What drives us to leave a legacy and what happens when we inherit a legacy we don't want? Watch Insight episode Leaving a legacy on
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Leaving A Legacy
episode • Insight • Current Affairs • 52m
episode • Insight • Current Affairs • 52m
I'm a 59-year-old criminal lawyer surrounded by reminders of the dreams I once had but never got to realise.
For me, these dreams come in the form of tons of old cassette tapes that sit at home in bags, drawers and boxes. Each tape is full of old songs — some complete, some half-written, some just music and waiting for lyrics. Some contain just a single riff.
Then there are the bags and boxes of paper with lyrics, ideas and chord charts.
This music was supposed to be my legacy, yet nobody has ever heard it.
And if I die tomorrow, nobody ever will.
So, what happened?
Back in the early 1980s, the teenage me sat in his bedroom in the family home in Sydney's inner-west scrawling down lyrics and banging out guitar chords.
I believed in my music and that it was just a matter of time before someone, somehow, would hear it, realise its magic and unleash it on the world.
I was supposed to be studying for my HSC, but instead I was jamming with friends, playing gigs at all hours of the night and writing music. Of course, this drove my parents nuts; I was a smart kid and could do well at school, but I just wasn't interested.
I finished high school, moved out of home and, for the next 10 years or so, got whatever work I could to pay the rent: picking pumpkins, washing dishes, packing boxes, even scraping barnacles off boats.
I made the most of whatever gear I could get to record with. I eventually saved up enough to get a keyboard and a second-hand, four-track tape recorder. This is what I used to record my songs on, hence all my cassette tapes.
Music was Ken's life and his future — at least that's what he thought when he was young. Source: Supplied
I refused to send my songs to anyone unless they were perfect — and, of course, they never were.
Plus I thought I had time. Little did I know where life was taking me.
Changing path
By the mid-1990s, I had long hair and was married and living on the NSW north coast.
I also decided to go to university. I was the first in my family to go, so it was a big deal and my parents were proud.
I cruised through the music degree and had lots of time to write and record songs. But at the same time, I was tired of the uncertainty of a music career and of worrying about my future. I was sick of working menial jobs and struggling to survive.
I became seduced by the idea of becoming a lawyer, of finally having respect and financial security. So just like that, I switched courses.
A few years later, I graduated with a haircut and an Honours law degree and spent the next 20 years working as a criminal law solicitor.
As I prepare to turn 60, my law career still ensures my family has a roof over their heads and food on the table, but my music remains shelved.
When life gets complicated
My wife and I now have three adult sons living at home — each of them on the autism spectrum and with his own special needs.
I don't expect any of them to leave home any time soon, maybe ever.
Ken and his wife have three sons, each with special needs, which takes up a lot of their time. Source: Supplied
Things are different for young people today. Back in my day, owning a house and raising a family was a legacy we took for granted. For many of this generation, that seems insurmountable. My sons won't be able to achieve a legacy like that.
My wife and I always feel under the pump due to the unique demands of our boys. Plus as a family, we feel isolated.
Our boys don't go to sporting clubs, we don't go to church, we live in a regional community where we have no family, so we just battle on our own.
When I can, I try to find the time and energy to work on my music but it's very, very hard. Sometimes, in those rare opportunities, I lock myself away with my guitar and keyboard.
Recently, late at night, I was composing and playing different things on the piano and I started to cry. It was so beautiful. I just thought, wow, that's what I used to feel, all those years ago.
Sometimes, when all the planets align, you hit that sweet spot. It's a way of escaping for a while and just be me. It feels so good.
Legacy as a luxury
So, do I still think music is my legacy?
These days I feel that legacy is a luxury. It's all very good to want to leave something when you die but when you're someone like myself and a million other people who just have to get through the day-to-day slog, you don't have time to think about it.
We're simply too busy trying to put food on the table.
I don't want to be remembered by my children as "dad the lawyer". There's a whole other side of me that I want them to know, and it's all in these tapes.
I want them to know and share with me the pure joy of creating music. I want to record all these old songs properly, as well as writing and recording new ones. I would love to record an album. Perhaps I could call it Legacy.
Despite how hard it is to "get through the day-to-day slog", Ken says he's determined to keep his dreams alive. Source: Supplied
If I could give the teenage me some advice, I would say believe in yourself and your music, practice hard and don't get distracted.
And, no matter what, no matter how hard life gets, never, ever give up on your dream.
I would also tell that boy his creativity is a rare and special thing. And that if he ever does anything as dumb as becoming a lawyer, I would travel back through time and kick him.
And for more stories head to , hosted by Kumi Taguchi. From sex and relationships to health, wealth, and grief Insightful offers deeper dives into the lives and first-person stories of former guests from the acclaimed TV show, Insight.
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