By Rua Soul
There’s a particular kind of magic that happens when you give young people space, time, and just enough structure to let their creativity breathe. I witnessed it unfold over the course of our SONG 101 workshop at Robert Burns Ellisland Farm, and it’s stayed with me in the most beautiful way.
Teaching songwriting isn’t like teaching maths or history. You can’t force it into being. It’s more like gardening. You plant the seed, create the most favourable conditions, and then you step back and trust the process. And there’s something quite fitting about that metaphor here at Ellisland, where Burns himself worked the land while crafting some of Scotland’s most enduring songs.
One moment stands out with particular clarity. We’d spent the morning doing exercises, setting up frameworks and models, exploring different approaches. Then I sent the young people off to write, a full hour and a half to create something of their own. One of our younger participants, perhaps a bit less experienced than some of the others, had managed to lay down some chords, establish a feeling for their song. But they were facing that most daunting of challenges: a blank page where the words needed to go.
I’d checked in with them a few times, offered encouragement. Then I felt that pull – should I go see how they’re doing again? But my intuition said no. Give them space. Let them sit with it.
Twenty minutes later, I went back. They’d written a whole bunch of words. They’d broken through that barrier, taken that vulnerable step of getting something – anything – down on the page. It was brilliant to see, and it reminded me why I do this work. Sometimes the best thing a teacher can do is simply not be there. To trust that the young person has what they need inside them already.
A Place That Speaks in Whispers
Ellisland itself played no small part in this creative unfolding. There’s a quietness here that feels increasingly rare. In our age of constant stimulation and endless noise, the young people told me they could actually hear themselves think. Some of them wandered along the river when they needed a moment, disappeared into the corners of the U-shaped farmyard that Burns himself helped design.
Several of them said the older, quaint surroundings helped them relax. I think there’s something in that, less external stimulation creates more space for internal things to emerge. The place has a sweetness to it, a sense of shelter. There’s an abundance of space to breathe.
And while I didn’t push Burns’ legacy onto them, because I think that can sometimes be a turn-off, and I wanted them to tell their own stories, I do believe they were tapping into something he recognised when he chose to live here. He knew this was a special place creatively. That sense of possibility, of inspiration rising up from the very ground, is still here.
Burns was only 29 when he came to Ellisland, not much older than some of our participants. He was young, adventurous, brimming with potential. I see that same energy in these young songwriters.
The Work Itself
Over the workshop days, we explored different techniques. We did free writing, stream of consciousness work with prompts and time limits. It’s all about opening up the creative channels without letting that critical editor voice shut things down too early. We tried David Bowie’s newspaper cutting technique, creating collage-style lyrics from magazine clippings. We analysed song structures, though I use that word loosely. We looked at models, from one-line songs to 15-verse Scots ballads, showing that there’s no single “right” way to write a song.
The diversity of what emerged was wonderful. Rocky, punky meditations on society. Storytelling songs that were kooky and deeply personal. One group wrote about money and what it makes them feel, a questioning of the system we’re in. Burns would have appreciated that. The economic realities of life were very much on his mind too, particularly as a young person trying to make his way.
What impressed me most was the craft. Internal rhymes, pacing, the quality of the hooks – serious songwriting happening in a short space of time. And for some, it was their first complete song ever. The fact that they produced finished work in just an hour and a half speaks to what’s possible when you remove the barriers of perfectionism and create a supportive environment.
The energy carried through to our recording session at Circa 16 Studio. Rose, who’d written a solo song, saw it evolve into a full band arrangement with overdubs, backing vocals, and vocal percussion she hadn’t initially imagined.
Ethan recorded for the first time ever, jumping into the deep end and coming out shining. Andrew sang his first studio backing vocals. For many of them, this was a baptism of fire, doing things they’d never done, stepping through the veil of nerves and resistance.
The atmosphere at Circa 16 was perfect for it – relaxed, professional, no drama. Meg, the engineer, knows how to get a performance out of people without making it high stakes. There were giggles alongside serious focus. Everyone stepped up to the plate.
And now we’re bringing these songs to life on stage. On November 7th at Hopper Records, these young songwriters will share what they’ve created with friends, family, and the wider community. It’s an intimate space, always has a great vibe, I’ve been to some brilliant parties there.
This is why we do this work, isn’t it? To build scenes, to support each other, especially in rural areas where that sense of community and mutual encouragement is so vital. These young people are developing their craft. They’re the experienced practitioners of tomorrow. If we want songs, we need songwriters. If we want culture to grow, we need to nurture it.
The Power of Beginner’s Mind
Working with young artists energises my own practice in ways I’m still discovering. There’s a Zen concept called beginner’s mind, the idea that no matter how experienced you become, you can still approach things with freshness. The young people remind me of that. They remind me of the joy of making things for their own sake, of the open-mindedness that makes creativity possible.
When I see them stepping through their barriers, breaking through resistance, taking down the internal walls that prevent us all from creating, it reminds me that this is the work. Every time. It never gets old. It’s always just that: stepping through the barrier.
Ellisland has enormous potential as a place for making things. Burns left us a legacy here that goes beyond his poems and songs. He left us this sense of shelter, this protected creative space. His favourite book was called “The Man of Feeling,” and I think that’s key to understanding what’s special about this place. You can connect to your feelings here because there’s space and quiet to do that.
The workshop showed us what’s possible when you combine that heritage with contemporary creativity, when you give young people the tools and then get out of their way. Based on the feedback we’ve received, there’s something genuinely special happening here. And I think we’re only at the beginning of what Ellisland can offer to young artists of all kinds.
Come along to Hopper Records on November 7th. Support these brilliant young songwriters. Hear what emerges when you give talent, time, and the right place to let creativity flourish. You won’t be disappointed, and you’ll be part of something that matters: the next generation finding their voice.
Rua Soul is a musician, songwriter, producer, and educator who facilitates creative workshops at Robert Burns Ellisland Farm.
SONG 101 is funded by the National Lottery Heritage fund and the Holywood Trust as part of Saving the Home of Auld Lang Syne, a project by The Robert Burns Ellisland Trust.
The SONG 101 Live showcase takes place at Hopper Records on Friday, November 7th at 7pm.
Tickets are £5 and available at https://buytickets.at/robertburnsellislandfarmmuseum/1911148 .