I live with a frustrating paradox. On the one hand, I have a deep love of music and an almost unhealthy belief in my abilities as a genius songwriter; on the other, I lack even the most fundamental skills when it comes to actually playing a musical instrument. This contradiction can be quite testing.

A few months ago I came to the conclusion that the problem must be my instrument of choice – a rather old, battered, classical guitar – and certainly not my lack of perseverance or strict refusal to take any lessons. Maybe it was faulty, maybe there was a better guitar out there and this would solve all my problems. With credit card in hand, I duly found myself at my local music store one Saturday afternoon. Laid out on the counter were my selections: one brown sunburst rosewood Squire Stratocaster electric guitar, one Fender practice amplifier for said guitar, two packets of guitar strings and four plectrums of various colours and rigidity. Oh, and one black leather guitar strap. The assistant, who had spent the past hour helping me gather these items from all corners of the shop, asked me if I would also like a kitbag and for a moment I pondered what colours such an item might come in before realizing that he was not being entirely serious and simply demonstrating his expertise in handling customers, such as myself, caught in the early throes of a midlife crisis.

Once home, I sat down at the kitchen table with my various pieces of equipment and started thrashing away, loving every second. My wife gently reminded me that the amp did indeed have a headphone socket and so I excitedly wired up my ‘cans’ so I could make even more noise. My wife further assured me that the metallic scraping noise of the strings were not a problem and, not spotting that the headphones had yet to be plugged in, quietly commented that it was certainly better than listening to the noise I had previously been making. Ignoring the remarks I returned to what this was all about – my music.

It’s a familiar cycle: I have a rush of energy, usually on a Saturday night, and pull out my guitar. In a blur of inspiration and self-belief, I furiously hammer out a hook, a chorus and a couple of verses to form my latest composition. On a good day I may even add a bridge that I can later take the song to, as well as an intro, outro, and a couple of solo sections. This done, I write out the lyrics and chord changes before adding a nifty title to rank alongside my other work, examples being ‘Dig The Moon’, ‘The Smell Of You’ and ‘Blood On Christmas Day’. This process is then repeated a couple of times over the next few weeks until I have a complete canon of great new tunes. It is then that things get tricky.

You see, I wasn’t kidding about my lack of ability - I struggle with anything more sophisticated than simple strumming. And the problem is that this means my songs never get beyond the stage of being just a bunch of neatly organized sheets of paper, as I would never dare perform my songs to any audience (the fact that I own two guitars, proudly on display, in fact on stands in my ‘music room’, suggests to visitors that I know what I am doing and this is not a perception I wish to change). Sadly, this cycle repeats every six months or so, inevitably leading to the guitar being put firmly back in the cupboard and the song sheets placed in a well worn folder proudly labelled ‘First Album’.

The other day, however, something happened. I was talking to a colleague at work who, like me, is into writing and playing music, except for the small differing detail that he can actually, well, do it. Anyway, he happened to mention that he’d been doing a lot of recording on his home PC and ping, an idea hit me. This was it. Finally, I could record my ‘work’ without any need to play an actual instrument. No one would need to know how bad a musician I was, I could just program the backing tracks and then sing my lyrics over the top (I say ‘sing’, it’s more of a growling whinny but so what? This was progress!). In my mind, I could see A&R men rushing towards me, contracts unfurled, pens being offered for my signature.

That day I left work early and downloaded a demo version of what was described as a ‘simple to program, powerful to use’ recording application. Talk about Pandora’s Box. Joy. Pure, unashamed joy. With headphones on, I set about getting to grips with the introductory technology and after about six hours of intense work I proudly presented my completed work to my wife. A three-minute piece entitled ‘Tomorrowland’, it was a blazing cacophony of sound. From the up-front rock instrumentation, right through the orchestra, down to the various African instruments, the sound was ‘full’ to say the least. And the beats: wow. No longer a simple 4/4, now I had sharp switching of rhythms, subtle jazz backbeats and a riotous ending in 5/8 time.

As the final twangs of the kalimba faded I looked to my wife expectantly. Well, yes, interesting. I explained that it was a first try and not based on one of my real songs, more a test of the program, but what did she think, how did it sound? A little plastic? Elevator music? Well, okay, fair enough, elevator music was a big jump for me; I was secretly delighted.

Following this triumph, I decided that the program itself was perhaps a little basic for my needs and so returned to my colleague. What did he use? What would he recommend? After a moment he produced a CD that did, indeed, look the business. ‘It’s great,’ he explained, ‘With the right sound card it can do anything.’

That night I installed my new genesis project and began working in earnest. This was it, finally I could work on my masterpieces, perhaps even a rock opera or two, after all, the software assured me that the only limitation was my imagination.

By about four o’clock the next morning my imagination had successfully programmed the bass drum to beat when I wanted it to. Well, at least for the first two bars, however I was unable to get any further due to sheer physical and mental exhaustion. The range of options and settings was mind blowing and I calculated that it was going to take me about a month to transfer Tomorrowland to this new, all-powerful media. Disheartened, I shut down my PC and started to wonder if the world would ever hear my music.

It’s been about a six months since the episode with the PC. Though I did battle on for a few more days, I’m sorry to say that the sheer complexity of overlaying a snare drum on top of the bass drum was just too much for me. The software was duly uninstalled and all other musical items returned to the cupboard- the fire had simply gone out. But, like the passing of the seasons or a rebirth after death, I’m happy to report that last Saturday night I felt that buzz once again. And yes, the guitar was brought out and yes, we have another sure-fire hit on our hands. It’s a little ballad entitled ‘Bus Stop Heart’. But once again I face my dilemma of how to capture that wild, mercurial sound. It is for this reason that I turn to you, dear reader, for help. All suggestions are welcome and no idea is too off the wall. Quite simply, this voice must be heard! Especially ‘Duck of Hope’, it’s got double platinum written all over it.

Professionally, M. Whyte does something with computers but does not really understand how they work. For more information please visit www.xs4all.nl/~whytem