springtime and my mother brings news that an acquaintance has passed away. These places in time, underpaintings of a wide canvas, composed in space and time, are where the music is drawn into a sketch. It can take years to go from there: from knowing that I have a place for everything, to knowing that everything has its place.

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Belsize Community Library Open Mic

It was the end of a warm spring afternoon and the sun was setting outside. I sat at my sound-desk, admiring the aged wood of the grade listed building. It would be a privilege to play on such an historic site and to support the library.

On the classical guitar, I played a brief selection of my own pieces. Notably, I had never performed on nylon strings in public before. I then did the sound engineering for several poets and musicians, introducing the acts as we went along. The room has perfect natural reverb and the volume was kept reasonably low.

The audience participated and clapped along to the music on a number of occasions. I came back on stage to sing a couple of cover songs and the evening concluded on time. All my gear was packed up by ten o' clock. Our open mic is on every first Thursday from 7 pm to 9 pm.

Poster for Belsize Community Library Open Mic

Dan Sandman supports Belsize Communtiy Library and Primrose Hill Community

Saturday, 16 April 2016

Saturday Night Gigs

Rob Edgar and I caught the 31 bus from Chalk Farm to Kilburn Park. April showers had begun to fall. We chatted about music and literature. After dropping off our gear at the venue, we went out for dinner at Woody's Grill. It was a hearty meal and cost less than a tenner per head.

Chris Monger met us after dinner inside the venue. He had on him a lap steel and a couple of pedals. The night before, he and I had given the set a run through in my studio. Tonight would be the first time that Chris, Rob and I had ever played together. It was going to be fun!

The gig was attended by our friends and four other bands. As Chris and Rob sat down on stage, I stepped up to play a couple of my own guitar pieces. We then launched into a set of new songs and two covers. We worked well as a trio. Our set could have perhaps been longer.

Picture taken by Maria at The Good Ship (02/04/16)

Thursday, 10 March 2016

Dan's Annual Guitar Concert 2016

It was a sunny afternoon in Primrose Hill. I waited in the library office for the audience to arrive. The radio played rock music in the background. My equipment was set up ready for the concert to begin. All I had to do was walk out, plug in and roll. The rest would be the passing of thirty-seven minutes of time. Time enough to fill a room full of questions and answers.

Conversations begun to buzz from the room outside. A variety of people had come from a variety of places. Music had brought together people from different walks of life. There were the retired ladies from the local community, waiting patiently in the front row. At the back of the seating area, several of my friends looking towards the makeshift stage. And fanning out from the centre of the seating area, a wide range of listeners connected to my work as a guitar teacher.

I looked at the music on the stand. Opened up the first page. Closed my eyes.
Picture takene by Jolene at Dan's Annual Guitar Concert 2016 (07/02/16)