Growing up I was going to be a rock star. I dreamt of headlining vast stadium tours to thousands of adoring fans who new every word to every song to every album. I wanted to be Mick Jagger. I wanted to be Freddy Mercury. I wanted to be Michael Jackson.
In retrospect that would have been the most dysfunctional breed of celebrity to ever grace the earth, so fortunately for everyone that dream never come true.
However! While overdosing on the talents of these godlike superstars I seem to have also picked up a taste for music, creativity and an innate desire to express myself through any means possible. (Anyone who knows me well will know that I have the unique ability to converse through the medium of very wiggly interpretive dance; this is obviously a direct result of my musical upbringing).
Now I’m older (way older), and have thankfully managed to turn this creativity into a respectable career. At the time of writing this
I am precisely 55 hours away from my 30th Birthday. And in true mid-life-crisis style I have decided to write, record and produce this album. Why? Because that musical little child has never really left and creating a fully-fledged album is something I’ve always wanted to do. So here it is: Neuron Stars. A 30th Birthday gift to myself. And at the risk of damaging my respectable career and lose whatever loose reputation I have managed to build over these many years, I’ve decided to share this with you. The whole pitchy album.
There are 12 rocky little numbers here all about life, love, death, drinking, debauchery and even a song about a damaged retina. It’s all here. I may not be the best singer (far from it), but hey, neither was Bob Dylan and he seemed to do alright. So when you’re cringing at my attempts to hit anything over tenor C, hopefully the lovely album artwork will act as some sort of saving grace.
Then again… Maybe not. But everyone loves a good train wreck.
I’ve also been lucky enough to get help along the way. Rob, Josh, Lummy, Phil, Pete, David, Gunny and of course Ashley. There are little bits of you all flitting around in the many ropey choruses and I owe you many, many beers.
Thank you for helping me in my self indulgence.
Much, much love.