If creativity is a ball game, am I playing the wrong one?

10^th May, 2025
The Lungomare, Chiaia, Naples

24 hours before my holiday ends, I am itching to get back to my life of making and doing.

Naples is loud, exciting, busy, delicious, rammed full of people, effervescent with traffic. It’s intense, colourful, gritty, a blast. I’ve had a great time experiencing it.

It’s just…I love my life, my home, my quiet garden. My colourful attic studio where I make music and videos. My friendly neighbourhood on the edge of the city. I love my dream job and how I get to spend my days.

Two years ago today I was miserable in Bristol, raw nerves assaulted by a daily soundtrack of a dual carriageway and noisy neighbours, fading away in a dark house that sapped my spirit. Unable to think, unable to be creative, unable to write the album I knew I wanted – and needed – to write.

Everything in my life has changed for the better since then.

This is a strange moment, though. I know I want to get back, but I don’t have a clear picture of what I’ll do when I get there. My new album came out three weeks ago. The fanfare immediately died down.

What do I do now?

I sit at the long, dark dining table, sun filtering through the soft curtains, coffee close at hand. I am perplexed.

What more do I have to give?

It’s not enough to spend years writing, producing and releasing an album: I have to find ways to continually introduce the music to new people while creating fun experiences for my existing audience.

It’s not enough to create a long form video for YouTube: I have to cut clips out and remove the left and right hand side of the frame to entertain people on different platforms.

It’s not enough to write a blog post: I have to cut out the highlights to share in Notes / tweets / threads to give my piece the best chance of being read by people who already follow me.

I’ve written before about “have to” versus “get to”. Replace “have to” with “get to” for an immediate bump of enthusiasm for the thing you’re privileged to “get to” do, while also knowing that, to have any chance to paying for recording and manufacturing costs, you really do “have to”…

If I don’t do these things, I have to accept that my success will always be limited by my efforts, or lack of efforts. To flip the name of this blog: if I do nothing, nothing will happen.

It’s frustrating to expend so much energy on something and then so quickly feel like the tennis ball I’ve thrust so hopefully out into the universe has not fallen onto tarmac, but morphed into a small beanbag and got stuck in a sandpit.

It didn’t even bounce once.

I used to get excited right before an album release, thinking about all the fun ways it could change my life. This time next year I could be booked for festivals! Maybe a brilliant independent label will want to release the next album! I could have money in the bank! Other artists might want me to sing/play/produce their songs! A sync agent could track me down and give me incredible opportunities!

I don’t entertain those thoughts any more, and maybe that’s a bit sad, but it’s not because I’m jaded or bitter. I just know, seven albums in, that gradual, sustainable growth is better for my career and for my nervous system. The more times I do this bonkers thing the more I see it’s about keeping going, not about having a big win that supposedly changes everything.

I don’t want to change everything. I love my life, my relationship, my home, the ways I get to spend my days. It took a long time to get here. I built this myself, over many years.

However, I truly believe “House Of Stories” is my best, most heartfelt and accomplished album yet. I feel so much responsibility to try and get that bloody ball to bounce that it can only be my fault when it doesn’t.

It’s overwhelming, and the second-guessing stops me in my tracks. I can’t be the only one who wants to try, who wants to plan their way out of this feeling, but ends up doing nothing instead. I am paralysed by indecision, and I hate it.

I ponder the whole ridiculous enterprise. Is everything online just there to advertise something else? Are we all just making more and more things, then cutting smaller things out of the big things so we can point fingers at our other things, at ourselves? Am I just a big pointing finger pointing indirectly at my album? Am I supposed to be wearing a sandwich board at all times?

No thanks.

This is not about algorithms or supposed shadow bans. I’m fully sold on the potentially infinite rewards of the internet, not just because I have made my full time living from it for the past six years but because I got my first email address in 1997, started blogging in 2004, joined Twitter and YouTube in 2007 and have never stopped seeing The Internet as an exciting new frontier. A Superhighway, if you will.

And so I do blame myself when nothing much happens after a full year of posting 1-2 videos per week on YouTube. I must have done it wrong.

I can see the huge potential of TikTok for music discovery, but can’t figure out what captions to put at the start of my clips, so I post them anyway and nothing happens. I must have done that wrong too.

How can I get it right? How can I get this fucking ball to bounce?

At lunch with some experienced music industry folk in Naples, the topic turns to TikTok. I am asked whether I feel pressure to make videos for TikTok, whether I feel like I can’t keep up. I talk about how excited I am to have access to these tools and all the others. I’ve always felt that way. That doesn’t mean I have the time to do all the things I want, but I believe in what I make and I believe there are ways to get those things to people in a way that works for both parties. I don’t known what they are, but I know I want to keep trying.

I just don’t know what to do next. Since “House Of Stories” came out I have become the beanbag stuck in the sandpit.

10th June
Penfriend Ink, Nottingham, UK

Back home, I make lists of the same old things and find myself unable to do anything about ticking those boxes. I create a new ideal weekly schedule: time out aside each day for sharing my existing work and making new things.

I ignore that too.

Life happens. My Gran dies in her sleep aged 95, six days after my last visit.

I become obsessed with tasks that have a clear visual start and end. I clear up my overgrown garden. I attach the willow screening I bought an entire year ago to the broken fence. I disassemble piles of things in every room, order nine Kallax units of various configurations to finally give me the storage I need across two workspaces and the spare (merch) room. I finally find a space for my teen cassette collection.

Is this burnout, bereavement or both?

Finally, I feel ready to think about music again. Renewing my workspace has brought new energy. It finally feels like the right time to delve into the nerdy world of synthesis, to make the very most of the strange, beautiful instruments I started collecting during the pandemic. I’m ready to experiment again. I’m ready to start looking ahead.

Maybe I’ve just been trying to play the wrong ball game. Maybe, instead of bouncing a tennis ball away from me, hoping it will gather momentum, I just need to keep the ball in the air.

Andy J Pizza’s excellent podcast “Creative Pep Talk” has been a constant guide and friendly companion since I discovered it in 2019, and in a recent episode Andy addressed exactly this issue:

“It’s easy to play the game of being creative like it’s something to win, but in my experience that will only get you so far. Creativity is less like a game to win, and much more like a game of “Keepy Uppy”.

This game can be played alone or with friends, and the point is to keep a balloon from touching the ground, by gently hitting it up into the air.

Unlike most games, the point of Keepy Uppy isn’t to win, the point of the game is to keep playing. The point is to play in such a way, that you keep the game going for as long as possible.”

Thank you, Andy. So wise, always.

This week’s attempt to keep the ball in the air looks like this:

What ball/s are you trying to keep in the air? See you in the comments.

Love,
Laura xxx

Thank you for visiting!

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Listen to my first Penfriend album “Exotic Monsters” and browse my back catalogue here.

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See you soon xo

PS yes, my songs are available everywhere else you listen to music online.
Just search for Penfriend, She Makes War and Obey Robots.

