A man sits on a bench, a placard in his hand saying "Free Chess". He is situated in the main square of the Cambridge city centre - Market Square. The stall workers have just packed up, and all that remains are a smattering of people finding their way to dinner.

I approach this man and he offers me a game. I take place beside him and we begin. A sophisticated event fit for the setting; we are located in an epicentre of intellectual activity, Darwin and Newton have graced the tall, gothic buildings looking down upon us. A few moves in he strikes up conversation. He tells me of his past as drummer for a famous protest band. He mentions the name of the band and I instantly recognise them - they have graced the main stage at Glastonbury. "I spent all my money on drugs", he says. "But you should listen to them, it will inspire you. Very political stuff".

He spills beer on his torn, unwashed jeans before blundering a rook. Then a bishop. Then two pawns and a knight. He proceeds to remove my queen from the board. With his hands, not with a piece. I tell him he can't just take pieces off the board, but he doesn't understand. He no longer understands anything. He takes my king. I tell him he can't take my king, that I can't play without a king.

He no longer speaks, he is unable to speak. He struggles to make a sound, froth slipping from his lips. He is shaking, a slight tremble steadily increasing in vigour. I ask him if I can get him anything, what I can do to help. A man walks by, recognising my opponent, my companion. The man has seen him before, helped him before. I ask if I should call the ambulance, now panicking. The man takes out a lighter, and lights the cigarette hanging from my companion's mouth.

"They don't care about him. No one cares about him. They will check he isn't dying and leave". It is cold, and the only lights stream from street-lamps. Where will he sleep?

The cigarette relieves my companion and he manages to communicate in broken sentences. The homeless centre refuses him access, he says. He insists it is because he is homeless, but I find the contradiction hard to swallow. Instead his daughter has a shed he can stay in.

I am advised to find coffee, it would help to keep my companion warm. By this time another homeless man has joined, a friend of my companion. He asks for a coffee too, and I oblige. My companion pips up at that point, asking for a beer instead. Paternalistic instincts take over and I refuse: alcohol is unhealthy, alcohol is not what you need right now. But I have no experience dealing with withdrawal symptoms alone. I have no experience coping with this frosty climate at night, covered by little more than a ragged t-shirt and jeans. I return with two coffee cups, hand them over and then stand around awkwardly, feeling out of place. Then I leave, my guilt temporarily assuaged, but not permanently so. I know I have the means to do far more. Later on that night I spend money on drinks and a restaurant meal. That money could have gained him a place for the night, it could have bought him a hot meal.

He will return tomorrow. But one of these days there may be no one around to help him,

Vedantha

Thursday 7th November

Recently, I’ve been going round asking people what the happiest moment of their life is. I'm not sure why I'm so fixated on the idea - it might have something to do with mine and Vedantha's realisation that our songs so far have mostly been inspired by moments, rather than issues or continuous states. Usually these moments, with the notable exception of Waltz for Marie, have been good ones, and so I’m interested in seeing lots of different perspectives on the idea of happy moments; what would other people write ‘August and After songs’ about?

But more importantly, I think I like the openness of the concept. Happiness could encompass the idea of contentment; I remember being in Montmartes with Vedantha and without saying or agreeing or planning anything, we just simultaneously got out our guitars and started jamming on the steps. Perhaps it inolves a jaw-dropping moment, maybe triggered by awe-inspiring nature, e.g standing by Gullfoss, the great Icelandic waterfall, listening to Holocene by Bon Iver. Sometimes it means being surrounded by people you care about, and realising your good fortunes.

It's therefore fun, not only to see what people have done, or instinctively think about or jump back to, but also to discover their personal concept of happiness. Sometimes they ask what I mean - I will suggest that the happiness I mean is a feeling that is impossible to explain, you simply wish that you could bottle the atmosphere for later; this concept mingles happiness with a deeper sadness that you know that moment will pass.

Some examples of ‘happiest moments’ I've heard have been: the time someone received a personal letter from Laura Marling; trying on their mother's dresses and make-up aged about five; being immersed in a green, glowing sea and forgetting one’s troubles… What is yours? I was having a conversation with Theo (our extremely talented violinist) about the need to achieve a balance between fixation with the past and using it to improve the future; if you look back and think about what has made you truly happy, you can ensure more of it in the future...

Ned

23/02/2013 - What is the happiest moment of your life?

Vedantha and I were overjoyed, to put it lightly, when we were selected to play at the Lates at the Natural History Museum.

