Nemo James

Prisoner of a Dream

Song Not Yet Released

Visions of misty drifting through the night
A fleeting glimpse of something passing out of sight
The sound of children laughing, echoes in my ear
The memory of my parent’s dream that once they held so dear
Such a gifted child they said but I couldn’t understand
Why the gift was placed into my unwanting hands
It should have been given to one who heard the call
To one of those who looked at me with envy and thought I had it all

Chorus
I know that I was loved and that they did mean well
But this is not what I wanted and it’s too late now to tell
If only I could have played outside and make mischief with my friends
Not a prisoner of the keyboard in a piece that never ends

Visions of misty, smoke in my eyes
Endless hours in half-empty clubs while the child inside me cries
If this hand is so gifted why do they talk and look away
If it’s not for them or me, then for whom do I play
Why does it surprise you that I turned to misty ways
To help me through the dark night when all I could do was play
My only hope is you son, don’t go where I have been
Don’t you be a prisoner of someone else’s dream

I know that I was loved and that they did mean well
But this is not what I wanted and it’s too late now to tell
If only I could have played outside
And make mischief with my friends
Not a prisoner of the keyboard in a piece that never ends

My gift to you is freedom, from someone else’s dream

THE STORY BEHIND THE SONG

I played with a lot of great musicians in my time, and one of the best (and least known) was the pianist Dave Simpson. He used to play with the Ted Heath Orchestra before moving to South Africa. He was so good that other pianists went especially to hear him play when they were in town. I was playing with him in a plush restaurant one night when in the middle of a song, he suddenly slammed the lid of the piano down and went home. I was astonished, but the bass player told me it was quite a common occurrence. He was an alcoholic who had reached rock bottom but had now turned his life around. He did the occasional gig, but his main job was as head of the Yamaha Music Foundation in Johannesburg, a job that he loved.

The next time I worked with him, we were chatting during a break when he told me he despised the piano and learning it was the worst thing that ever happened to him. He had been a child prodigy, so his parents forced him to practice for hours every day and in his own words, “All I wanted to do was go and play with my friends.”
I was always devoted to music, so it astonished me that someone so good could hate his instrument so much, but I could see his point.