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Five and a half years later…I’m not “back”

by Laura Kidd Essays Letterbox Live performances Mindfulness Music News Process

Last Saturday 31^st May I played my songs on a stage in front of people for the first time in 5.5 years – and it didn’t feel like I thought it would.

Between 2005 and 2019 I played around 600 shows as a solo artist, usually completely alone but occasionally with a backing band. Sometimes supporting artists you’ve heard of, often putting on my own nights and championing bands I liked.

Before and alongside that I toured the world as a hired bassist and vocalist for artists including Tricky, Viv Albertine, Lil’ Chris, The Penelopes and Alex Parks. I went on Top Of The Pops with A-Ha. I toured Italian piazzas with Duncan James from Blue.

I have played a LOT of gigs in my life: some amazing, uplifting, life-affirming; some upsettingly bad, why-on-earth-am-I-doing-this-to-myself affairs. At the end of 2019 I wanted to stop. I needed to stop.

When you can’t find the joy in the thing you thought you wanted to do more than anything in the world, it’s time to take a big step back.

Oh hi, burnout!

Touring used to be a huge part of my identity. From 2005 onwards I loved being on the road. I hated routine, I’d routinely say, and loved being somewhere different every day. I loved the unique communities that gelled together for one night only, I loved sharing my music with people and occasionally hearing them singing along.

I loved the heroism of playing to a cold room of another band’s fans, winning them over usually by around song three of my set. Some rooms were colder than others, but I always got at least a handful of people interested, sometimes a lot more, and the feeling I got when that wave turned was addictive.

When I was hired to play for other artists, I loved supporting their vision by contributing to the sound of the band on stage. I loved being paid for my musical skills, and calling music my job.

I loved ticking off every single country on my “list of countries I’d like to visit one day” without having to pay for a single flight myself, and I loved the surprised respect I garnered from people when they heard who I was playing for, or saw me pop up on TV.

I remember watching as other musicians I knew gave up life on the road. One by one they chose a steady job, getting married, having children. I knew I didn’t want the latter, and didn’t expect I’d ever have the option of the other two.

I didn’t understand why someone would choose to turn their back on what they loved.

I couldn’t comprehend that they might have fallen out of love with it.

I didn’t think I ever could.

2019 did it. A grind of support slots with largely disinterested audiences. Saying yes to things that made no sense (£50 slots 4 hours drive from home, no potential audience crossover). Unfriendly slash downright rude headline bands. An entirely avoidable driving incident that cost me more than I made on the entire tour.

I needed a rest. I had already decided my first solo project She Makes War had to end, so I started to wind everything down. One last solo headline show. One last band headline show (sold out!). One last tour with my friend Robin Ince: a truly life-affirming, lovely experience.

And then we had a worldwide pandemic.

My new Penfriend project was scheduled to launch on 1^st May 2020, featuring a host of online and remote physical elements: my Correspondent’s Club membership, quarterly music and zine bundles, regular blog posts, regular livestreams, a podcast series and a new YouTube channel. I hadn’t started thinking about gigs or tours. I didn’t want to.

When it became clear it wasn’t safe to perform live, I chucked the idea of it away entirely. I didn’t miss it. My identity shifted away from fearless road warrior with chaotic home life towards thoughtful creative practitioner, building routines that nourished my work and allowed me to give so much more to my community than random support slots could.

In March 2021 I made internet waves one Monday evening with a video about why I wouldn’t be touring that year either. I made it to encourage others to really think about the consequences of their actions, and the majority of people commenting thanked me for saying what they’d been thinking.

I thought gathering people in a small room was reckless. I couldn’t stomach the idea of being the reason people got ill. I didn’t want 150 people breathing in my direction for a minute, let alone the entirety of my set. I knew there were other ways I could continue to show up for my music-and-community-starved audience, so I kept doing that.

And then the years rolled by, as they do, and I kept making and sharing albums. Without the distraction, exhaustion and expense of gigging and touring, I was able to make more things to last: more music, more videos, more connections with people all around the world.

I kept playing livestreams when they went out of vogue (having started playing them in 2014, way before they were in vogue), commuting up to my attic in my slippers to say hi to people across the globe, sharing music, time and space.

As musicians, we’re supposed to want to do certain things, and we’re supposed to go along with things that don’t entirely make sense because they’re supposedly good for our careers, or are the logical next step towards what we’re supposed to want to achieve.

If we don’t do these things, there are people waiting online to enthusiastically badger us about doing them.

“When’s the tour?”

“Get on tour”

“Can’t wait to see this live!”

These are all compliments, I know that. I am fortunate to have people requesting my presence on stage. Thank you for the compliment.

But I will continue to push back against the idea that creating music from thin air, crafting it into songs and soundscapes and finding fun ways to share them in beautiful physical formats isn’t enough without a live performance of those songs on exactly the right night, in the right location, at the right price for those demanding a gig.

After “One In A Thousand” came out in 2023, whenever someone asked me why I wasn’t touring now the worst of the pandemic was over, my go-to answer was “because I can’t afford it”.

This was, unfortunately, true. More importantly, I didn’t want to. And I kept not wanting to right up until the moment in early 2025 that I annoyed myself so much with the “touring is too expensive” mantra that I decided to do one local show the day before my 44^th birthday.

When I started performing my own music live in 2005 I vowed to keep things sustainable: that’s why I played so many shows completely solo. No additional musicians, no crew, just me. I loved being self sufficient. For years I revelled in fitting a little guitar amp, pedals and a megaphone in one rolling suitcase and stuffing my merch in another, arriving at venues to comments like “are you going on holiday?” then doing a Mary Poppins and pulling weird item after weird item out of my bag at soundcheck.

In early 2025, on the cusp of releasing my third album in my new Penfriend era, it started to seem ridiculous and a little churlish to keep refusing to share my songs in a room with people who wanted to enjoy them.

I decided that if I couldn’t sell enough tickets to a local show to cover costs and pay myself and anyone else involved, I would know it was the end for me and venue gigs. If people didn’t want the tickets I was selling, I would take the hint. No hard feelings. Let the fans decide.

The fans decided.

Due to my garbage streaming numbers, no promoter wanted to take a risk on me. They refused to take my chart positions or my 10K mailing list into account. So just like the good old days I hired the venue myself – thank you, Rough Trade Nottingham!

The gig sold out in about a week – thank you, music fans!

I sold all but 10 of the tickets through my email list and online shop, so no marketing budget was needed – thank you, email list!

My husband ticked everyone off as they came through the door and handed them an envelope full of goodies: a signed souvenir ticket, stickers and a flyer – thank you, Tim!

To ward off the solo artist blues of yore I hired my friend Carol Hodge to accompany me on keys and vocals for most of my set, and she also supported me with her own gorgeous music and played a stunner as usual – thank you, Carol!

All that remained was to play the show.

