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emmaskipp-blog · 8 years ago

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I wrote this song in thanks to my husband for his support when my mom died.

You’ll never know basically describes how he will never really know just how grateful I am of his ongoing strength and support, God knows what I would of done without him.

It contains an embedded sample of her singing the words “ And Yet” which was a poem she wrote for Dave and I when we got together and she read at our wedding.

Lyrics - Emma Skipp 2016

Music and Production by Tom Gittins and Emma Skipp 2016

You’ll Never Know

Lyrics Written By Emma Skipp

Music and Production By Tom Gittins and Emma Skipp 2016

Available on I tunes,Spotify, Soundcloud and Amazon

Intro

Trying

Trying to think

Trying to think of how it begins ( And Yet)

When It happened they came around,

saying how time heals,

There’s a pattern days turn into weeks.

Words are spoken, they kill the time

Saying how it feels, but it’s broken

They don’t know how it feels.

(And Yet)

Chorus

You held me up You’ll never know

I was sinking falling low

You are the strength I’ll never know

I felt nothing, just staring out

Praying time will heal

Time is rushing it brings you to your knee’s

With you near me I touch the ground

Learning how time heals

You set me free

Knowing how it feels

(And Yet)

Chorus

You held me up, You’ll never know

I was sinking falling low,

You are the strength I’ll never know

Mid 8

You will never know

(loving me, loving you, loving me loving you)

you will never know

You’ll never know

Outro

Smiling, smiling for you

Smiling reminded of how we came through

Cho

You held me up You’ll never know

When I was lost you held me close

You are the strength I’ll never know

You held me up You’ll never know

I was sinking falling low

When I was lost you held close

You’ll never know

(And Yet)

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emmaskipp-blog · 8 years ago

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What's that you say ? Breakfast ?

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emmaskipp-blog · 8 years ago

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Mom -Blog 3

Mom

From ‘ Mother’

· Note - Not Mum or Mummy, this is a dead ancient Egyptian.

(I already know this statement will rile some of you, if that’s the case I’ll point out now that this blog has nothing to do with linguistics , it is in fact a rather honest account of some of the things leading up to my Mom’s death. Please read on with an open heart and mind)

You died on 5th June 2015, you were just 60 years old, and one of the most “alive “ interesting, insightful and thoroughly complicated people one could ever hope to meet.

We were robbed and so were you, you have never met your grandson and neither will you meet your grand daughter due in 10 weeks time. Even as I write this now, these words that have been restless inside my head for some 790 days now.

I knew putting pen to paper would be both one of the hardest and most cathartic exercises; indeed it has been just that.

You left us too early; we are still not ready to be without you. Images of your rude and rapid demise haunt us all, lurking behind eyelids ready to appear the second they are closed. They are horrifying; nothing could prepare us for that.

They gave you five years then they said they had got that wrong, it’s not something a doctor should get wrong really is it?

Then they gave you twelve months; you gave us eleven months and 30 days. I guess to a lesser extent you still had the final say.

Ill always remember the day the doctor assembled us in the room of the hospice on the day you were transferred from hospital to the hospice, that poor bastard didn’t know you did he mom? Well you were nothing but authentic to the very end, you let him have it didn’t you?

With the little strength you had left you sat up and in a totally unique way simply and abruptly stated

“ Is this the part where you tell me I’m going to die?”

PAUSE – Something just happened whilst I was sat writing this that I felt was noteworthy enough to include, this is not even a joke.

I’ve just been interrupted by the door bell, stood before me is a man wearing a bullet proof vest with a camera attached to it who boldly said to me “ I have a warrant for this address to search and remove goods, I am looking for ***** ******” the man who he is looking for no longer lives at the property but we are aware that he is in some trouble due to the nature of the letters that arrive for him, that and the man who turned up at the door one night wanting his money back.

After my heart stopped pounding and I was sure my waters hadn’t broken I invited him in to take a seat.

An hour later I am somewhat rather enlightened by what a “ law enforcement officer” actually does (sent directly by the court) he also regaled me with many interesting stories about his job.

A very nice gentleman by all accounts.

Anyway we managed to locate the said individual he was after (useless human being) which really helped our situation. Turns out it’s the only address anyone has for him and if he continues to ignore demands a warrant for his arrest will also be issued to this address where they will come in (using force or door removal if necessary) and physically look for him thought out the property.

Fantastic.

PLAY

“ Is this the part where you tell me I’m going to die?” - Your withered and emaciated frame still telling it exactly how it is.

I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry, I did both in the end.

The doctor remained professional (serious) throughout as we sat there, in disbelief, as we still are today.

You always complained about being slightly overweight, I’m just like you in that respect weight always fluctuating, hard to stay on top of but the alternative, being drastically underweight is like looking at someone from a concentration camp. That my friends is the reality.

Dramatic, unhealthy, drug induced weight loss is neither glamorous nor easy on the eye. Seeing your mothers once beautiful flesh on the face turn into paper-thin skin stretched uncomfortably over her cranium greying by the hour is pretty fucking horrifying.

In my experience Death does not, and did not, go peaceful into that good night. In my mothers case it went frightened, unwilling and in pain.

