We keep doing, that’s what we do

We keep doing, that’s what we do

David Rudder will soon be 70, Gary Hector is 60, and I’m teaching myself ballet.

All incredible but true. Incredible, not as in wonderful, but in the sense of defying belief.

On 6 May, his birthday, Rudder will give a gorgeous and heartbreaking performance, because that is what he does.

Gary just did his first solo show, heartful and intimate, because that is what he does.

And I am doing ballet via YouTube and looking more like an octopus than a dancer. Because, you know, that’s how it goes for some of us.

I feel like 100 years old and this is what I have decided I want to do.

At my age ballet is almost an extreme sport, but it also feels oddly natural. People my age do yoga. Yoga – healing friend to many – is not something my body grasps. But this slightly unnatural-looking thing that professional dancers train their bodies and destroy their feet to do, this feels right.

I look like an idiot, but that’s never stopped me before.

In Merle Hodge’s Crick Crack Monkey, the young protagonist, Tee, is sent to ballet class by her antagonistic aunt. Tee must show the dance teacher how she moves. After some awkward pausing, Tee wines as best as the unfamiliar ballet music allows.

That would have been me. I doubt that’s the takeaway either Merle or my first-form teacher hoped for, but that’s what I got.

Will I ever be any good at ballet? Unlikely. I had zero dance lessons of any kind when I was a child. I was so rhythmically challenged that, on the rare occasion on which I could not weasel my way out of it entirely, I had to be the marching mascot on sports day. Not because I was cute or had some special skill, but because I could not keep time with everyone else.

Out front, and about the height of a side table, no one seemed to notice I was out of sync. And that’s where I’ve been ever since. Away from others, a bit out of step.

I don’t know if either Rudder or Gary – isn’t it funny how one is always referred to by his last name and the other by his first? – has dance aspirations. No matter what they chose or choose to do, I think of them as always being a little off to the side, not quite falling in step with everyone else. Because if they did, they couldn’t know the things they know or sing the things they sing.

At 60, Gary Hector, a man of many bands, is striking out on his own. He has been wearing that cowboy hat for a while, and sure, we can’t really say we didn’t hear him reaching for a sort of country sound in some of his music, but did any of us think he was actually going country? Did we want him to? Away from jointpop, away from crashing drums and that sweet, sweet rock guitar, we find Gary, just him and an acoustic guitar, and he sounds remarkably familiar.

His recent concert was called Naked. And maybe there was some soul-nudity, maybe there wasn’t. The thing is, he still sounded like the man I’d been listening to for most of my life. I don’t think he can write a clothed song. They all peel away layers of himself and ourselves, always looking for a way to say more, say better, say in a more real way.

Pain and exile come readily. Beauty and love and how to be human, too. But I don’t think that’s enough for him. There is still something more nuanced to chase. And he’s going after it.

Throughout his career, he’s been etching into our musical landscape scenes not many people ever expected to see. We can rock if we want to and still be unquestionably Trinidadian, and I’ve enjoyed every instance of explaining to foreigners that we have real live rock bands. And now, apparently, a real live country singer.

I’ve enjoyed every minute of telling anyone who will listen about the healing power of calypso and soca and the importance of not getting too tied up in the distinction.

I like to imagine that Rudder does not bother with such things either. If he did, how would he have been able to give us year-after-year of genre-defying music?

He makes us ask. He asks who we are and what we want. There’s a challenge thrown out in every song; a dare. When he first showed up as himself and not as a back-up singer or a stand-in for someone else, he didn’t step lightly, making sure he fitted in the exact footsteps you’re supposed to plant your feet on if you’re going to succeed.

He didn’t follow the trail at all. He was in and out of it. Jumping over it and skirting it. And we did not understand him at all, at all, at all. But we also could not resist him.

And that’s his gold. From the 1986 to today, he’s made himself irresistible to us. So much so that – years ago – it seemed like the greatest insult to him was to say that even a bad Rudder song was better than the best anyone else had to offer.

So, here he is at soon-to-be 70. I’m as interested in what he will do next as I am in what we will do depending on what he does. I’m fairly certain I’m not overstating his relevance. Because, you see, even if you are not paying attention to him, think not that the music world is ignoring him. Like I said, he’s made himself irresistible.

Just like musicians, writers get asked about their influences all the time. No one is shocked if a singer or songwriter talks about poetry or the way a literary experience influenced them. But I’ve always found people to be quite taken aback when a writer – let’s say me, for instance – cites half a dozen musicians as their spirit-guides.

For years Rudder has been writing about music as a doorway through which we go deeper into ourselves, our history, our connection to each other, to our ancestors. And he stands in that space, like all the gods of the crossroads. But he can’t give us permission to cross. He can only ask if we want to.

When I started work on this, I was on fire to talk about long careers and the will that pushes the best of us. I wanted to write this in a shape that made you think about what makes you go on, no matter the cost. I thought it was all about that drive.

Less than halfway through, someone I love died. And in thinking about him, I realised that I wasn’t chasing brilliance or talent or success stories – I was chasing survival. Just that. Just that thing we try to do every day. Just living.

Go see Rudder for his birthday. Go find Gary’s music online, see if anyone posted videos from the concert. There’s nothing new – survival has always been about change.

Go brave, music men. Go gently, brother.

Remember to talk to your doctor or therapist if you want to know more about what you read here. In many cases, there’s no single solution or diagnosis to a mental health concern. Many people suffer from more than one condition.