My main concern was that nerves would overtake me at the crucial moment, ruining my weeks of prep and rehearsal, making me look a fool in front of 150 fans of my music, disappointing them, myself and everyone in the vicinity.

Oh hi, imposter syndrome!

I had a big think about it. I decided my main job on the day was to stay as calm and present as possible. I was to go into gig day with no expectations of greatness or abject rubbishness. I would be a worthy human standing amongst other worthy humans, exchanging energy. That would be enough. (Though I still wanted to be able to play my songs well.)

I did it. I played well. I exchanged energy. I stayed present. When the generous applause came my way, I didn’t turn away or crouch down to fiddle with a guitar pedal like I used to. I stood in quiet gratitude, accepting the audience’s thanks.

It didn’t feel like I thought it would. I didn’t get an adrenaline rush. I didn’t feel nervous on stage. It felt comfortable. It felt good.

I couldn’t have asked for a more attentive, open-hearted audience. When they started singing along at the end of my first song “Scared To Capsize” (a SMW set-closing classic), I knew we were embarking on something special together. The singing along didn’t stop for the rest of my set. They laughed, they applauded, they played along with all of it. I felt held, supported, encouraged and loved. Thank you so much.

And afterwards? A quiet satisfaction. A glow. A midnight burger because we didn’t have chance to eat dinner before the show (some things never change). No plans for bigger better more more MORE. Just gratitude.

Saturday night was a big moment, but all the things I’ve created since I stopped touring in 2019 have more than filled any potential void. Perhaps playing venue gigs will become something I do a few times a year. Perhaps one of my musical heroes will invite me out on tour with them. I’m more open to it after last week’s gig, but where in my former life as She Makes War I jumped at every opportunity (often living to regret my haste), Penfriend is far more discerning.

Some people have commented that it’s great to see I’m “back”. I’m not “back” – I never went away.

I have four more self-promoted Penfriend shows this year, and no live plans whatsoever yet for 2026.

Get your tickets and exclusive tour tee direct from me here.
Support at all shows is from the fabulous Carol Hodge.

Wednesday 17th September
MANCHESTER – The Lodge @ Deaf Institute

Thursday 18th September
BRISTOL – Rough Trade

Wednesday 24th September
LONDON – The Grace (formerly Upstairs at The Garage)

Thursday 25th September
BIRMINGHAM – Hare & Hounds

Love,
Laura xxx

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What rhymes with “bop hen”?!!

by Laura Kidd Essays House Of Stories Letterbox Music News

We’re really going for it this time…

Last week I wrote about how underground punk legend John Otway’s books and film have been inspiring me to cook up the most outlandish plan of my musical life so far.

I’m here today to tell you all about the logical next step in the story of my illogical, 100% independent music career.

If you’ve known me for any length of time, you know there is no “Team Penfriend”.

From writing, producing, arranging, recording and performing the songs on my albums (with ace guest musicians drafted in when needed), to laying out the text on the CDs and vinyl packaging, writing and designing the lyric books, shooting and editing my videos, building and maintaining my website, releasing the albums on my micro-label My Big Sister Recordings with all that entails, and walking your merch orders up to my local Post Office twice a week – hi, I am Team Penfriend.

With honourable mention to my beloved Tim who is very supportive and helpful (if you’ve ever seen one of my ads, he set that up), I’m the one running the whole shebang.

This is not a brag: I say this only to underline the absolute ridiculousness of my last two album releases going into the Official UK Albums Chart. Not the “glitter-grunge synth’n’guitar alt-pop” albums chart, but the full-on, overall, why-the-heck-are-ABBA-always-still-in-there? albums chart.

I love ABBA…but, come on!

In 2021, music fans like (and possibly including) YOU put my first Penfriend album “Exotic Monsters” at #24 in the overall chart and #5 in the Independent Albums Chart – the chart for artists on independent labels, from big ones you’ve heard of to very tiny one-person ones mine.

In 2023, music fans like (and possibly including) YOU put “One In A Thousand” (my collaboration album with Rat from Ned’s Atomic Dustbin) at #14 in the overall chart and #1 in the Independent Album Chart. NUMBER FREAKING ONE!

These numbers blow me away. Look what we did!

Between my efforts to make and share music and your absolutely stunning generosity and support, we can do huge things. And over the two years since my last album release I’ve received so many messages from people like (and possibly including) YOU telling me what fun it was to stick it to “the man”, and asking when are we going to do it all again?

Honestly, I talked myself out of writing this email a few times. And then I realised I was letting them win! These big powerful structures that we’re not meant to be cheeky towards, let alone pay a visit to. These places that aren’t meant for the likes of us, because we didn’t do it their way.

I was too busy making seven albums to schmooze the right people, and I don’t regret my decisions for a minute.

OK…we had a Top 30 album together. That was wonderful. Thank you!

Then we had a Top 20 album together. Unbelievable. Thank you!

Where do YOU think we should go next?

…

Top 10. I’m whispering. Should I say it out loud? Should I shout it?!

Could we? Shall we?

WHY try and get in the charts?

Because it’s FUN. Because it’s FUN-NY. Because I’m sick of only the people with huge amounts of financial backing getting all the things – radio play, multi-page magazine spreads, TV slots. Because it’s an example of the sort of big things I think we’re all individually capable of if we decide we’re going to go for it. Because it shows what a passionate community of music lovers care about, and thrusts it, albeit briefly, to sit alongside the mainstream.

Because it shouldn’t be possible for a 43-year old solo artist making music in a colourful Nottingham attic to have her name and made-up record label listed alongside ABBA.

Even though, wait, yes I THOUGHT so… (spot the ABBA Gold):

2023:

2021:

I don’t make music for the mainstream, I make it for you. And both times I’ve had albums in the Top 40 it’s been a victory for every single person who voted with their purchase of an album made by hand with loving care.

So, how do we get a Top 10 album in 2025?

This is the thing. Even though passive streams of big famous songs on playlists count as 1 chart sale per 1500 plays (!), and my streaming numbers are utter garbage because I refuse to advertise giant companies that don’t treat me well, this idea doesn’t feel thatridiculous.

Around 7,500 UK residents currently hang out on my big mailing list. And another 270 brilliant people are here. Hi!

So far, we have clocked up around 1400 chart-eligible sales from pre-orders of “House Of Stories”.

Thank you!

To have a chance of getting into the Top 40, we need to find loving homes for another 1500 copies of the new record in the next FOUR weeks.

To get into the Top 10, it’s another 3000 copies on top of that.

Is this totally ridiculous, or is it a fun idea?

There are enough of us here to make this happen, even without the help of other people around the internet. But you know I love creating experiences around my album releases, so I’ll be busy with blog posts, videos and live events over the next few weeks for all to enjoy. I hope you’ll join me!

“House Of Stories” is an album that celebrates age, experience and personal power. In the 20 years since I wrote the first two songs that appeared on my debut album (“I Am” and “ghostsandshadows”), my life has completely transformed.