It is not like the films, there was no graceful acceptance there was just fear and whiskey.

Ironically I remember Mom telling me about something she had witnessed during a brief stint she did nurse training, the “ Brompton cocktail”, or something with a similar name, essentially at the end of your life nurses administer more and more pain relief (I believe in times gone by this included cocaine and morphine amongst others given as a drink, hence “ cocktail”) well thank God for that at least.

I saw what they were doing and when I realised it I’m not ashamed to say I was the first in line at the nurses station to say I felt you were in more pain, sure enough in they came and pumped something else into your bruised and battered veins.

I found myself in a very plain a clinical looking chapel with my dad, praying to a God I don’t believe in to put you out of your misery, and us too for that matter. I still don’t believe a benevolent god would do this kind of thing to “his children”.

It’s hard to write this in any kind of linier form as that week lost all sense of time, we stayed over, we laughed, we cried, and when we were running out of ideas we stood beside your bed singing ‘ Something inside so strong”, none of us believing the lyrics.

We hung beautiful coloured scarves from the window as you always enjoyed “colour therapy” we put a CD on playing sounds of the sea. When you could no longer speak we kept on speaking.

We bit the bullet and told your somewhat estranged brothers where you were, one who lives in Canada, one in Spain. They turned up at exactly the same time the following day and they didn’t leave.

I know your childhood made you sad at times but you smiled when you knew your brothers had come.

We drank more whiskey the, which is what I want to do now.

We wanted to roll your bed outside, as one of the last things you wanted was an apple and to be outside.

I chose the apple really carefully like my life depended on it. Turned out you didn’t have the strength to bite it. It sat there with a tiny pathetic bite out of it going brown and decaying in front of us.

They wouldn’t let us take you outside, I wish now we had insisted or tried harder, you may well have died out there but that might have brought you some happiness. Fact is they told us you couldn’t be moved, as the pain would have been too great.

So if my last thing I did for you was run past the nurses station with you in your bed you may not of thanked me for it after all.

My husband rubbed a wet sponge around your dried out mouth and lips during the last two days. Strangely I’ll treasure that memory as you always valued kindness over any other quality and in those moments I knew the man I had married was so kind in his soul I felt blessed.

Dad pointed out that the two bins in the room were marked ‘ general bin’ and ‘ offensive bin’ he then opened and shut the offensive bin’s ‘mouth’ with a torrent of swear words, that made us all laugh.

I remember two days before you were moved from the hospital to the hospice arriving on my own and seeing you lolling in a chair, slumped up against it like you would expect from and old person in a nursing home. Mouth open, no dignity, no one coming to look after you while you slept fitfully and looked uncomfortable. Lots of people in hospitals look like that.

It was that moment, seeing you like that it really sunk in, I knew your heart was physically breaking and you really were dying.

I went straight back down the 7 floors into a crowd of smoking strangers with tears dripping off my chin, snot choking my throat and asking someone for a cigarette. I got one, no one comforted me, they just starred at me as people in hospitals often do, probably going through their own version of hell.

I rang my husband between ugly sobs and told him you looked dead. He did everything you can at the end of a phone line.

It really was quick, the end of your living. You were a wild woman, eccentric, a language teacher, complicated, hilarious, so unforgiving, so so much of everything.

Life feels diluted without you in it, that’s the truth.

So although I could go on and on about your demise, and maybe I will come back to it at some point, I’m cautious that I don’t want to increase suicide rates or at least contribute to the country’s ever expanding number of depressed people. As I’ve said it is my intention to write about everything, the good, the bad and the sad, or at least all of my life’s experiences so far which may or may not be be of some interest, to some of you ?! Anyone ?!!

Audio Link – “Thais” Meditation by Massenet.

In memory of my mother Julie Pamela Skipp (Sykes) 6/10/54 – 5/6/15

This was her favourite piece of classical music, it’s beautiful, enjoy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6QjZfV-2A4

On her 60th birthday, 8 months before she died I arranged for a pianist and violin player to perform this piece on a narrow boat we hired for the day.

I’m really glad I did that.

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emmaskipp-blog · 8 years ago

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Who am I ?

26/8/17

Daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend, singer, lead singer, backing singer, session singer,hairdresser, philosophy graduate, ex business owner, ex “ advertising executive” ex presenter, ex girlfriend, occasional insomniac, hedonist, homemaker, young, getting older, pregnant again.

Thinker, speaker, lover, lover of nature, lover of thought, lover of life.

Overwhelmed with joy at my baby everyday. Bereaved, sad, lost, empty, joyless, disbelieving, gobsmacked at the passing of my heroine.

Fit, not so fit, then fit again, ever changing physically, emotionally, spiritually and psychologically. Student of the universe.

I’ve washed withered bodies and beautiful babies, handed out countless samples of products I don’t believe in whilst grinning like a crazed woman, Iv’e toured schools up and down the UK dressed as Queen Elizabeth 1st in the heaviest clothing imaginable and then driven a van home. I’ve served burgers, cleaned floors, sold sports interviews and signed unsuspecting people up to overpriced fitness packages they didn’t really want.

