Last updated: 9 hours ago
11 years ago I was told I had 2 years to live.
I quit everything I was doing at the time and went headfirst into this thing.
Determined to see more of the world while I could, music was the only way I knew how.
I wrote my first few songs (<a href="spotify:album:426AIorxwGBAxFZJLnCPEF" data-name="English Bones">English Bones</a>) and emailed thousands of people to book shows in dive bars, people's homes, galleries, and wherever would have me. I slept on floors for years and never stayed in one place for more than 2 months. During those early times I must have played 500 shows in 400 cities in 30 months. It was manic, as was I. Across the continent I flitted and flirted, falling in love with every long-distance half-love I pined for and wrote about (<a href="spotify:album:3OHOh762KadjKFr0RHrJ3R" data-name="Great Deceiver">Great Deceiver</a>), convincing myself they were more than the real thing.
In truth, this self-imposed bubble of isolation, pedestaling and pressure was always a one-way ticket to feeling lost. I spiralled, lost sense of self, and found myself withdrawing from the world and the things I once loved. Songs got lost, the cracks formed slowly and then all at once. I broke down and left everything behind, again, with nothing to turn to. During this time I wrote <a href="spotify:album:2mHctYFTPfGktQNV2iavHf" data-name="I Haven't Really Laughed Like That In Months Now">I Haven't Really Laughed Like That In Months Now</a>, and touring it across my homelands.
During those darker years I rekindled with my old friend Ash Wilkie (of <a href="spotify:artist:4JbmYFxds1YZDaQU9Pah2d" data-name="Francesqa">Francesqa</a>) and formed the project <a href="spotify:artist:5w0ISjB9JWu01dS9fFfiwV" data-name="Settling">Settling</a>; two people who re-met over a shared heaviness, exploring soft and sensitive ways to explore it. I'm really proud of that one. I survived. More soon.
I quit everything I was doing at the time and went headfirst into this thing.
Determined to see more of the world while I could, music was the only way I knew how.
I wrote my first few songs (<a href="spotify:album:426AIorxwGBAxFZJLnCPEF" data-name="English Bones">English Bones</a>) and emailed thousands of people to book shows in dive bars, people's homes, galleries, and wherever would have me. I slept on floors for years and never stayed in one place for more than 2 months. During those early times I must have played 500 shows in 400 cities in 30 months. It was manic, as was I. Across the continent I flitted and flirted, falling in love with every long-distance half-love I pined for and wrote about (<a href="spotify:album:3OHOh762KadjKFr0RHrJ3R" data-name="Great Deceiver">Great Deceiver</a>), convincing myself they were more than the real thing.
In truth, this self-imposed bubble of isolation, pedestaling and pressure was always a one-way ticket to feeling lost. I spiralled, lost sense of self, and found myself withdrawing from the world and the things I once loved. Songs got lost, the cracks formed slowly and then all at once. I broke down and left everything behind, again, with nothing to turn to. During this time I wrote <a href="spotify:album:2mHctYFTPfGktQNV2iavHf" data-name="I Haven't Really Laughed Like That In Months Now">I Haven't Really Laughed Like That In Months Now</a>, and touring it across my homelands.
During those darker years I rekindled with my old friend Ash Wilkie (of <a href="spotify:artist:4JbmYFxds1YZDaQU9Pah2d" data-name="Francesqa">Francesqa</a>) and formed the project <a href="spotify:artist:5w0ISjB9JWu01dS9fFfiwV" data-name="Settling">Settling</a>; two people who re-met over a shared heaviness, exploring soft and sensitive ways to explore it. I'm really proud of that one. I survived. More soon.
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