From strumming my guitar on a bed squashed into the corner of a tiny bedroom in a dirty shared house in South London to making music and videos in my colourful attic home studio in Nottingham, with all the adventures I went on in-between, making the songs I wanted to make sound exactly how I wanted them to and finding creative ways to share them with you has been utterly life-changing.

Taking my music projects into my own hands was a necessity from the start – with no manager / label / agent, no industry help of any kind (moral or financial!), I have always funded everything I’ve made through freelance work and huge amounts of support from music fans crowdfunding and pre-ordering my albums.

I’m so grateful for what I’ve managed to build with your help. Thank you.

More than anything, I know “House Of Stories” is my best album yet, and I’m excited for you to hear it.

The second verse of the title track goes like this:

“Trapped in our warm bodies
Still brimming with hope
Reaching the highest places
We think we can go”

In 16 years of releasing music online I’ve learned that interesting things can happen when I spend my time in positive, generous ways. But even greater things can happen when you decide on a destination.

I’ve decided.

I’ll leave you with this helpful quote by Normal Vincent Peale, the writer of “The Power Of Positive Thinking”:

“Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars”.

You may recall I have a rocket ship at my disposal.

See you on the moon?

Love,
Laura xxx
https://shop.penfriend.rocks/collections/penfriend-house-of-stories

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I blame John Otway

by Laura Kidd Essays House Of Stories Letterbox Music News

Four weeks from today I am releasing my sixth solo album “House Of Stories”: my celebration of age, experience and (hopefully) wisdom.

Helping me face up to ghosts from my past, the new songs are for anyone who’s felt trapped in the wrong four walls – literal or metaphorical, caused by others or self-imposed.

My musician pal Charley Stone¹ visited the Launchpad a few weeks ago to help me create a full-length album video and audio podumentary. Among her insightful comments and questions she described some of the tracks on “House Of Stories” as “soothing”, which I took as a great compliment.

I will never pretend everything’s okay in my songs, but the more music I make the more I want to leave you feeling hopeful and included. I love creating experiences within, around and leading up to my music releases (hence these posts), and I’ll always keep inviting you to get as involved as you want to.

Speaking of which…

Last year I shared a video where I decided to think Very Big Indeed², declaring that in the year 2027 I will be headlining Shepherd’s Bush Empire.

Titled “It’s time to set some ridiculous goals”, I made it to choose optimism over pessimism, to dream big instead of opting for pragmatism all the time. Not sitting back and wishing for things to happen to me, but directing my efforts in exciting directions that seem out of reach, so I can work very hard to try and get there.

In the comments, Correspondent’s Club member David told me about a fellow musician called John Otway³.

“The list of things he’s made happen in his career, by pretty much just saying he’d do it, is clear evidence you can make amazing things happen.”

I was excited. I devoured everything I could find online about John, watched his Netflix film, ordered both of his books (and immediately read them both) and even sent him a friendly email to say thank you for the inspiration.

And so it’s John Otway’s (and David’s) fault that I’m gearing up to unveil the most outlandish plan I’ve cooked up so far in my 28 years of making music.

I’ll tell you more next Friday.

To tide you over…I made a rare appearance on a music podcast! Thanks to sharing my music and writing on Substack, I made contact with Tim and Chris at New Sounds Union, who asked brilliant questions and made me feel right at home (I find these things nerve-racking when I’m not doing the editing).

Titled “How an independent artist tops the charts”, my episode is available here. I talk about how 10 years in the school orchestra led me towards arranging and producing my own songs, why I think doing stuff and keeping going is most important and how amazing music fans are (thank you).

Back at Penfriend HQ, the HOS goodies are starting to arrive – I love this part of releasing albums!

** VINYLLLLLL **

The four publicly available vinyl colours are looking absolutely stunning!

** CLOTHING **

The sample tees and hoodies were printed this week by local Notts printer Phil at Whitewater Design & Print and I’m just glad I don’t have to choose between them…thanks to Jessica Wild and Daniel Catt for the beautiful designs!

I won’t be printing many more tees / hoodies than have been ordered by the end of next weekend, so make sure you secure your size ASAP (XS-4XL available).

** KiT Hybrid Digital Format**

The KiT samples arrived from Seoul this week, coinciding with a mention of “House Of Stories” in Music Week!

It’s true, HOS will be the first completely independently released chart-reporting KiT album in the UK…very exciting.

Watch my short explainer video and get your copy here.

** AND… **

• I’m expecting the CDs to arrive next week ready for signing, hooray!

• The 21-track demos and rarities collection is being printed as I type…

• I’m having a blast putting the lyric, photos and story book together, and there are only 100 copies left at the time of writing.

** FINALLY… **

Calling Nottingham / adjacent / further afield adventurous gig lovers – the last 21 tickets for my birthday shindig on 31st May at Rough Trade Nottingham are available here.

I’m looking forward to sharing my newest, most ambitious adventure with you next Friday.

Big love and thanks,
Laura xxx

Whose excellent album “Here Comes The Actual Band” is available here.
↩︎
Watch that here.
↩︎
Get inspired by John here. Warning: reading this website, buying his books and watching his film might make you do something OUTLANDISH.
↩︎

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Sometimes it’s better to wait

by Laura Kidd Creativity Essays House Of Stories Letterbox Music News

Ten days ago I wrote 1,208 rather self-pitying words about my situation as an independent musician. I was tired, perhaps a little burned out, and feeling overwhelmed by the big structures making everything so much more difficult every time I do this (the existence of streaming, rising costs of producing physical goods etc etc blah blah blah).

To be fair to me, I was waking up every day at 6.30am with a clench in my stomach, thoughts racing. I’d lie there and decide right away the day ahead was absolutely impossible. I could only fail, so what was the point in trying to get through my To Do list?

I’d close my eyes and hope for sleep to return, waking late and annoyed with myself for missing the gym – again.

Luckily for me – and for you – this meant I didn’t have the time or energy to return to those words, shape them into something more coherent and share them with you. A week later I scanned through them and realised they were working-out-words, not words to be read by others, and I blushed a little at the self-indulgence of considering publishing them in the first place.

This year I’ve tried to get into a regular practice of writing more not necessarily to share more writing, but to do more thinking.

Writing is how I figure stuff out, which means there are no wasted words, but when I see those words piling up in my Scrivener sidebar a part of me (the part that also panics about money all the time) wants to make the most of them, because writing is also how I intrigue, tempt and persuade people to listen to the music I make.

Creating albums is my main thing, but if I hadn’t worked writing into the heart of it all I wouldn’t be making such a go of it, I’m sure.

As someone who appreciates honesty on the internet, I don’t want to hide my tough times under a fake sheen. I’ve always made a point of sharing my process as a self-taught music / video / audio producer, because I want others to see an example of the possibilities available if they put the time and effort into the thing they really want to do.