I’ve performed literally hundreds, (if not thousands) of gigs, from the rock and roll dreams of Wembley stadium to the depressing underworld of the social club to one man and his deaf dog. These experiences on their own have so many stories to tell.

I have (or have had) an auto immune disease, I currently can’t see properly out of one eye which is alarming every single day, imagine yourself struggling with the depth of perception whilst everything looks like you are viewing it from a muddy puddle.

Apparently this will heal. Eventually.

I’ve rubbed shoulders with celebrities, most of which I’ve had no idea about at the time, 90% of whom were underwhelming at best.

I’ve been told “ You are amazing” and “ you are not what we are looking for” more times than I care to remember.

Last month I toyed with the idea of becoming a social worker, counsellor or solicitor. I then spoke to friends in all three professions and was immediately put off.

I love my husband more than he knows, my gratitude towards him is endless.

I wouldn’t be able to function without my sister’s love and validation.

I adore my dad, he is a loyal and wonderful man though he is hard work at times and most definitely on the spectrum.

I feel that I validate people all the time, I’m proud of that. I’m forgiving and compassionate.

I’m often irritated but don’t vocalise it to the right people, I’m amazed when people are thoughtless, I’m an appeaser.

I would like just a fraction of time to myself at least once a week. It should be the law for all humans.

I don’t believe in God, it’s a ridiculous story; I’m dumbfounded by the amount of intelligent people who go along with ascribed religion without question.

In fact I don’t think many people question many things as much as they should.

Do you ? who are you ? tell me .

If you have enjoyed my ramblings please follow my blog, Iv’e a lot to say and will aim to be as entertaining and thought provoking as possible.

I should imagine some parts may be a little distressing (I will try and pre warn you about these) but I’m using the experience as a form of therapy to set it free from echoing around my brainbox.

Love Emma

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emmaskipp-blog · 8 years ago

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What to say please ?

There’s so much I could write about I think I need to chose my subject very carefully. I’ve been blessed with a very full and exciting life so far,should I tell my story of being in the music industry? the parts that would make you laugh ? The parts that would make (me) cry ? Rock n roll stories that seem like a lifetime ago ? Or should I write about life and death , two subjects I have become incredibly familiar with, and appear to be undoubtedly intrinsically connected in the last two short years? the death of my incredible outrageous mother ? The rather unexpected son I have right before me filling his nappy and bringing enduring joy everyday ? Or the child currently kicking me wildly from the inside out ? Can I cover all of the above and all the bits in-between effectively, what tone and style to use ? My instinct tells me to write write write, however it comes out , just do it to get it out, enjoy it, paint my picture andsing my song …

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emmaskipp-blog · 13 years ago

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New Killer Shoes - Smooth (Promo EP) Backing vocals by Emma Skipp

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emmaskipp-blog · 13 years ago

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ABOUT EMMA

Emma is one of the UK's most talked about female singer/song writers, hailing from Birmingham, England. She is currently working on new material for her solo album, to be released in June 2011.

In 2009, after sessions began for her debut album, Emma was asked to sing backing vocals on The Enemy’s 'No Time for Tears'. The song entered the UK singles chart at #16 and became the bands fastest selling single. This resulted in Emma being asked to tour with them during that year, and found herself supporting Kasabian and Oasis at Wembley Stadium, as well as stadiums across the whole of the UK. She also featured in TV appearances on The Jonathan Ross Show, The Album Chart Show, and Radio 1’s Live Lounge with Jo Wiley.

Speaking in late 2009 to the BBC: "The whole experience has just been incredible, at the beginning of the year I found myself writing songs at home to take into the studio with me for the album, then all of a sudden, my whole life was turned upside down and I found myself on tour with on the Country's most talked about and exciting bands! It was a real shame to put my own album on hold, but it was an opportunity that I couldn't pass up on, I did manage to spend some time writing on the tour so I can't wait to present these to my band and get back get back in to the studio with my own material."

In 2010, Emma found herself once again in a once in a lifetime situation, and was asked by Ocean Colour Scene to sing backing vocals on their brand new album 'Saturday'. Emma grew up as a huge fan of the band, and it was their hit single 'It's A Beautiful thing', a song they recorded with legend PP Arnold that was a huge inspiration to Emma early on in her career. After giving some of her best vocal work to date on the album, Emma once again found herself being offered the chance to tour with the band across the UK, and 2010 has found Emma performing at The Royal Albert Hall, London, and a return to the UK Charts after the album went straight in to the top 40 in its debut week.

So here we are in, in 2011, and Emma has teamed up with producer Gavin Monaghan (The Editors, The Twang, Nizlopi, Ocean Colour Scene) to work with on her eagerly awaited debut album 'All things Red'. "It seems such a long time ago now that I first presented these songs to my band, but the time that I’ve spent between then and now, working with such amazing artists, has given me such inspiration to get into the studio, and Gavin who I've worked with on a number of projects is the perfect man for the job. After performing in front of thousands of people over the past two years, it has brought on a higher expectancy then I've ever felt before, but I can't wait to rise to the challenge!"

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