GFB

this past year, i’ve been obsessed with feeling better. i’ve tried a lot of different, sometimes insane, ways to try to quiet my mind, and honestly i think some of it worked. but i’ve come to the realization lately that that’s an awful, selfish way to live. i focused all my efforts on me – i neglected friends and family, and i don’t think it was worth it.

so, new tactic. i want to extend out again, i want to care and love and feel and deal with that by expressing it. i want to be a better person.

as a first step, here’s a collection of old stuff. these are demos from past years that have been sticking around in my head, that have some aspect that i really like. they’re of varying quality/completeness/coherentness, but i think there’s some good stuff in here. i put them up to clear them out, so that i can make new songs with no old ideas to lean on.

the “lyrics” for each song (click to the right of each track title) are a little bit about my memories surrounding that particular track.

The ART

At the beginning of the record’s manifestation I had sent a briefing to the band, so they could get their heads into the same conceptual space as my own for the recording process. I gave them The image of The Moth. A symbol of sorts that I was obsessing over. A section from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran; On Crime and Punishment A run down of the emotions for each song A run down of my recording ideology (imperfect is good; rough and ready, alive; along those lines.)

I also gave them the image that I envisaged would be the front cover. A photo taken by a man of a London based blog known as The Line of Best Fit. It was a photo of my silhouette against a sun bleached, brick background. Taken during a session where I sung Eggshells under a bridge; a train came howling over at a most perfect moment and I got to howl along a little.

Anyway. For months, after the record’s completion, it was still my intention to make this photo the cover. I had a few people close to me ask why I didn’t do the art myself. But I, feeling it imperative that I keep to the initial manifestation, refused to listen and would defend the image.

Only when I got to Rotterdam, having toured for over 2 months across Ireland, Uk and down to France, with Tom Terrell, in the early new year that the question was posed by some fond strangers who would, strangely, carry more influence in their suggestion…

I had struck up an email correspondence with a couple, Robin and Annelinde, who wanted me to play their ‘Kelder Sessies’ (Cellar Sessions). The friendly pair said that, while I played my few Dutch shows, I could stay with them in their studio apartment over the end of May. I embraced this generous offer.

Arrived on the steps of an old school in the south of the city. Greeted by Annelinde at the door, I got a really strange feeling. I just knew she was a ‘Similar’. An estranged sibling, of sorts. The exchange wasn’t overwhelming or anything, in fact it was understated and reasonably formal. But I felt immediately comfortable. She took me through the old school, the classrooms are now studios people rent for cheap in the knowledge that they may be told to move, with very little notice, at any moment.

Robin welcomed me with a big hug. They became family. Instead of staying 4 days, as intended, I stayed near 2 weeks. We made a music video for Tractor. Drew pictures together. Danced. Meditated. Washed dishes and ate a lot of food. It was a return to true youth for me.

I sometimes wish I recorded the conversations we had. Nothing was wasted or wasteful in the conversations we had. They were beyond nourishing and so intensely interesting and raw.

During the playful stay I was regularly and rigorously interrogated by Robin. He would give me his impression of me, as an ‘artist’. He would pin prick my weak points; parts of ‘artistry’ that I am self conscious about, the main one being that calling myself an ‘artist’ is something I struggle to do. We debated over what it is to be an ‘artist’. We discussed that feeling of ‘speciality’ or being/feeling ‘different’ or ‘special’ and compared it to the equal beauty and abstract concept of the mundane, of a meek and modest existence. It all merging into one and making no sense at all.

Where I actually stand on this point is that I think an artist will often feel like they are ‘different’ and ‘misunderstood’ more-so than anyone else. But this is an inflated illusion, an infatuated fantasy with and of ourselves. Truth is we are extremely normal (as normal or abnormal as anyone else) but have simply been given a chance to express ourselves. We have taken some bold step and some bold moment to realise it’s the only thing we truly find truth in. I feel that Everyone should really experiment and practice in the art of expression (doesn’t mean it has to go public, there’s no pressure). This belief was solidified, the summer of 2014, in my work with a band camp of Edinburger children and a three day songwriting workshop with a group of open hearted men at Shotts Prison. It was also solidified, the beauty of the ordinary, in two special books:

Peter Camenzind by Herman Hesse Academy Street by Mary Costello

At the time I was reading another brilliant book:

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I came to regard Annelinde as a sister; the way we can both be extremist pacifists, overly self sacrificing, in order to keep people happy. And I came to see Robin as a brother in art. We had similar views and youthfulness but enough differences and brashness to enjoy good debate.

So - to the album art. At this time I was struggling to figure out the trouble I was having coming to a conclusion with the design. Emailing back and forth with my James the designer; he works under the name, Jaero. I showed Robin the work-in-progress and he seemed a little disgusted that I hadn’t created the artwork myself. He asked me WHY?. And I sighed. Now there was barely any time and I was faced with the prospect of making the artwork. The tides were finally turning and The sun was sinking under the waves.

For the next 4 days or so I planted myself on the apartment floor. I splayed paper, ink, watercolour, pencils and all sorts across the walkway. The school became ever more my play place. I was left to Be. Working by night and by candlelight was most fruitful but I worked from morning onwards. There was no where to run. No cafe nearby to disappear to. Procrastination was near impossible.

Sometimes I would nap on the cold hard floor and Sapphira the cat would curl up in my underarm.

I spent a good long time, one stuck day, sitting in the pigeon-poo-constellated attic. Staring at a shaft of light, meditating on the idea of being ‘Tied to The Moon’. I had been working with my favourite things, ink and watercolour. Hours after the attic meditation, I was on the floor drawing by candlelight whilst R & A and Merel, music video director, were discussing lighting for the upcoming shoot. At some point in the conversation (which was in dutch, hence my ignorance) Robin got up and blew all the lights out.

At this moment I felt a strange and sickly groaning come a’wretching from me and I drew a naked lady. When the candles were re lit, I simply had to add a little rouge to her lips and let a shiver run about me. I told them I thought I had her.

At first, the naked lady felt too dark and malignant to be a front cover. But over the next few days she softened and I grew fond of her helpless stance; the big bold direct eyes. She was my lady.

When she leaves your ass a couple years from now, you’ll wonder why you didn’t do the very simple things needed to keep her happy.