I don’t believe in only sharing happy days and successes, because it paints a warped picture of things, but I decided long ago that it’s important to me to bring optimism to the online spaces I spend time in. And when I’m writing to supportive music fans, busy with their own trials and tribulations, health issues, financial struggles and all the rest, why on earth would I want to complain directly to them about how hard it is for me sometimes?

At the start of this year I decided to try out this “word of the year” thing I’ve seen people talking about. The first word that came to mind is “gratitude”, and the moment it flashed up in my brain hole I experienced the resistance my 20’s and probably 30’s self would have felt if someone had suggested it.

“Urgh gross what?”

I took that as a sign to face up to my discomfort, and to use this word to try and reframe my world. It’s been very helpful so far.

My feelings do matter – as do yours – but whatever I’m going through I am healthy, I am well and I am living my absolute dream of creating whatever the hell music I want and figuring out ways to send it out into the world to find the people who will love it the most.

Feeling the feelings and writing the writing are essential tasks on my busy To Do list, of course, but sometimes it’s better wait and make sure I’m showing up with something interesting / useful / not too whiny.

I am free, I am grateful, and I can write overly long sentences whenever I like.

Thank you for reading – I’m grateful for you, too.

Love,
Laura xxx

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I made this to make you smile

by Laura Kidd Creativity Essays House Of Stories Letterbox Music News Productivity Space, Man

I made this to make you smile.

I made this to provide 4 minutes of escape from stress and worry about life, the universe and everything.

I made this to remind myself not to take everything so seriously all the time.

My new song “Space, Man” isn’t a silly song. Nor was my last song “Emotional Tourist”. And nor was my Obey Robots song “Porcupine”.

I don’t write silly songs, but I do choose to have fun when I present things to you. I want to give you something different, memorable and meaningful.

I really did make this to make you smile.

I had a wobble on Monday, halfway through editing this new video. If only I looked cool, or could dance, or had a team of professionals sorting out interesting outfits and dramatic lighting, or [insert any number of random, out-of-reach expensive items here]…if only I could just do more to send my songs out into the world.

What do I mean by more, exactly?

Every time I make something new there’s the possibility of infinite reward when I share it online. Hundreds of views could turn into thousands, or tens of thousands. If I pick the right thumbnail, or learn exactly how the algorithms work on every platform, or say exactly the right thing at the right moment, the music I care so much about sharing could leap forth from my laptop and become a beloved fixture in the lives of music fans around the world.

The possibilities are tremendously exciting, potentially life-changing. Less grind, less hustle. Money in the bank. A slightly easier life?

I try to stay positive, without setting myself up for too much of a fall. If/when I don’t get 100K views in 5 minutes (!), I have to be okay with that. I have to be able to keep going.

I’ve done this for long enough to know that simply getting to keep doing it is the real goal.

And it’s certainly not just about finding new people to listen. My “big” mailing list has around 9000 subscribers, and my Substack list has around 200, and sometimes it feels just as difficult to successfully invite these people to click “play”.

That’s ok. It’s humbling. You have your own, way more important, stuff going on.

Just know that, even when I doubt myself, I will keep trying. Even when I receive nasty comments and unpleasant emails (and oh, I do), I will keep sharing music, sharing videos and sharing my words.

Every time I make a collection of songs I put everything on the line to create the best experiences I can for music fans.

You are never obliged, but you are always invited.

My new video cost around £200 to make: studio hire, two costumes, props and lunch. I did my own hair and makeup, set up my own shots and didn’t try to look cool or try to dance. The only other human involved was my lovely husband Tim, who helped with the moving shots and tightened the legs of my inflatable costume to stop everything from going floppy.

Talk about infinite reward: I got to spend a Tuesday being silly with my favourite person making something to make you smile.

I hope you enjoy “Space, Man”.

Love,
Laura xxx

PS get “Space, Man” + two more songs immediately when you order my new album “House Of Stories”, out 25th April 2025. Only available direct from me, DIY 4EVA x

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Vibrating at a higher frequency…or just dreaming big?

by Laura Kidd Essays House Of Stories Letterbox Mindfulness Process

Before yesterday I’d never heard of Doechii.

Her Grammy acceptance speech showed up in my feed, so I looked her up. I read she’d risen to prominence after creating YouTube vlogs during the pandemic, so I went to her channel and tried to find her earliest video. My internet was being weird and just showed me this one.

She talks into her laptop, eating crisps, saying she’s just been fired from her job and she doesn’t care. She says she’s going to try and get an internship at a record label.

It’s not an interesting video on its own. She gives no context and no details. There’s no resolution, no takeaway. If you don’t know her, and you’re in an impatient mood, you’d likely shrug and say “and…?”

But that’s not the point – she wasn’t trying to “do” YouTube, she was documenting a real moment in her life, in real-time.

Five years on, Doechii has won a Grammy for best rap album, plus two MTV Video Music Awards, a BET Award, two Soul Train Music Awards and the Rising Star Award from Billboard Women in Music.

Five hours on from watching her video, I’d seen it pop up another 10 times around the internet.

Weird.

Two nights ago, I started reading “Manifest” by Roxie Nafousi, a cheerful orange hardback that’s been sitting on my To Read pile for a year. For whatever reason, it felt like the right moment to start making some changes. I read about the science of it, the quantum physics theory that we attract the energy we put out into the world. We have control over that – we can choose to vibrate at a higher frequency, to attract higher frequency things. We decide what we want to do, we put the work in, we vibrate.

Interesting.

Last night I dipped into my blog archives to try and find something well-written and timeless to share with you today¹. At random I picked out a piece I wrote in 2020.

Inspired by a podcast chat I’d had with comedian Bec Hill², I wrote about the need to zoom out from your current busy day-to-day work life to set goals beyond the old-you dream you’re currently maintaining.

A few months after our conversation was published, Bec was announced as the host of a new kids’ TV crafting show. It didn’t happen to her out of the blue – this is something she had decided she wanted, and had aimed her efforts towards. She was absolutely perfect for it, and did a great job.

Did I pick that blog post out because I’d already started vibrating at a higher frequency? (I didn’t see the date til I’d re-read the whole thing.)

Is that also why I suddenly heard about Doechii and found that particular video of hers from 5 years ago? (I don’t usually read up on the latest music news.)

Five years is a good block of time to measure things by.

In five years, Doechii went from being fired from a job she didn’t care about to winning a Grammy. (I look forward to learning more about that journey.)

Five years ago, I had recently ended my solo music project of 15 years to launch a new one, Penfriend, in May 2020. I was living in Bristol, recording music by myself in a colourful attic room. A pandemic was right around the corner. I’d started running twice a week, and was making my third and final bid to complete the famous Julia Cameron book “The Artist’s Way” (I did it!). I’d made a list of ways I wanted to change my life in this fresh new decade, and I was taking positive steps every day.

In February 2025, I’m working out of a different colourful attic studio in Nottingham. I’m still doing my thing, maintaining my 5-years-ago-me dream. And what a gift! It’s still one of my current-me dreams, but I know that I’ve put any future-me dreams on hold to keep the wheels turning.

