My Corner: The Solo Part
Most days you’ll find me behind the console, deep inside someone else’s songs, polishing frequencies, chasing clarity, trying to pull the heart of their story out of the speakers. That’s the craft.
But there’s another room in the house, a bit dustier and dimmer lit. That’s where my noise happens.
For a long time, it was shared noise. With Atlantean Sparrows we chased big, ragged alternative sounds; with Tim Y Tom we wandered into stranger alleys. Loud, good years, built shoulder-to-shoulder.
Then grief arrived, hard and cold, and the old way of making music didn’t fit anymore. The camaraderie felt like the wrong key. Something needed digging out, and I had to do the digging alone.
So this solo work wasn’t a career move. It was medicine. A small boat that could hold me in that weather. Music became the place to wrestle with ghosts, to turn the ache into something you can actually hear.
What comes out of this corner has fingerprints on it, late-night recordings, rough edges, less shiny chrome and more worn leather and wood grain. If it carries a little of that Waitsian shadow, beauty in the broken bits, it’s probably because honesty likes unpolished places.
And somewhere along the way, that private world bled into Retrofutura too. The visuals might be the doorway, but the audience kept telling me the music was what made the timeline feel inhabitable, something they could live inside, not just watch. So I gathered it into its own shape: Retrofutura Vol. 1, a 13-track soundtrack album.
