I have massive news to share with you today: my new album “Exotic Monsters” is two thirds of the way towards getting in the UK Top 40 Album chart!
Throughout my years of making music, I’ve always been told that you need a manager, a record label, an agent, a huge marketing budget, your face on billboards, features in magazines, radio playlisting, all that sort of thing, to even have the tiniest chance of this sort of success – but that’s clearly not true.
I make and release my music completely independently from my little attic room in Bristol.
If “Exotic Monsters” gets into the UK Top 40 chart, it’ll make Bristol music history. The last Bristol-based female artist to get in the top 40 albums chart was the brilliant Beth Rowley in 2008, and we don’t even know if there’s ever been a completely independent Bristol-based act with a top 40 album. How bonkers is that?
Every pre-order that has come in so far is a vote for the spirit of independence that brought me to live in this city nine years ago.
I’ve built an audience by sharing my work online and treating people with respect – it’s definitely the slow way round, but it’s the one that makes me the happiest. I feel so encouraged and supported by everyone who has hopped on board so far. Thank you.
“Cavernous as its darkly-elliptical tale unfolds, “Seventeen” careens with compassion” – The Autumn Roses
“An enormous pop-rock anthem with a heart-throttlingly poignant story [by] Penfriend aka singer/songwriter/producer/genius example of how to do independent musicianship right, Laura Kidd” – Loud Women (single of the week)
ABOUT THE SONG
Seventeen. Is there a more complicated age? Not quite yet an adult, but impatient to be treated like one; navigating an avalanche of new experiences and urgent emotions, dismissed by the grownups as “teenage angst” or “just a phase”. An exhausting quest to negotiate a new space for ourselves, juggling the interests of parents, teachers and friends while not knowing to question their motives.
This song is an excavation, a letting go, an act of self-forgiveness.
Traumatic events from the past can feel just as fresh, years later, the ghosts of our former selves creeping up to tap us on the shoulder with icy fingers.
Sometimes we need to package up our memories with tidy words to dispel the haunting.
Sometimes we just need to stop blaming ourselves.
Sometimes writing songs is like painstakingly sculpting sounds from thin air; other times they arrive in a whoosh, fighting to be heard. “Seventeen” appeared on a summer Saturday evening, falling out of me in jagged swathes.
Facing up to our ghosts isn’t a pleasant experience, but this song helped me over a major stumbling block from my past, bringing me a fresh perspective and new freedom.
CREDITS
Written, produced, performed and recorded by Laura Kidd at The Launchpad, Bristol. Drums by Max Saidi. Piano arranged by Laura Kidd, performed and recorded by Catherine Anne Davies. Mixed by Dan Austin. Mastered by Katie Tavini. Artwork by Alex Tillbrook, concept by Laura Kidd.
LYRICS
Happy birthday, time to say goodbye Such a big girl, keep all this inside Dial back those dreams Wishing impossible things Bursting your seams It hurts when we grow
Tell me what you wanted I was seventeen Tell me I deserved it Because I was seventeen
Toxic teens on mixtape afternoons Photostatic memories of you Fold paper planes Pull them apart when it rains Smash windowpanes Stretching our wings alone
Tell me what you wanted I was seventeen Tell me I deserved it I was seventeen Tell me it was all my fault I was seventeen Tell me you remember
Tell me what you wanted I was seventeen Tell me I deserved it I was seventeen Give me a good reason I was seventeen Tell me you’re so sorry I was seventeen
+ I make a podcast called “Attention Engineer”, where I speak to fellow artists about creativity, grit and determination. Visit this page to find out more.
Release date: 26th March 2021 Label: My Big Sister Recordings
ABOUT THE SONG
“Black Car” is a song about love and death, guilt and gratitude, taking time to figure out what’s most important, feeling desperately sad and isolated and grieving the loss of so many. Dealing with anger and frustration at the UK government for making so many missteps. Trying to keep on keeping on, while finding it hard to see a way out of this, however many “roadmaps” are announced. Accepting – and feeling – our feelings.
