The first album, 2005’s ‘The Ground Below’, was necessary because at the time I thought my music was dead. I hadn’t recorded anything releasable since 1992. Getting back into it was a lengthy process of waking up and retoning those musician muscles. The album proved that my music wasn’t dead, but had been in a deep coma, just like Sleeping Beauty.
The other important purpose of the album was to defeat the mental barriers. I recall a conversation with an artist while I was working at radio. I had listened to her album and was making clever, industry-type comments about it ("this song takes too long to get to the hook blah blah blah"), when she asked me whether I make music myself. Yes, I replied. What kind of music, she asked. Quirky pop, I said. After she had left I had this empty feeling inside me, because I wasn’t making quirky pop. In fact, I wasn’t making any music at all. Not that I hadn’t tried!
This laid open the disconnect between my aspirations and my reality. It wasn’t so much the fact that I hadn’t recorded anything. It was the fact that I was working at radio where songs are benchmarked every day, their commercial validity scrutinised. The world around me appeared so far ahead musically that it seemed impossible for me to catch up.
So the first album really was the first step on a hopefuly long journey. I overcame the fear of not being good enough. I ended the journey of the failed-musician-becomes-music-critic-or-whatever-else and went back to the drawing board of humble new beginnings.
The other aspect of this album was the gun to my head. I connected the making of the album to a recording arts degree, so if I failed to make the album I would also fail to get the degree. It might have been necessary, and did help get me off my ass, but it sure was painful.
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