Tag: music guitar blues

Moments

Nov 10th, 2025

This is the companion to ‘Shelter.’
Music breaks the silence.

I sit for a while and just listen to the music,

They are playing a blues in A. Bobby points to another guitar
and to me. I pick up and put the guitar strap over my shoulder.I touch the strings; it’s mic’d up. Through a little distortion
pedal.

I’ll be where the music is playing.

This is no game.

No joke.

Fuck that.

Buried beneath the city,
Buried beneath the ground.
Buried inside us.

The world steals.
Dignity.
Hope.

Life.

Fuck that.
Fuck off.
Fuck you.
Fuck.
Fuck.

Bobby nods at me, and I play that guitar with every ounce of life that I ever had.

I run up from the G on the E string, up to the high string… I feel
them… the strings… every note.

We’re in a moment.

The world stops.

The noise stops.

And we are alive.

I hit the strings till my ﬁngers bleed.

I remember the little room where I ﬁrst picked up a guitar.

Nights alone.
Playing.

John Lee Hooker
Springsteen
Steve Earle
Rancid

To here:

Life.
Love.
Connection.

I nod at Bobby, and I play the chords as he takes a turn, and he
can really play. A blizzard of notes and then nothing but soulful,
bluesy bends.

Then Rachel comes back in.

We can take a place.
A moment.
These guitars,
And make a place of our own.

The little crowd cheers. Someone shouts from the bar.

“Here, yous can fucking play!”

I thank Bobby and Rachel.

They invite me down to the open mic and I of course say I
will be there. I get back to my seat and for a moment I just
breathe.

I ﬁnish my drink and walk outside.

It’s fucking raining.

Of course it is.

© Paul Andrew Sneddon
Shelter

Nov 10th, 2025

A coffee.
Rain on the roof.
A quiet moment by the sea.

I sit in the shelter with my coffee.

Black.

The rain is my company as it is falling steadily on the shelter
roof. I can see one guy walking out on the beach with a dog
running loops around them, but there is no one else here.
You come down here in the summer, and you can hardly move.
BBQ and music, ice cream and slushes. Barely an uncovered
piece of sand. So many Glaswegian accents it reminds me of
home.

No one’s taking the BBQ to the beach today. The coffee is
decent, but it used to be good and half the price. The lassie at
the cafe had even written my name on the side and passed it to
me with a smile.

I half expected it to say ‘Prick’ on the side, but it just said

Ed.

She was cheery; I’m probably the ﬁrst customer that she
has had for an hour or two.

The pace of life is a wee bit different.

It’s got that seaside town vibe, but you don’t have to look
too hard to see people carving out a life. It’s not exactly a job
hotspot, you know. I look out across the water. I think about the
people who have been and gone.

Old school friends, neighbours. Christ, some of them barely had
a chance.

Danny splitting his last cigarettes with me on the walk up
the road. Or the two of us sitting up on the wall by the graveyard,
drinking vodka and singing old Tom Waits songs. Hit by a
fucking car stumbling up the road after a night out.
We got the call the next morning. I was holding my son, 3
months old when my brother called.

Danny’s gone.

I didn’t understand.

All here and gone. Too soon. Too fast.

Who am I to sit here and squander what some have lost. A
couple walk by and offer a little smile.

“That’s a cracking dog you’ve got,” I say.

“He is a cheeky wee rascal,” says the woman.

“I bet.”

I look back out. I wonder how far you’d get on a boat out
there; the water doesn’t look too rough. Sounds easy until you
realise you’d probably wash up on Arran or the Mull of Kintyre,
or Ireland. And then what?

Well, maybe a pint.

But I don’t want to run.

As I’ve got older, I ﬁnd myself sitting up, crying in the wee
hours alone on the couch. Not full-blown waterworks, you
understand, but just enough.

I remember one of my ﬁrst girlfriends when I was just a wee
guy. 11 years old. I heard she passed. I couldn’t stop thinking
about it.

I hadn’t seen her for years.

I don’t doubt that I’m a fool.

I’m a romantic.

I still believe in life, love, music, and how a song, a lyric can
change your world. I’ve crashed and burned a few times, but I
swear I’m going to break this grey.

Maybe that doesn’t mean much.

Maybe no one gives a fuck.

But it means something to me.
Here.
Now.

In this shelter.

© Paul Andrew Sneddon
Flying

Oct 8th, 2025

Photo by Paul Andrew Sneddon

I’m sure I stood here before, in another life.
On this stage, back to the drums, these shoes on the hardwood floor, singing this song like it was all I was, all I had.
The drums keep the beat like my pulse.

I’m thinking of the room where this started.
Alone, broke, writing.
Sitting alone at the end of my bed, on the couch, on the floor.
The window open, the cold air drifting in, your perfume lingering.

To here.
To this moment.

Fighting the gravity,
fighting the grey in the spotlight.
Trying to prove, at least once, we are alive. Looking for a connection.

I close my eyes, the music lifts.

And I’m flying.

(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
Top Five

Sep 1st, 2025

Photo by Ryan Johns on Unsplash

I was bored one day.

Writing lists:
Top 5 songs.
Top 5 taxi rides.
Top 5 bars.
Top 5 boozy nights I can remember…

Top 5 places I woke up.

At the bar:
As the light stole in,
Like a thief.
Her smiling,
We need to get out of here.

In her bed:
Ayrshire Rain at the window,
Our bodies tangled.
Under the covers.
Never want to leave.
I have to leave now.

On a bench outside the station:
With the rain coming down.
And a note in my pocket.
And a ticket home.
And a hangover.
Like an old friend.
And the ticket inspector looking confused,
Did you sleep here last night?

Aye pal, with a guitar case for a pillow.

Now I just need to hear the rhythm of the train tracks,
Like a steady snare.

On the beach:
First rays of an Ayrshire morning
Guitar next to me,
Notebook filled with songs.
Dreams.
Early walker looking at me like,
What the fuck?

Here with you:
I’m older now,
I was younger then.
I’ve learned a little,
Just enough.
There’s nowhere I’d rather be.

(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
Howl

Aug 5th, 2025

I usually share bits of writing on here, but I write songs too. This is one of my most recent recordings, a track called ‘Howl’. It’s got a bit of country-blues and some rock and roll.

Anyway, have a listen, let me know what you think and thanks for stopping by.

Tag: music guitar blues

Moments

Shelter

Flying

Top Five

Howl