In November 2010, we went to hear Stornoway at Southampton Students’ Union.  Our then-teenage son had sparked my interest in contemporary music after a gap of many years.  He introduced me to live gigs and this was our first “family” outing.  We saw this quirky, quality band every couple of years, in different combinations – the children at a Festival, my husband and I in a tiny Salisbury Arts Centre; three of us sometimes, but never all four of us together again. We always reported back in the same way: we “had forgotten, somehow, just how incredibly good they are”.

And so they were. But the wonderful members of Stornoway decided that their other interests made the band unsustainable and have been bowing out, with grace and gratitude, through a final tour. So we had another family outing on Friday, to see the lovely, mellifluous Stornoway at their penultimate gig.

Although our family is not that widely scattered – son in Hampshire, daughter on the other side of the city – it takes some effort to get the four of us together now, with work, studies, travel, friends and other commitments. Often I don’t quite believe it until I see it. So it was special to be doing something together, and bitter, bittersweet to hear Stornoway one last time with the clear, piercing yet soft tones of Brian Briggs, their exquisite vocal harmonies, haunting counter-melodies on string and brass and keyboard, and complex percussion. Best heard live, like most bands, when it was possible to notice the details, the counter rhythms, the subtle changes of instrument and tone, to marvel at the unassuming … I want to say perfection. I suppose nothing is perfect. Quality, then. Undoubtedly, quality.

Stornoway gave us a soundtrack as we moved from being parents of children to parents of adults.  We would listen on long car journeys – the last few family holidays, scouting adventures, end and start of term trips to university – careless at the time about these slightly claustrophobic, often tedious, enforced periods of being together. We didn’t appreciate enough that being together as a family would soon become exceptional.  Because part of growing up successfully, and part of raising children successfully, is to become independent of each other.

As I’ve written before, a treasured part of this transition stage was finding things we shared as equals:  when I was an adolescent it was going to the theatre with my mum.  With my own children, theatre-going was one of the things I offered to them, and music was the thing they offered back.  And Stornoway‘s music was a thread through those years.  They wrote songs about life and love: individual, personal, slightly opaque and also recognisable, universal. Their lyrics showed a great capacity to articulate particular moments – undressing on a cold night “with my nose like a fox and my skin like a chicken” to slip quietly into a warm bed next to the person you love.  Car journeys as a metaphor for life: sleeping securely in the back of the car as a child, growing up and taking control as a driver, and finding your own way,  Good songs to grow up to, good songs to start growing old to.

So, farewell Stornoway. Thank you

For all the years that I’ve been starring
Starring in a film with you and leading
Leading with a star I knew but I’m waking up
In a lone beam of light where the dust is dancing as the music fades