The eternal anger & disappointment of the impoverished man

As regular readers will know (or possibly not), in the last few weeks I have been painfully parting company with a number of pieces of beloved studio equipment. This is most definitely not the norm. I am, and always have been, a collector. A hoarder, if you will. I am inclined to buy things simply to complete a collection or fulfil some aesthetic bent. But in my more mature, and somewhat impoverished, years, I have come to realise that this habit is very hard to feed and even harder to justify. So, with less reluctance and resistance than I would have encountered from my obsessive self a few years ago, I identified a number of pieces of equipment in my studio that were surplus to requirements and that, more importantly, might realise reasonable returns in the buoyant second hand market.

It was a hard choice, but when I removed the spectacles of sentimentality, it became surprisingly easy. I had a goal, a financial target which had been set by the cost of a new drum kit, an Alesis DM-10 Pro. Via my contacts at Alesis, I would be able to acquire one at a level under that which I would pay in a retail store, but a considerable sum nonetheless, especially to someone in a precarious financial position already. Without going into boring and personal detail, I support my family (partner and two children) on my wage alone. I also have considerable managed debt which is being paid off slowly and to the complete satisfaction of my creditors. Even so, it means that there is virtually nothing to spare at the end of each month, so I am particularly wary when it comes to all matters financial. There would have been no way I could’ve saved the money for this drum kit in a reasonable amount of time. It would be fair to say that if I had tried that method, Alesis would have superceded the DM-10 twice over!

Some things were easy to part with. Some not so. The first piece to go was my Yamaha RM1x. It had only ever seen active duty when I was playing in the last band that I was in. It was employed as a sequencer to play back piano and/or strings in certain numbers we used to perform. Other than that, it went wholly under used and was only broken out during moments of boredom. So a friend of mine decided he’d love to have it and made me a very reasonable offer which I accepted. Next up was the first proper synth keyboard I ever purchased, my Yamaha CS1x. Until I had this, I had relied on my Roland SC88VL module so to get a “proper” synth, with buttons, knobs and keys was very exciting, especially this lovely wedge of blueness. Again, another friend of mine made me a very good offer and she was duly packaged and shipped.

This left me with A Yamaha DX27 (acquired in a dead condition for free by myself and fixed at my own cost), a Yamaha SU10 and a Roland PMA-5, both purchased mainly because “I just fancied them”, rather than for a specific musical purpose. These went on to eBay and all sold at their reserve price or higher.

So, a week ago today, I had accumulated enough funds (helped by the sale of a set of alloy wheels and an old mobile phone) to buy the DM-10. I contacted my contacts at Alesis and asked them to get the ball rolling.

The following day, a national holiday here in the UK, I was bumming around online, and trying to finalise the sale of the aforementioned alloy wheels when I read a post on a forum about MOT’s. For non UK readers, the MOT is an annual road worthiness test that all cars older than three years have to pass in order to be legal. It was during the reading of this post that I found myself not able to remember when my MOT was next due, so I went to my file to check out the documentation. The colour soon fell from my face when I saw that for the last three months, I had been driving without a valid MOT!!! The initial horror was soon replaced by a modicum of relief at not having been caught and so first thing on Tuesday, I booked my test for the following morning. The cost of the test is £54 and some odd pence, so not a bank breaker, but of course the fear that they would find some major problem that would necessitate a hefty financial outlay was always looming.

So I dropped the car off on the Wednesday morning and remained on tenterhooks for the rest of the day. By 4pm, I had heard nothing, which usually means that everything is ok and they are just waiting for me to go and collect the vehicle. They only call you normally if it fails and there is work to be done. So I called the garage. “Ah, yes, we’re just totting up the cost of the work that needs to be done, sir” was the reply to my question. My heart sank. In fact, I think every organ in my body took up residence in my feet. I asked for the total bill. “Tell me what the total is, parts and labour, the whole shebang”.

“£400 sir. Shall we proceed with the work?”

£400.

In today’s terms, not a great sum of money, but when it’s almost half of what I had saved from the sale of my beloved instruments, almost half of the cost of the DM-10 Pro, it feels like the national deficit.

And so I was faced with a choice. Buy my drums as planned and have no car to drive to work, no car to ferry my family around in, no car to leave my reasonably remote village of residence at any time. Or, pay the repair bill and dash all dreams of getting the new drum kit. The drum kit that would’ve been the centre of my new ideas regarding a return to live performance for myself. the one instrument that I can play at the drop of a hat, no help required from machines.

The choice was painfully easy. On Thursday morning, I handed over £400 to the garage and drove away in my now legal car.

I am not ashamed to admit that I shed copious tears on the Wednesday night. I asked the emptiness of my bathroom why shit liked this always seemed to happen. I asked it when my financial woes might end. I asked it why those of us with little or nothing can never expect to gain something because it would all just get taken away from us. Of course, the empty bathroom would offer no answers, no consolation. Just cold emptiness, much like I felt inside.

Some may wonder why I got so emotional, felt so depressed. After all, these are just material things. No one is more acutely aware of the fact that there was a rather large element of GOOD fortune here too. Had I not sold the gear and had the money sitting there or, worse still, had already bought and paid for the drum kit, I would’ve been up shit creek as I would not have had the money to pay for the car at all. I would have had to, yet again, go cap in hand to friends or family to bail me out…. again. And that was something I would NOT relish.

I think I’m writing this as some form of catharsis. Yes, it’s all relative and in the grand scheme of things, it’s probably not of any real significance. But the shattering of one’s dream is always painful, whether it’s a dream of buying a drum kit or a dream of some great human endeavour. And if you are living on that thin line where your earnings barely cover your essential outgoings, are you any less entitled to have these dreams? Are you as entitled as any other to aspire to such things? No. But it is impossible nonetheless, because for every drum kit you save for, there is a car that needs fixing. A car that can only be 12 years old because your meagre wage says you can’t afford anything newer. If you’re wealthy, you can buy new, get covered by warranties, and have that lovely peace of mind. For every nice thing you aspire to, a thing that lifts the dark, heavy, black gloom of drudgery and having to work for everyone else, there is an equal or greater thing that will prevent you from attaining it.

Yes, I am bitter. I am depressed. I am angry. I am sad. I am broken. But I am also resolute. I am aware of the fortuitous aspects of this event. I am more determined. I am proud to have dealt with this alone without the need of others help.

But I am still incredibly fucking angry.