Malik, Music & Me.

I've never had a serious love affair with music. There I've said it. I've always wanted to but it's just ...never happened for me. 

I enjoy music certainly, I have my favourite artists and have, in the past, attended concerts or gigs. I'm not saying that I'm impervious to music - it's more that I very rarely manage to connect meaningfully to it regardless of how much I want to. With very few exceptions, I go to concerts when someone chooses to take me to one and my catalogue of preferred artists is small, unfocused and uninformed. I rarely choose to listen to music over spoken word podcasts or go to a concert over a night at the theatre. I'm bemused, although envious, when people can lose themselves in music, naturally feel and follow a beat or return from classical concerts flushed with happiness and emotion.

Thankfully, however, there are the odd exceptions. This won't improve my image but I'll admit that musical theatre songs almost always work for me - although that's probably because they're so lyric centric. Jazz and old Torchsongs hit me where it matters and so make up a vast majority of my iTunes collection. Yeah, when I find what works for me I never let it go. Which is why I instantly bought both of Sixto Rodriguez's albums when I first heard them and continue, over a year later, to listen to them on a constant loop. I've gone alone to his concerts and bought the DVD of Searching for Sugarman, the documentary that brought him back to our attention. And it's why I can't stop thinking about the recent suicide of the director of the film Malik Bendjelloul. 

I think that for many people a particular song is important, not just for the music itself, but for its connection with an emotion, event or person. The way in which I was introduced to Rodriguez was incredible enough to create all those lasting connections for me instantly. I went to a Secret Cinema event, where you don't know what you're seeing, and it was a preview of Searching for Sugarman. We were at the beautiful Troxy in East London and it was packed. The film, in which Bendjelloul uncovers the amazing story of Rodriguez's iconic status in South Africa was responsible for bringing the singer-songwriter back to fame, delighted the audience. The soundtrack was Rodriguez's music and, by the end of the film, you loved him and his music. So when, in an outstanding finale, the real Rodriguez came onto the stage and played a concert you felt like a hardcore fan who'd waited forever for this opportunity to see him live. People were crying, surging forward and running close to the stage to touch the icon himself. Behind a curtain, just left of the stage, was the quiet, humble man responsible for making all this happen. Bendjelloul had chased this story for four years, using his iPhone when he ran out of money and never giving up. He'd told an amazing story beautifully and given Rodriguez the opportunity of a lifetime. 

Midway through the concert, exhilarated and joyous, I confidently drew back the curtain and reached out to Bendjelloul. Although enjoying the success of his film, he was defiant about ensuring Rodriguez got the lion's share of the attention and accepted my praise humbly. This was before the film shot to fame and won an Oscar so he was conscious about networking and, although I'm in no way a big fish, when I pitched the idea of the film becoming a stage musical he eagerly swopped cards with me and we began an email correspondence on the idea. Of course the film took off massively and he set off on a huge tour and heaven's knows what else. There was a big dip in communication but then, after a while, he got back in touch. He was busy and had next to no time but he just sent a sweet, polite email to let me know why he'd gone quiet and to thank me for my support. Him being so nice was the icing on the cake - there was nothing I didn't love about the film, the music and the people. 

Since that night I've found that listening to Rodriguez's music gives me that rare feeling of emotions bubbling up, memories of the night, the atmosphere of the larger story associated with the film and the first time Rodriguez stepped onto the stage. I'm not always conscious of the separate aspects of course, just of the overall feeling of wellbeing, excitement and connection when the music starts. I've taken the album on long drives, train trips, listened while working on hard projects...it's a great companion. I've started listening more closely to lyrics, understanding the metaphors and the aspects of songs I rarely stick with long enough to notice. Although Malik is not responsible for the music itself he is irretrievably tied up in my experience of it and so, when I heard that this young, handsome, ambitious, talented, humble man had died I was shocked. When I heard it was suicide, due to depression, I was beyond words. 

Look, there's recently been a spate of high profile suicides and early deaths and a lot of debate about whether the public outpouring of emotion is misplaced and phony due to the fact that, for the most part, we didn't even know these people personally. I don't have a clear opinion on this either way. I do think it's a bit ridiculous to mourn so publicly for a stranger but I'm also aware that these people were still presences in our lives, and those who seemed young and untouchable, so shock and sadness is a natural response. I knew next to nothing about LeWren Scott or Peaches Geldof but I was still saddened by their deaths. I didn't know Malik either, I met him but I didn't know him. However I felt, and still feel, a sadness on a different level for his death. My thinking is full of cliches such as 'such a waste', 'he had so much going for him' and on and on. Of course I know nothing about his personal life or his experience of depression. Regardless I haven't stopped thinking about him. Perhaps it's as simple as a man I met, whose hand I touched and who was nice to me committed suicide and I can't understand why. Maybe it really is just a normal human reaction to that simple fact. Maybe it's because his work affected me so much and I'm mourning the impossibility of more of this. Or maybe it's just that he was a young man who, despite achieving what so many only dream of, was so desperately unhappy. 

Whatever the reason may be I know that he made his mark on the world and in my life. Either way it seems fitting that as I wrap this article up, having listened to Rodriguez's albums while writing, the song I Think of You is playing. 

To you, Malik.