“That this single release marks the first anniversary of the first UK lockdown is an accident, but sometimes things just fall into place like that when we focus on what’s important to us. Throughout this loneliest of years, I’ve tried to keep connected to humanity through making and releasing new music, podcast episodes and my weekly emails, doing what I can to create pinpoints of light in dark times. With all the gratitude in the world, I have to remind myself it’s still ok to feel wounded by what’s been going on and to feel scared about what’s to come. We will all be changed by this experience, and at the root of everything is the love we have for others.”
I don’t know what other bands “Black Car” sounds like, or have any clever phrases lined up to entreat you to click “play”. This is an honest, melancholy song about a universal experience that will be discussed in the history books of the future, guitars and synths centred around a heady electronic heartbeat, with a reverent Kurt Vonnegut reference (“loving echoes”) in the middle.
Keep your loved ones close x
CREDITS
Written, produced, performed and recorded by Laura Kidd at The Launchpad, Bristol. Mixed by Dan Austin. Mastered by Katie Tavini. Artwork by Alex Tillbrook, concept by Laura Kidd.
LYRICS
Remember the summer when everyone stayed at home? Ships in a bottle, stacked up with our lives on hold
If we could really see the warnings that were written before If we could really feel Our hearts would smash all over the floor
Hear me now, I can feel the thunder March me out with the fallen number Will there be – is there a black car waiting for me? Keep your loved ones close
This is surviving, but we’re having a god damn year Tired of climbing, but the universe left us here
And on my worst of days I want to keep wanting to be kind But everywhere I see machines are taking over our minds
Hear me now, I can feel the thunder March me out with the fallen number Will there be – is there a black car waiting for me? Keep your loved ones close
Keep your loved ones close Even on calm waters, waves will rise As my heart explodes Loving echoes dancing in my eyes
Keep your loved ones close Keep your loves ones close Keep your loved ones close
Hear me now, I can feel the thunder March me out with the fallen number Will there be – is there a black car waiting?
Hear me now, I can feel the thunder March me out with the fallen number Will there be – Is there a black car waiting for me?
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Track listing:
1. Hello 2. Seventeen 3. I’ll Start A Fire 4. Changes in The Launchpad 5. Seashaken 6. Livestream love and a bit about the new album 7. Out Of The Blue 8. Nice rambly Q&A about all sorts 9. Black Car 10. Dispensable Body 11. An interesting experiment 12. The Only Way Out Is Through 13. Thank you and LUV
+ New episodes of my music podcast “Attention Engineer”are released every Wednesday – visit this page to find out more and subscribe via your favourite podcast platform.
“Cancel Your Hopes” is about doing everything you were told was right and then realising the world’s going to end despite your best efforts. Left stranded by those who were once the grownups, our mission is to keep trying to appreciate the incredible fact of simply existing in this beautiful world, while attempting to navigate the toxic parts of technology, live a meaningful life of use to others, love deeply and learn to accept love, leaving as little negative trace on the planet as possible while doing so.
In June 2019 I spent several hours enjoying Radiohead’s “Minidiscs [Hacked]” – a collection of demos and live recordings released on Bandcamp after they were somehow stolen. The experience was very moving – intimate, almost too fly-on-the-wall nosey – and a handy reminder that even the greatest bands on the planet have to work to create their art.
I started to feel guilty for listening to someone else’s ideas archive when I had my own gathering dust in the corner of my studio. I started working through my own minidisc collection, listening through to snippets of ideas from my early days of writing, and was excited to come across a riff and chords idea from 2005 which became “Cancel Your Hopes”. I used the chorus melody from the original recording, wordless apart from the phrase “fucking beautiful”, which I also kept because it created such a key moment of intensity in that melodic line. I rarely swear in song, but sometimes there is no other option.
The same week, I’d finished having my mind blown apart by Barbara Kingsolver’s beautiful, devastating novel “Flight Behaviour”. While reading I’d scribbled copious notes: scraps of words and phrases that resonated with me from the book plus thoughts, feelings and phrases of my own sparked by her writing.
The music and words soon collided with a joyous bang.
When I was at school I remember teachers and the newspapers saying we were going to have to deal with the effects of global warming in 15 years time…then everything seemed to go quiet. It’s an understatement to say there is work to do, but I want to believe in a future for this messy, complicated, potentially wonderful species.
