Tuesday, 27 November 2012
Monday, 26 November 2012
Nile Rodgers amazing life story Guardian interview
Interview by Amy Fleming
The Guardian, Saturday 7 July 2012.
'I adore all my brothers, but they are lazy because I take care of everybody.' My mum got pregnant with me at 13. She gave me up for adoption, but then fought to retrieve me, and her father kicked her out as a result. So instead of going back to school, she got a job at IBM.
Growing up, my relationship with my mother and stepfather was difficult because they were heroin addicts, so they were self-centred. They were kind people, but when you're an addict you are not only addicted to the drugs but to the process of going out and getting them too. As a kid, I didn't understand that their behaviour wasn't against me, but I internalised it as them not liking me: I was the bad kid. How could I be good enough to be loved and nurtured?
I had to take care of myself and, in the pursuit of their love, I wound up developing survival mechanisms and coping skills that have helped me throughout my life. I learned how to fix stuff because everything in their lives was broken and I was the one they could depend on. That's why I'm here talking to you now. I'm a record producer and songwriter, I'm a problem-solver. Madonna's Like a Virgin sold more than 20m records. Let's Dance, David Bowie's best-selling album, I made in 17 days.
I never wished my parents were normal because they were unique, special and fabulous. They got a lot of stares because they were an interracial couple in New York in the late 50s, but they were hip too. I used to play hooky from school and watch movies all day. While other people's parents were like characters from television, mine were like movie stars. I called all adults by their first names and my mum was just another adult.
I was the firstborn of my generation in the family but because I was so close to my parents in age they treated me with a kind of adult respect. They talked to me as an equal. We played chess. They needed a friend. The greatest lesson I learned from them was: treat people the way you'd like them to treat you.
All the other beatnik stuff was cool, too, but I was socialised to care about people from day one. My four half-brothers are the same. They may be lazy and good for nothin', but they're really nice guys – you'd want to have them as friends. I adore all my brothers, but they are lazy because I take care of everybody.
I got my first professional job [in the Sesame Street band] when I was 17 or 18. I was making more money than my parents, so they were all, like, great, we're not working. Ever.
Unfortunately, I was the only one who had the skill set to figure out how to pay rent.
I'm very responsible and that's another thing my family gave me. I don't want to let anyone down. I haven't had children of my own. I'm the patriarch of my family, I work too hard and I've changed more than enough diapers in my life, with my little brothers.
My mum and brothers are all completely dependent on me. It's basically like we're still hippies and I'm the guy who goes out and panhandles all the money while they sit around. I wish it wasn't like that, but the great thing about it is that I have wonderful brothers who are the nicest, kindest guys in the world.
'I adore all my brothers, but they are lazy because I take care of everybody.' My mum got pregnant with me at 13. She gave me up for adoption, but then fought to retrieve me, and her father kicked her out as a result. So instead of going back to school, she got a job at IBM.
Growing up, my relationship with my mother and stepfather was difficult because they were heroin addicts, so they were self-centred. They were kind people, but when you're an addict you are not only addicted to the drugs but to the process of going out and getting them too. As a kid, I didn't understand that their behaviour wasn't against me, but I internalised it as them not liking me: I was the bad kid. How could I be good enough to be loved and nurtured?
I had to take care of myself and, in the pursuit of their love, I wound up developing survival mechanisms and coping skills that have helped me throughout my life. I learned how to fix stuff because everything in their lives was broken and I was the one they could depend on. That's why I'm here talking to you now. I'm a record producer and songwriter, I'm a problem-solver. Madonna's Like a Virgin sold more than 20m records. Let's Dance, David Bowie's best-selling album, I made in 17 days.
I never wished my parents were normal because they were unique, special and fabulous. They got a lot of stares because they were an interracial couple in New York in the late 50s, but they were hip too. I used to play hooky from school and watch movies all day. While other people's parents were like characters from television, mine were like movie stars. I called all adults by their first names and my mum was just another adult.
I was the firstborn of my generation in the family but because I was so close to my parents in age they treated me with a kind of adult respect. They talked to me as an equal. We played chess. They needed a friend. The greatest lesson I learned from them was: treat people the way you'd like them to treat you.
All the other beatnik stuff was cool, too, but I was socialised to care about people from day one. My four half-brothers are the same. They may be lazy and good for nothin', but they're really nice guys – you'd want to have them as friends. I adore all my brothers, but they are lazy because I take care of everybody.
I got my first professional job [in the Sesame Street band] when I was 17 or 18. I was making more money than my parents, so they were all, like, great, we're not working. Ever.
Unfortunately, I was the only one who had the skill set to figure out how to pay rent.
I'm very responsible and that's another thing my family gave me. I don't want to let anyone down. I haven't had children of my own. I'm the patriarch of my family, I work too hard and I've changed more than enough diapers in my life, with my little brothers.