It’s time to start making some new plans. It’s time to dream big again.

When violent, racist narcissists are causing chaos on the world stage, hurting people every day with their actions, it feels ridiculous to write about manifesting. When genocide is ignored, when our bodily autonomy is in the hands of powerful men, when trans rights are being erased, when tech bros have WAY too much influence and N*zi salutes go unpunished, it can feel redundant to focus on my own supposed day-to-day problems, let alone my future plans and dreams. What do I matter in all of this?

I’ll never forget a post I saw a few years ago that read: “It’s not manifesting: it’s white privilege”.

I’ll carry that reminder with me. It’s important to check ourselves.

But I’m still going to dream big, because I exist too, and I can be more helpful to everyone when I’m vibrating at a higher frequency.

I’m thankful for the life I manifested through my previous actions, thankful for those who make this possible by supporting independent music, and thankful to inspirational figures like Doechii, Roxie and Bec for reminding me that the future is full of possibility.

Where were you 5 years ago?
Where do you want to be 5 years from now?

Let’s dream big together. Let’s take care of each other.

Have a wonderful week.

Love,
Laura xxx

Check out Doechii’s work here, Roxie Nafousi’s work here and Bec Hill’s work here.

I failed. I found two fatal flaws with my idea of sharing that older piece with you:

1) It contains a paragraph about a recently disgraced author which is central to the point I’m making, and he can absolutely do one.

2) I’d somehow confused the words “infinite” and “infinitesimal”, which are basically opposites, and the sting of embarrassment is too fresh in my mind to consider reposting it.

Oh, the shame.
↩︎
Listen to my conversation with Bec here. ↩︎

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Disrespectful vulgar crude filthy foul mouth

by Laura Kidd Essays House Of Stories Letterbox Process

What to do when everyone doesn’t love you on the internet

Dear fellow artist and interested internet person, I am here to coin a new phrase.

Allow me to introduce the HUUIG aka the Hitherto-Unknown, Unfriendly Internet Gentleman. Not to be confused with a New Fan Of Your Work (NFOYW), this esteemed surfer of the internet superhighway is usually brand new to you, choosing to show up in your life for the very first time sounding something like this:

The reviews are in!
Thanks for that, HUUIG¹…

We all know that when we share ourselves on the internet: in words, photos, daubs on a page or, in my case, music and video, we’re opening a can of worms and inviting them to crawl all over us and our painfully exposed vulnerabilities.

Some of these “worms”² are delighted to hear from us, thrilled to stumble across meaningful work that speaks to them, speaks for them, heals them, brightens their day or, at the very least, provides respite from yet another fucking Temu³ ad.

I regret calling these people “worms”, even though it’s a clever metaphor, because they are the ones who keep the wheels turning. I wouldn’t have a job without them. They might be YOU. Thank you!

You’re a name, not a worm-ber.

Receiving positive messages about your work is life-affirming and galvanising.

“My work will find its audience”, you tell yourself with relief, while still trying to figure out exactly how many vertical clips and text-based social media posts will make you feel you’ve done enough to send your offering into the world with the best possible chance⁴.

Unfortunately, alongside enjoying interactions with these kind, generous and encouraging patrons of the arts, we are forced to bear witness to a whole bunch of nonsense from people who I’m far less sorry to refer to as worms (though this is very much still a metaphor). Rude, rude worms.

Because, you see, what you made doesn’t suit them exactly. The snare sound you carefully chose for your song⁵ that you wrote and recorded yourself in your attic home studio during yet another pandemic lockdown isn’t the one they would have chosen had they had the wherewithal to make that exact song, so you are wrong, friend, and they are not going to let it go!

Or, obviously, you’re a “tattooed slut” because…you have tattoos and are a woman sharing your wholesome, bike-riding music video with the world?⁶

Um.

In this case, I am the lowest of the low because I used the word “motherfucker” twice. Fucking hell. The absolute cheek!

In a song about escaping from a potentially murderous ex-boyfriend, written to share my experience in a bid to put words to other peoples’ perhaps-hidden experiences of the same or worse, written because that’s the song that wanted to be written that day and it turned into a bona fide banger⁷, I both swore and showed (justified) anger.

It’s just the truth. So fucking sue me!

In 88 songs spread over seven albums and some stand-alone singles I have sworn a total of 8 times. I stand by every single fuck, fucking, shit and motherfucker. I chose to put those words in those songs because that’s where they had to go.

Oh, and because artists can and should do whatever the hell they want in their work⁸, because that’s what art is. Please remember this above all other things.

To answer an inevitable question: yes, of course I read the comments. I want to see what impact my work has on other humans. Also, I work alone. Who else is meant to read them⁹?

It’s annoying, because I share things on the internet in search of actual human connection. I’m not hunting digital applause, requesting smoke be blown up my arse¹⁰ or hankering for a viral moment. Please PLEASE no.

It’s a shame that when I see a Facebook notification I automatically cringe, assuming it’s going to be something awful, because that’s the platform where I usually get the bad stuff¹¹.

However, in my experience, these people usually only pop out of the ~~wood~~wormwork when prompted by:

– an album release: I always get a shitty email from a HUUIG¹² on album release day, either to tell me I suck or that I stole an idea off them –

– a paid ad (how very dare you try to get your heartfelt, handcrafted work into the hands of the people! What are you, someone who needs to eat?!!!)

OR, probably

– great success and massively increased exposure. I have no experience of this.

Because I am a very lucky person, last week I got not one but TWO freebies.

Part 2:

Oh, how I laughed and laughed. 5 years ago I can’t honestly say I’d have been amused at this exchange, but I like to think I’ve grown up a lot in that time. Quoting God/Jesus/etc back at him was not in any way a childish thing to do.

There was a time when an email or comment from someone criticising me and/or what I had dared to share would make me furious: not because they didn’t like me, but because they thought it was okay to go out of their way to interrupt my day to tell me. I would take time to reply, incredibly politely, letting them know I’m a real life human being – not a team of people or robots – and reminding them that not everything in the world is made for them. I wanted them to rethink their approach and stop bothering people who are just trying their best in the world.

But, strangely, after making all that effort to get my attention, none of them ever wrote back. And I thought they wanted to be friends!

I stopped doing this when I decided to spend that energy on the people who love what I do.

In 2025, with a new single coming out every month up to the release of my new album “House Of Stories” in April, I definitely don’t have time for this shit¹³.

Here’s my current thinking on neggy comments from HUUIGs¹⁴. I hope it helps.

It’s unrealistic to think that everyone who comes across your stuff online is going to love it and gush at you about it, and honestly wouldn’t that be WEIRD? I would have a hard time trusting myself or anyone else without some sort of resistance.

We set ourselves up for avoidable stress and upset if we don’t account for, say, 5-10% of all comments we receive online being irritating or downright rude.