CREDITS
Written, produced, performed and recorded by Laura Kidd at The Launchpad, Bristol. Drums by Max Saidi. Mixed by Dan Austin. Mastered by Katie Tavini. Artwork by Alex Tillbrook, concept by Laura Kidd.
LYRICS
Cancel your hopes, dear Do you remember when this was all fields? Boys in the boardroom backslapping their deals There’s a hole in our bucket, dear Liza – a hole
Walk the high wire with no mind for the crash Are we in denial or do we crave collapse? Can’t look strangers in the eye Is that cos we are terrified?
Cos you know that we said forever And you see that there’s nothing left So let’s stand til we all fall over Take my hand cos it’s so fucking beautiful
Cancel your hopes, please The planet’s on fire while we’re stroking our screens Buy better headphones to muffle their screams There’s a hole in our bucket And everyone knows
Walk the high wire with no mind for the crash Are we in denial or do we crave collapse? Won’t look strangers in the eye Is that cos we are dead inside?
Cos you know that we said forever And you see that there’s nothing left So let’s stand til we all fall over Take my hand cos it’s so fucking beautiful
Now I see that we’re going under But I know that there’s nothing else So as long as we stand together Take my hand cos you’re so fucking beautiful
+ New episodes of my music podcast “Attention Engineer” are released every Wednesday – visit this page to find out more and subscribe via your favourite podcast platform.
For everyone who’s been asking me whether I’m going to be touring in 2021 – here are my thoughts on the matter.
We’re all missing live concerts, artists are floundering and the live music industry is running on hope fumes, but I believe there’s an ethical decision to make here on a personal level. We are part of something much bigger than ourselves, and we have to do what we can to protect every member of our community.
Please watch the video and let me know where your head’s at on all this. Respectful discussion is always very welcome in the comments.
+ New episodes of my music podcast “Attention Engineer” are released every Wednesday – visit this page to find out more and subscribe via your favourite podcast platform.
Most songwriters dream of one day having their song in a film soundtrack, and I’m fizzing with delight that “Dear Heart” appears in 21st century rom-com Modern Persuasion, directed by Alex Appel and Jonathan Lisecki.
Starring Alicia Witt, Bebe Neuwirth, Shane McRae, Liza Lapira and Daniela Pineda and released by Samuel Goldwyn Films, this is the real deal, and is available to stream in the UK as of earlier this week.
Another version of “Dear Heart” appears on my 2019 song collection “And Peace”, created to mark the end of the She Makes War project after ten years of releasing albums and touring.
About the song: when I’m writing music, I keep lists of my ideas – potential song names or concepts. One day while travelling I recorded a voice memo into my phone, saying “write a song to my own heart, apologising for what I’ve done”. And so I did! I loved the idea that the phrase “dear heart” could sound like I was addressing a person, while the whole time I’m actually talking to an essential body part – it’s really down to the listener to make their own meaning from my words. It was a particularly enjoyable song to perform live, because I got to show my gratitude to the audience at the end with the final lyrics, “thank you”. Thank YOU.
About the film: “Modern Persuasion” is a modern telling of Jane Austen’s “Persuasion.” Wren Cosgrove is a happy, single, and self-confessed workaholic who, after rising to the top of the corporate ladder, finds herself coming home every night to her cat. When her firm is hired by Owen Jasper, “the man who got away,” long-lost feelings are stirred, giving Wren a second chance at true love.
Vena cava, cardiac, hollow vein Powering my dreams with sweet sustain Delicate muscle you’re not built to hate Your quiet biology I appreciate
Dear heart I was wrong for all the things I put you through Greasy fingermarks stain You’ve been neglected, been abused But I will always treasure you
Atrioventricular be true Should’ve never let the world break you One day you’ll slow down and so will I At least I have time to apologise
Dear heart I was wrong for all the things I put you through Greasy fingermarks stain You’ve been neglected, been abused But I will always treasure you
Dear heart I was wrong for all the things I put you through Greasy fingermarks stain You’ve been neglected, been abused But I will always treasure you For as long as I get to Til my finger are turning blue I will always care for you
Thank you
THANK YOU for visiting my website!I’m Laura Kidd, a music producer, songwriter and podcaster based in Bristol, UK. It’s great to meet you.