But for some expert cajoling by yours truly, we may never have arrived in time, Vedantha nearly missing the train from Cambridge because he was busy 'philosophising' (read 'daydreaming') in the library.One may say he took 'Lates' a little too literally…

We were then presented with our second obstacle at South Kensington, where our exit was closed and we had to try to climb over some metal railings to get to the museum. After I managed to step on one of the spikes, when subsequently when through my shoe, sock and foot, we decided to go the long way round.

Limping, we arrived at the museum a short time before our set, greeted with the friendliest of welcomes by the staff. Having spotted the crowd of five hundred odd people in the main hall, my heart started beating more blood out of my foot and into my shoe.

Undeterred, we set up camp in the green room (full of specimens in glass cabinets), meeting the lovely Angela Jane Ashby (an Australian vet-come-singer) and more of the lovely museum staff.

Our set was great fun, despite having NO idea what we were playing at any one point - the sound bounced off the ceiling back at us with a big delay, so we had to lip read each other to stay in time.

Charles Darwin, our new backing vocalist, missed all of his entries, partly due to his being made out of marble, but we forgive him. The beautiful evening was made all the sweeter by the fact that it was my dad's first time seeing us as a duo (or trio, if you include Charles), and he took a great photo of us (see our photos section).

The evening, along with the huge scar in my foot, will stay with us forever, as one of the most special shows we've played yet.

Next stop: Science Museum!

Ned

28/02/2013 - August and After play at the Natural History Museum

On Sunday 500,000 Parisians marched to protest against gay marriage. Both of us in the band disagree with them – we think that gay marriage should be legally recognised as being perfectly legitimate.

Setting our opinion aside, what baffles me is how the two camps in the debate have refused to seek a compromise. On one side we have those who think gay marriage is a contradiction in terms. They correctly point out that 'marriage' derives from religion. They claim that it is a religious term, and as such its domain is dictated by scripture, or by some other source of religious authority. According to these people, religious authority restricts marriage to heterosexual couples.

On the other side we have those who believe that such restriction of marriage involves unfair discrimination against homosexual couples. In a progressive and tolerant society (as we like to believe ours is), such discrimination is out of place. It is unfair that homosexual couples are limited to having 'civil partnerships', whilst heterosexual couples can be married.

What about trying to find a solution that appeases both camps? Here is an idea (inspired by a comment I read in 'The Independent'). Why not make civil partnership the norm? This is the world I envisage:

- When a heterosexual or homosexual couple decide they want their long-term commitment to each other legally recognised, they can register as being involved in a 'civil partnership'. They cannot, however, be legally married. Marriage becomes a purely religious ceremony. Neither type of relationship suffers discrimination from the state this way.

- If a couple decide that they want to be 'married' as well, then they can go to their chosen religious institution and ask for the appropriate religious ceremony to take place. Marriage takes place solely within the confines of religion and has no legal consequences. If a particular religion decides not to allow homosexual marriage then that is their choice.

Under this model, no state can be seen to discriminate against same-sex marriage, such discrimination is confined to religion. And we can reject and ridicule any religious institution that is so backward as to recognise a moral difference between heterosexuality and homosexuality.

My overall thought is that compromise is a key part of democratic institutions, we should not forget that!

It would be awesome to hear your thoughts, do get in touch! And check out my song of the week: 'I don't know what I can save you from' by Kings of Convenience :)

Vedantha

 15/01/2013 - Compromise: A different approach to same-sex marriage

A short while ago I had a phase of listening incessantly to Bon Iver. I'd always loved his stuff but this was a period of watching and reading all his interviews, reading his wiki-ography several times through, finding unreleased tracks, listening to his other projects (e.g. Volcano Choir). In effect I was (and still am!) obsessed.

One of the things I learnt and that I find fascinating is his approach to lyrics. Many lyricists think about what they write and then write it. The process is: think, write, edit, repeat.

But Justin Vernon takes a different approach. He writes a melody and then sings the melody using whatever words come to his head. Words that 'feel' right when sung with the melody are written down, the others are discarded. After all the words are written he reads them through to see what they mean, if anything. Oftentimes, he claims, the words that have been written relate to something important to him, something he wanted to express. They are not random jumbles of nonsense, as one might expect. Some small tweaks may be made to the words after they have been written. So the process is: write, think, edit, repeat. But note that the 'think' part of the process is not so important – the words have been written by this stage and the only purpose of the 'thinking' phase is to let him know what part of his life the words relate to.