My mum and brothers are all completely dependent on me. It's basically like we're still hippies and I'm the guy who goes out and panhandles all the money while they sit around. I wish it wasn't like that, but the great thing about it is that I have wonderful brothers who are the nicest, kindest guys in the world.
Sunday, 25 November 2012
Sunday, 18 November 2012
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
Monday, 5 November 2012
Sunday, 4 November 2012
Key areas in mental health recovery
Current initiatives around mental health focus on three key areas of support, anti-stigma and therapy. A fourth area 'recovery' is also an important part of the debate.
'Recovery' is controversial and misunderstood. Recovery can be associated with 'cure' and the concept of a 'cure' in mental ill-health is not always helpful. That is not to say that people with mental health conditions never talk of being cured or completely recovered. Some do.
The predominant experience of living with a long-term mental health condition is one of managing symptoms and maintaining a life.
So recovery becomes a form of health management that allows for hopes, dreams and aspirations to develop and continue according to an individual's wishes and choices.
Thinking around recovery is intimately linked with ideas and concepts of social inclusion. These ideas go back a long way. They have their roots in the civil rights movement. Activist Rosa Parkes' refusal to vacate a bus seat reserved for whites in Alabama Mississippi in 1955 marks a crucial moment in the history of social inclusion. In some ways it changed everything.
As recently as the early 2000s social inclusion formed a major part of UK government thinking. It was developed under the (then) office of the deputy prime minister and had a strong impact on policy and funding streams.
Along with recovery and social inclusion is a third term - 'mainstream'.
Mainstream is a key part of social inclusion and recovery because it is in the mainstream world that someone with a mental health condition is required to live, just as we all are.
With the knowledge that 'recovery takes place regardless of symptoms or problems' (New Horizons 2008), individuals with mental health diagnoses have the right to access mainstream areas without prejudice. Someone with a mental health condition has dreams, hopes, aspirations and goals and it is only in the mainstream world where these have a chance of realisation.
In line with this thinking and policy-making, a whole body of materials was created in the early 2000s to help organisations make mainstream social inclusion possible. By the mid-2000s third sector organisation working in mental health were often more likely to receive commissions and funding the more they could show a commitment to promoting mainstream.
The old way of thinking that limited people with long-term conditions to handouts, clinical settings, day centres and drop-ins was fast being re-shaped and re-made.
Mainstream recovery approaches are fast disappearing under the tide of cuts to funding and changes in commissioning. It is an initiative in danger of being consigned to the category of yet another transitory trend in mental health and social inclusion. This is despite the fact that referral to mainstream is highly cost-effective and has a deep impact on the lives of individuals.
'Recovery' is controversial and misunderstood. Recovery can be associated with 'cure' and the concept of a 'cure' in mental ill-health is not always helpful. That is not to say that people with mental health conditions never talk of being cured or completely recovered. Some do.
The predominant experience of living with a long-term mental health condition is one of managing symptoms and maintaining a life.
So recovery becomes a form of health management that allows for hopes, dreams and aspirations to develop and continue according to an individual's wishes and choices.
Thinking around recovery is intimately linked with ideas and concepts of social inclusion. These ideas go back a long way. They have their roots in the civil rights movement. Activist Rosa Parkes' refusal to vacate a bus seat reserved for whites in Alabama Mississippi in 1955 marks a crucial moment in the history of social inclusion. In some ways it changed everything.
As recently as the early 2000s social inclusion formed a major part of UK government thinking. It was developed under the (then) office of the deputy prime minister and had a strong impact on policy and funding streams.
Along with recovery and social inclusion is a third term - 'mainstream'.
Mainstream is a key part of social inclusion and recovery because it is in the mainstream world that someone with a mental health condition is required to live, just as we all are.
With the knowledge that 'recovery takes place regardless of symptoms or problems' (New Horizons 2008), individuals with mental health diagnoses have the right to access mainstream areas without prejudice. Someone with a mental health condition has dreams, hopes, aspirations and goals and it is only in the mainstream world where these have a chance of realisation.
In line with this thinking and policy-making, a whole body of materials was created in the early 2000s to help organisations make mainstream social inclusion possible. By the mid-2000s third sector organisation working in mental health were often more likely to receive commissions and funding the more they could show a commitment to promoting mainstream.
The old way of thinking that limited people with long-term conditions to handouts, clinical settings, day centres and drop-ins was fast being re-shaped and re-made.
Mainstream recovery approaches are fast disappearing under the tide of cuts to funding and changes in commissioning. It is an initiative in danger of being consigned to the category of yet another transitory trend in mental health and social inclusion. This is despite the fact that referral to mainstream is highly cost-effective and has a deep impact on the lives of individuals.
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