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+ New episodes of my music podcast “Attention Engineer”are released every Wednesday – visit this page to find out more and subscribe via your favourite podcast platform.
At the end of last week, I was invited to write a piece sharing an artist’s perspective on a harsh new scheme to charge musicians to perform their own work during live-streams, the “small online live concert licence”.
Great news – just hours later, PRS (the organisation who collects royalties on musical works in the UK) have made a U-turn. Power to the people.
In this time of international crisis, it’s been interesting to see how organisations choose to operate. Non-famous musicians are generally paid unfairly for our work, and there have always been vultures circling, but it was a low blow when the government glibly told us to “retrain” last year. Now PRS, without troubling themselves to consult members, are imposing harsh new measures to tithe us for the exploitation of our own work via their new “small online live concert licence”.
I think it’s important to remember what we’re dealing with here. My job as an artist, songwriter and producer is to pluck ideas from thin air, sculpting soundscapes from my imagination and wrapping stories tightly inside, forging a master key which has the potential to unlock the emotions of complete strangers. It’s a bonkers thing to do, and very hard to put into words, but its indefinability is part of its beauty. Nowhere is this magic more potent than in the atmosphere of a live performance, where musicians and music fans collide to create a beautiful, unique community for one night only.
I’ve always been keen to transcend the limits of the £50 support slot to connect with people further afield, so alongside regular touring I started live-streaming shows in 2013. I knew I had fans around the world who I’d never be able to play for otherwise, not to mention people with kids, irregular shift patterns, disabilities, financial burdens, physical safety concerns and any number of other issues that would prevent us from spending time together in the same room.
It wasn’t easy – the technology was clunky and confusing and things went wrong a lot. But it was worth it. For me, being an artist is about helping. A live performance is a gift I can give to someone who finds my work emotionally resonant, as well as something that benefits me. We’re all searching for moments where we feel our work is meaningful, a little boost onwards to write the next song, the next album, the next hopeful email. It’s almost nothing to do with money, though of course we also, quite reasonably, hope to be paid for our art.
When the pandemic hit last spring, streaming technology had developed to such a point that it was relatively easy for musicians to jump online and start giving of themselves to people who needed solace and connection. It was beautiful to see this generosity taking place, and to read that audience members valued this so highly.
The past 10 months have been hard on everyone. The loss of life has been devastating, the sacrifices made by keyworkers humbling, the toll on our mental health impossible to gauge. The live events industry is on its knees, artists like myself are receiving minimal or no government support, and we’re all dealing with issues around isolation, depression, existential fear and anxiety yet somehow – somehow, some artists have worked to maintain and nurture the precious connections between ourselves and our fans, this vital bridge that reminds us all that we’re not alone, that gives us hope for brighter days.
Artists have always been great at adapting and innovating – but now, at a time when many of us have lost our incomes, we’re being punished for it from the most unlikely places.
I respect copyright – hey, I still harbour hopes the songs I send out into the world will one day race home brandishing a meaningful paycheque – but justify to me the Kafka-esque scenario where not only am I the song’s creator, master rights owner and performer but the show’s venue, promoter, lighting/sound/visual technician and publicist. Before my gig even takes place, I have to pay a fixed fee – more than double what it would cost if my gig was taking place in a venue – to an external body who will supposedly pay it back to me, as the composer, in the future (minus their cut, of course). Is this the Orwellian future we were warned about?
PRS need to remember they don’t deal in pounds and pence, numbers on a spreadsheet, projected sales and ticket prices. They deal in people – those who delve deep to create the magic, and those who sustain it with open hearts and financial generosity. Whatever needs to be done to protect this relationship must be done, or we face a far darker future than the one we’re currently living through.
Congratulations and thanks to all the organisations who lobbied for this ridiculous rule to be overturned – The FAC, Musicians Union, Music Venue Trust and more.
Now we can all get back to the business of trying to stay afloat during a global pandemic.
+ New episodes of my music podcast “Attention Engineer”are released every Wednesday – visit this page to find out more and subscribe via your favourite podcast platform.