Why does he do this? He claims that by removing the initial thinking phase, he expresses something 'deep' within him, that he may not have been able to do if he used conscious thought as a way of writing his lyrics. Many philosophers and artists view conscious thought as an inherently distorting mechanism; they prefer intuition or instinct as a more accurate way of bridging the gap between what one wants to express and what one does in fact express. So I guess Justin Vernon's approach fits into that framework. But I'm sure there will be people who are more cynical and think that without prior thought, the words produced are going to be just nonsense.

Anyways, I'd be curious to know what you, dear reader, think and to hear about any other interesting approaches to lyric-writing you may have come across. In the meantime I think I'm going to try and decipher his line: “you fucked it friend it's on it's head, it struck the street” - very curious as to what what inspired that!

Vedantha

14/12/2012 - Bon Iver and lyric-writing

As the seemingly endless stretch of ten days since Vedantha left for Boston draws to a close, I contemplate what a difficult time it’s been, and just how much I need his Indian presence in my life. Here are the five things I have missed most about him:

1) The face he puts on when I’m upset about something. It’s very difficult to describe, but if you’ve ever been upset and told him about it, you’ll know what I mean – it’s a sort of mock sad face, accompanied with ‘Aw come on man it’s ok’, and the worst kind of half-hearted hug.

2) My ability to just phone him up with some really unimportant announcement, e.g. I just wrote a song about rain, and his ability to sound genuinely enthusiastic. When I have actual news, he’s usually not paying attention, just looking off into the distance thinking Vedantha thoughts…

3) His mum’s cooking. I know this is technically something I miss about her, but since she always has to cook for him (Vedantha’s last cooking endeavour involved him mistaking two ‘cloves’ of garlic for two ‘bulbs’ of garlic) I reckon he deserves some of the credit.

4) His laugh. He laughs like a ten year old.

5) Being able to discuss football with him, as he’s really good at keeping up with our mutual football team (Newcastle). Oh no wait, that’s a lie – I just couldn’t think of a fifth thing. So, on reflection, I haven’t actually missed him that much. But still, looking forward to working on the album :) come home Vedantha (with presents)

Ned

26/11/2012 - The Five Things I Miss Most About Vedantha

Outside, the rain poured. We were sheltered inside a remarkable tent, bedecked with all sorts of things from the Indian sub-continent – rugs, lamps, cushions and other exotic goodies. Sitting in a circle were a group of people apparently in a trance - we were entranced just watching them. They had been chanting for about 20 minutes, each with an accompanying instrument including everything from a guitar to tabla to a harmonium. Occasionally a few would drop out, occasionally one would let out a yelp or a wail as though possessed by a sudden burst of energy. After the chant had died down one of them said that the chant encourages the gods to bring rain. Why you would want to bring rain in this sun-starved country is anyone's guess, but a statement like that certainly fitted the atmosphere.

The scene painted above is typical of Wild Heart, a festival that we performed at last night. Located in a small valley in the heart of the Sussex countryside, it had a very New-Age feel to it. Incense filled the air. The tattered Argos tents you find at normally find at festivals were replaced with beautiful yurts and other impressive alternatives (in fact one true ’wild heart’ camped out in a hammock). All food was organic, litter was non-existent, and recycling was the order of the day. The shops were more likely to stock trinkets from a remote village in Asia or Africa than anything from the UK. The people, without exception, were incredibly friendly and almost all of them knew the Sanskrit origins of my name. And true to the festival’s name they were all ’Wild Hearts’ – people with a yearning to reduce the gap between humans and nature, people who see something of themselves in Chris McCandles (the young wanderer made famous in Jon Krakauer's ’Into the Wild’ – READ THAT BOOK!)

We played at about 8pm in a cosy tent filled with Moroccan bean-bags, Persian rugs and the sweet smell of well-made chai. The set was just so, so much fun. The crowd were really attentive and warm (apart from a bunch of little kids who ran around in a circle in the room and wrestled with each other, it was pretty amusing to watch!) As well as our originals we played an improvised rendition of ’Round Here’ by Counting Crows at the request of Matilda, an awesome blogger, musician and film-maker that we met (and whose jumper I wore throughout the set!), and ’One Day Like This’ by Elbow, dedicated to a lovely woman who offered to drop us at the train station. They all made us feel so welcome, and requested us to keep playing, which we did with pleasure :) The evening was nicely topped off when the festival organiser, Huw, greeted us as we were packing away and asked us to play at a larger festival, ’Into the Wild’, being organised for August 2013. It was a truly beautiful day, and made me realise how much I miss the countryside!

For those starting term at university, have and amazing first week back,

Vedantha

29/09/2012 - ’Into the Wild’ at Wild Heart Festival