Personally, when I dislike something I just keep on scrolling or, ideally, turn my stupid phone off and do what I’d planned to be doing which is usually making stuff¹⁵. Others are not so strong.

Others don’t have the lives they want, or are in a sad or bad mood, or just broke up with someone, or have been poisoned by social media into binary thinking so if they don’t like something they go straight to HATE and simply have to tell you all about it. Some people are autistic, and come across in a far more blunt way than they intend. Some people have severe mental health issues and I genuinely hope they have the help they need.

Unfortunately, every comment and message looks basically the same in our homogenised online world. There’s no way of knowing what situation the sender is in, mentally or physically. And that’s good, because I don’t need to know you’re on the loo writing me a message, whether it’s a nice one or a nasty one. But it’s also bad, because if you could tell the difference between someone being nasty to you because they’re a hateful person and someone writing unkind things because they really need some help, you could choose to respond in different ways, or not at all.

I want to live in a world where the segment of people who are just plain hateful keyboard warrior arsehole pricks is a very small segment. A tiny segment of tiny pricks. Except they’re not tiny are they, they’re HUUIG¹⁶!

I want to believe that most people are decent, and would be, if not gushingly enthusiastic of my work, reasonably supportive of my general right to make and share it without receiving neggy messages sent direct to my eyeballs.

However, I spent 5 years working as a part-time comment moderator for The Guardian UK website, and grew skeptical of the value of online comments on most platforms. Not yours, of course, and not here. You’re great!

I’m not telling you any of this to justify myself to ~~Bob~~ my latest HUUIG¹⁷. I’m telling you this to remind you that YOU don’t have to justify yourself to ~~Bob~~ any HUUIG¹⁸ (or, fine, HUUIP¹⁹ – though in my experience they’re always G’s) who decides to send a comment death ray your way.

You’re here, and we need you and your work. So, somehow, you have to find a way to laugh it off, to file it in the metaphorical bin (hide/delete comments, mute/block people), and/or to use it as material for a piece of writing that might hopefully help someone else find a way to laugh it off, file it in the metaphorical bin, or use it as material for a piece of…

Yes. We can do this! We can follow our creative energy, turn lemons into lemonade and transform attacks on our disrespectful vulgar crude filthy foul mouth into something beautiful.

That’s exactly what I did with my new single “Emotional Tourist” aka the “motherfucker” song, and OH THE IRONY of receiving a list of the things someone doesn’t like about me:

“Disrespectful vulgar crude filthy foul mouth” – HUUIG²⁰

“I’m sick of hearing I’m too fat, I’m too boring, I’m too this, I’m too that” – Emotional Tourist

Are you trying to get me to write a song about you, ~~Bob~~? I’m busy.

Love,
Laura xxx

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This is a horrible metaphor already. I’m sorry.

↩︎
Fuck Temu. (They steal peoples’ designs and sell them for cheap, in case you’re unaware.)

↩︎
I recommend Seth’s Social Media Escape Club as an antidote to these crazy-making thoughts, while admitting I succumb to them often. I make next-to-zero vertical clips because this line of thinking makes me seize up entirely and get six hours behind on my already ambitious task list for the day, and it’s always better to put any energy I can muster into writing pieces like this, emailing my lovely subscribers or doing almost anything else.

Fancy a walk?

↩︎
This song.

↩︎
No “sluts” were tattooed in the making of this video.

↩︎
As agreed upon by at least 30 internet strangers. I don’t make the rules.

↩︎
With obvious caveats!

↩︎
Tim. Tim has to read them. That’s what modern-day husbands are for.

↩︎
Etymologists: where does this phrase come from? Casually spoken it feels okay but it just feels very wrong written down.

↩︎
This is not a challenge.

↩︎
Hitherto-Unknown, Unfriendly Internet Gentleman.

↩︎
Says the woman writing an essay about it. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANNNNN

↩︎
Hitherto-Unknown, Unfriendly Internet Gentleman. You’ll remember this forever now.

↩︎
Yesterday I was weak, and I commented on a company’s Instagram reel about how they should have hired a person to do the voiceover instead of shitty AI. I’m not perfect, but I am right.

↩︎
Hitherto-Unknown, Unfriendly Internet Gentleman. I thought we’d been over this?

↩︎
Hitherto-Unknown, Unfriendly Internet Gentleman. HUUIG!

↩︎
You already know this.

↩︎
Hitherto-Unknown, Unfriendly Internet Personage.

↩︎
Come on, now. ↩︎

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How childhood letter-writing led to a life in music

by Laura Kidd Creativity Essays Letterbox Process

When I was a little girl, one of my favourite possessions was a shoebox that I filled up with bits of paper, envelopes and leaflets gathered from wherever I could find them. I called it my Post Office, and every now and then I’d take the box from under the bed and pour my treasure out on the floor.

I’m hazy on the details, but I remember loving to “play Post Office”, which I imagine meant sorting the assorted paper into different piles and then putting them back in the box. Oh, how the interests of our youth can creep up on us as adults, writes the woman who spent a happy evening last week reorganising her boxes of scrap paper, stickers and magazine pages by category.

Nerd alert.

Later, somehow, I ended up writing letters to children I’d never met, who lived far away – Svetlana in Belarus and Alastair in Derbyshire. It was utterly magical to send my closely-written pages to people I would never talk to in person, carefully copying the unfamiliar Russian words onto Svet’s envelopes well enough for her to receive my missives. I only ever know my letters had arrived when she replied.

It was to Alastair I first proudly declared my aim to be a songwriter when I grew up – having never written a single song, and knowing nothing whatsoever about how to do so. Letter-writing predated those heady days when I started to discover my favourite bands by some years, but both activities were a youthful statement of independent thought at an age where actions were largely dictated by adults.

As I grew older I gathered more people to write to. My family moved every three years, so there were always friends left behind, and in my early teens I wrote to kids I met on school trips, boys at other schools, even friends at the same school as me. We challenged each other to fill up more and more pages and somehow still had enough left to say to talk on the phone for hours in the evening. The freedom I found to express myself in letters is one of my fondest memories of childhood.

On my journey into adulthood, switching to email and blogging and Twitter (2007-style) felt intuitive, but my love for words written by hand on paper never left me.

As I released music on CD, vinyl and cassette from 2009 onwards, I got to “play Post Office” more and more regularly, and my role as the maker and sender of things became clear.

Writing songs and dispatching them into the world, in whatever format, is a natural progression from the innate desire I had to connect with others from a young age.

And that, dear reader, is why I’m called Penfriend.

Now and then, then and now

I was moved by Lucy Pepper‘s latest beautiful piece about her experiences of early blogging (not just because apparently it was inspired by one of my Notes but because her writing is awesome and I love it). I feel nostalgic for my early days of writing on the internet not because my output was so fantastic (I’ve checked), but because it all felt so free then.

