ORPHEUS RETURNS

"As we sit on the bridge of life, watching the water flow by, just remember—we are the water too.” - DR

Celebrating my mother's birthday today, September 3rd, we agreed to go for coffee and breakfast at Stroud Brewery, as she is heading to Juliet's Restaurant this evening with a friend (timely, as it received a glowing review from food critic Giles Coren in The Times just this morning).

On the way to our morning destination, Radio 3 played Danny Kaye's Inchworm, which felt tremendously poignant (for me, at least), as it was one of the last songs my late father made a special point of playing to me before he left us. I wrote about it for Digital Renegade in April 2023.

INCHWORM

Inchworm, inchworm Measuring the marigolds You and your arithmetic You’ll probably go far You’re never too young or old to be introduced to a song and today I was stopped suddenly in my tracks by the algorithm Gods of Spotify when ‘Inchworm’ by Danny Kaye came up on my song

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Arriving at the Brewery, we were greeted by the nostalgic sound of folk singer John Renbourn, followed by the wistful, earthy tones of Sandy Denny singing Who Knows Where the Time Goes, and then (unbelievably) Painting Box by the Incredible String Band—a song my father sang more than any other with his guitar. It was hard not to think of it as some sort of sign from the universe that he was joining us for our birthday breakfast groove. I don't think I've ever heard the song played in a public space before; it always seemed like a secret that belonged exclusively to my dad in his own painting box world.

PAINTING BOX

My dear dad would have been 82 years old today. Thinking about him this morning on his birthday, I’ve been wondering what the most suitable music track would be to play in his honour. After some brief procrastination I’ve settled for ‘Painting Box’ by The Incredible String Band, written and

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Managing not to dilute our coffees with splashes of falling tears, we remained transfixed by the cosmic coincidence of this song playing on my mother's birthday. And though she was surrounded by many wonderful cards and presents (including the pending trip to Juliet's), it was impossible not to think this was the greatest gift of them all.

For the last few decades of my father's life, he was obsessed with the myth of Orpheus in all its many iterations—but perhaps none more so than the sublime poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke in his Sonnets to Orpheus collection, which I hope the great poet won’t mind me paraphrasing to suit this birthday occasion:

"To rise again is to sing a new ('old') song."

Somewhere, returned above the earth from the underworld, the God of Music replenished our hearts with song—if not sung by himself with his own lyre, then through the supernatural algorithms of a Spotify playlist, which (as the young waitress at the Brewery explained to me) she had chosen to play this very morning.

Except, when I later checked the track listing of the playlist (British Folk Mix), which included the likes of Bert Jansch and Nick Drake, Painting Box was nowhere to be found on it.

When the morning of your eyes comes waking through my shadows
Leaving just a trace of twilight sleep
I whisper to the baby raindrops playing on my window
And tell them gently this is not the time that they should weep

Happy Birthday, Moomin Mama

Digital Renegade

3rd September 2025