“The internet” was a destination. I raced home from work to “go on it”, and happily replaced my previous TV-watching with clicking around, finding out about the world and other people, mainly through reading personal blogs. It was quite unusual to be someone regularly “surfing the internet superhighway”, online ordering was wildly exciting because you had to trust it was real (and high street shopping sucked), and finding places to stay in European cities was, weirdly, easier because there wasn’t infinite choice.

When short-form text-based social media came along in the form of Twitter, I let it steal my writing energy. I still wrote regular, friendly emails to my growing mailing list (which is why I have a job doing this today, honestly), but any public writing was sporadic at best. And this from a person who breathlessly read Writing magazine when she was 13 years old, dreaming of her certain future as a novelist.

I shake my fist at the social media oligarchs in the sky, but mostly at myself. Silly.

I’m not interested in wanging on about the platform I’m sharing stuff on – that’s too meta¹ for me, but suffice it to say I’m delighted to be stretching my writing-in-public muscles again, and excited to be here amongst friends.

Some of them I’ve been in touch with since 2012 and before (hi again Lucy Pepper, Katie Lee, Alex Milway) or way earlier (Sizemore, Documentally), but mostly in short-form ways.

I’m a long-form person. I make albums, not single songs. I am having a wonderful time delving into the long-form thoughts of brilliant minds, and I only wish there hadn’t been that break in the middle where I felt like I was surfing that superhighway alone.

Writing is the best, I love it, and I’m going to keep doing it. Reading is a close second.

From one solo home-working nerd to many others, I thank you for reading.

Love,
Laura xxx

Photo by Carol Jeng.

I refer you to Lucy’s footnote on this matter.
↩︎

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I don’t need to feel guilty about this and neither do you

by Laura Kidd Emotional Tourist Essays House Of Stories Letterbox Process

I’m a songwriter, not a tabloid journalist…

Last Wednesday I released “Emotional Tourist”, my first new song in two years and the first single from my seventh solo album “House Of Stories”.

It’s like this:

Fierce, wonky and unapologetic, it details the demise of a relationship where I was ground down by a narcissist to the point where he tried to set fire to the house and “I didn’t even think to scream”.

The song reasserts my right to tell my own story in my own words, after being told again and again it was wrong of me to do so: shameful, predatory, arrogant. Selfish.

When you’re told by your chosen person that the thing you do best, that you care about the most, is a grubby endeavour – that can be tough to shake, even if it never quite rang true.

Come on…I’m a songwriter, not a tabloid journalist.

The thing is, every one of the 77 songs I’ve released so far is about a person I know, and/or an actual thing that happened in my life.

Songwriting is how I process stuff: I work out how I feel by writing it down, thinking about it and, 77 times to date, spending many hours and many ££s crafting my thoughts and feelings into a song to share with other people.

It’s not not a weird thing to do, but there are a lot of human behaviours I find more peculiar. See above.

Writing personal songs and sharing them is nothing new. But it is a new thing for me to share so bluntly the real-life events¹ that propelled a song into being.

My songs are an invitation: containers of time, sound and space for you to pour your own experiences into. You’re smart; you don’t need me to over-explain them. At a certain point, they’re not even about me any more.

In the case of “Emotional Tourist”, though, it felt important to explain that the “smoke in the house” isn’t a metaphor for me. It can be, and hopefully is, for everyone else hearing the song – and that goes for every factual snippet from my life that I bury in the poetry of my lyrics.

“In the particular is contained the universal”, wrote James Joyce to a friend. I agree. Unfortunately, the particular type of situation I was in isn’t an unusual one. That’s why I made it into a song, and why I’m writing about it outside of the lyrics.

The song has been publicly available for 8 days, and I’ve already had four people get in touch to thank me for validating their own experiences. In turn, that helped to validate mine.

This is what art does: it holds up a mirror, it supports us, it connects us, sometimes it even heals us. Making it – and immersing myself in art created by others – has helped heal me so many times I’ve lost count.

Every day since releasing the song, the video and this piece detailing what the song is really about, I’ve wondered if I’ll hear from that person, or from his family. What would they say? What would I say?

I don’t think what I’ve done is wrong.
I don’t feel guilty about this.
Everyone has a right to tell their side of the story.
Not everyone has to like me, agree with me, or like what I do.

That feels good to write.

A dear friend shared “Emotional Tourist” online last week, describing it as “an infectious, rightfully scathing (I remember the guy) yet beautifully melodic synth-rock-pop song that should be a dead cert for the drive-time radio A-list”. That was a real boost, thank you Ben².

Because, yeah, it’s uncomfortable to extract something so personal, reversing the abstraction from poetry to prose. But when I feel nervous about something, thinking maybe it is – or indeed I am – “too much”, I remember being told so bluntly that “I shouldn’t write about what’s real” and I think about the ways we make ourselves small for other people, and I think “fuck you” and I make, write or share the thing.

I am thankful and grateful and all the -fuls for the secure, happy, nourishing relationship I’ve been in for the past 10 years, and not only because it has helped push my songwriting beyond the more reactive angles of my earliest work.

As I continue to create albums, it’s my job to continually fill the well of creativity so there’s always something to write about. I thank the sun, moon and stars that my day-to-day personal life is almost completely drama-free, which prompts me to look outside myself more often and go deeper into pivotal moments from my past.

Even with 77 songs out in the world, there are plenty of unprocessed moments to take care of, plenty of dawning realisations that something I thought was normal really REALLY wasn’t.

In 2022-2023 those shadows kept creeping up and tapping me on the shoulder with cold, bony fingers, dragging me back into the past on a much-too-regular basis.

That’s why I decided making my new album “House Of Stories” would help me bravely turn back and face up to some of the most intense and/or heartbreaking episodes of my life. Not to blame or shame any individual, not to elevate my own status, but to:

1. Figure out why these things still had the power to bring me to my knees, in a bid to reclaim that power for myself;

2. Create something beautiful out of my experiences, hopefully making something helpful (for me and others) out of some really shitty situations;

3. Use my now-very-VERY great wisdom to reflect on all the things that happened which are still bothering me, for which the common denominator is always MOI, in a bid to learn and grow and go forward in life avoiding unnecessary drama;

4. Forgive myself where appropriate, even if others involved don’t think they were in any way at fault and/or don’t remember what happened.

I make sad songs to make you feel better™³, and I’m happy to report they make me feel better too.

Have a wonderful day and PLEASE make, write and/or share the thing. I believe in you.

Love,
Laura xxx

PS my new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available to order NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books.

Get two songs in your inbox immediately, with another every month til the release date in April (before anyone else gets to listen).

PPS Lab coats and pointers make you feel – and look – clever. The evidence:

“Calling a motherf*^ker a motherf@%ker”
↩︎
Ben makes GREAT music.
↩︎
I’ve been describing my music this way for years and I just love it. I also describe it as ‘‘music for people who love handwritten letters” but that might be more about justifying my typewriter collection. ↩︎

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Category: Essays

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