When you wake at 6.32am on a Sunday and can’t think of anything you’d rather do than sneak quietly up to the attic to play with your new piece of music gear, you know you’re onto something.
I find myself in a new music-making experimentation phase. I watch videos and read message boards about hooking up synthesizers and drum machines to my new MPC Live 2 1 via MIDI.
Late one night I purchase and download three packs of distorted drum breaks 2. They sound delicious.
I find myself suddenly eager to really get to grips with all the hardware that sits in my studio, chain it all together and “jam” (a word and state I have hitherto eschewed entirely. No, I do not want to “jam” with you).
I start working systematically through the brilliant “MPC Bible” 3, noting down things I want to be able to do and eagerly awaiting the chapters that will help me do them. I am being patient for once. I am reading the manual for once. I want to do this well.
I’m not thinking about how I can turn any of this into music for my next solo record: I’m just in the lab. Action is more important than results.
Yesterday I sampled several old recordings from my phone: a sheep baa-ing, a goat goat-ing and me softly singing “doo-doo-di-doo”.
After I hit publish this afternoon I will turn those samples into instruments, creating chords. No, sh-ords 4. NO, GHORDS! 5
I find a new favourite YouTuber: Jon Makes Beats 6. I like him because he invites us to spend time watching him make something from start to finish. These are the sorts of videos I’ve always wanted to make, but haven’t got round to…yet.
Jon has gravitas, and his deep emotional understanding of making art through sound comes through in everything he uploads. He is comfortable, unapologetic, kind, welcoming. I find his videos immensely comforting.
I’ve been finding everything tricky recently, but throwing myself into something different is helping. In the weeks between my Gran passing away and her funeral, I was unable to plan out my next week of creative work, let alone the next 3 months, let alone actually embark on any of the work itself.
After last Thursday’s funeral I’m not suddenly fine. Of course not. But yesterday, between self-propelled MPC lessons, I plotted out what the rest of the year could look like in the world of my music project Penfriend. I don’t know why 7, but I just felt like it, and now the chaos feels a little less chaotic.
I have so much I want to make all the time, and it’s always frustrating that I can’t make all of it. For a while I haven’t felt able to make any of it. But I’m starting to believe that I might be able to make some of it very soon. And that’s a huge improvement.
Share your tips on finding forward motion in the comments, please – I need them!
My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books. Music fans got it to #2 in the Official UK Independent Album Chart in April 2025. Bonkers!
Join The Correspondent’s Clubon Patreon to receive quarterly bundles of art and members-only music plus extra perks + immediate access to my entire digital archive (digital and analogue memberships available)
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?
Reach for the turtles.
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.
When in Napoli…espresso!
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 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?
The Launchpad: BEFOREThe Launchpad: AFTER
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.
“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.
My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books. Music fans got it to #2 in the Official UK Independent Album Chart in April 2025. Bonkers!
Join The Correspondent’s Clubon Patreon to receive quarterly bundles of art and members-only music plus extra perks + immediate access to my entire digital archive (digital and analogue memberships available)
Last Saturday 31st 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.
Photo by Ania Shrimpton
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 1st 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 44th 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.
31/5/25 – Rae Dowling
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.
31/5/25 – Rae Dowling
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.
My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books. Music fans got it to #2 in the Official UK Independent Album Chart in April 2025. Bonkers!
Join The Correspondent’s Clubon Patreon to receive quarterly bundles of art and members-only music plus extra perks + immediate access to my entire digital archive (digital and analogue memberships available)
On Friday 25th April 2025 my seventh solo album “House Of Stories” reached #2 in the Official UK Independent Albums Chart.
I recorded and released the album from my attic home studio The Launchpad in Nottingham through emails, social media posts and Facebook ads. No manager/label/press/radio.
This sort of thing shouldn’t really be possible. Music fans are absolutely amazing.
The next day I walked out of an art workshop in floods of tears and stood by a lake watching a Eurasian Coot dive for treasure to make a nest with. The plucky little bird dove and dove, bringing up all sorts of interesting bits and bobs clasped in its beak. A slice of slippery algae, bright green; a thin branch three times its width; a clot of unidentified mush dripping with water. Sure in its choices, the bird added each new piece of treasure to a floating mass, then swam away in a big circle, returning to dive – collect – add, dive – collect – add.
I was fully aware of the metaphor at the time, but it didn’t get me back inside the building.
I wasn’t ready to dive back into my memories to create a map for an art workshop, however engaging and fun the facilitator was (and she was), and however supportive the environment was (and it was). The well was empty of stories; I had only tears to give.
I didn’t want to make a scene, so I left quietly to cry it out, calm down and return to class. But I couldn’t calm down, and I couldn’t return.
Younger Me would have been horribly embarrassed; Current Day Me knows when she’s in the wrong place and gets out as fast as possible, as politely as possible. Current Day Me does not hide the tears. Current Day Me cannot hide the tears.
The Sleeper song “What Do I Do Now?” popped into my head when I started thinking about writing this, even though only the title is relevant. It’s a brilliant song, much loved to this day by me, but I’m lucky that being stuck in a bad or confusing relationship is not my current experience.
Gratitude is a helpful emotion to centre at times like these.
My current experience is a mix of emotions. I’m not trying too hard to figure it out; it feels smarter to just let the feelings wash over and through me while trying to get back into good healthy habits and making semi-sensible plans for future creativity.
I don’t know if there are any songs about this particular feeling of post-big-project comedown, because whenever I’m in one I’m not really up for writing a song about it and, later on, in reflective songwriting mood, I can already project that I will find the topic far too mundane / indulgent / entitled to reference.
After the Big Chart News I had some dinner at home and went to bed. I had been sleeping terribly in the weeks leading up to the album release, which is very unusual for me, and that may have influenced what happened with the art workshop and the incessant crying.
I felt much better when the requirement to suddenly create something new was removed. Tim took me home and we sat on the sofa together. The following week we went on holiday to Naples, and had our minds blown by the busy, colourful, gritty city.
Now I’m back, somewhat rested, and I have to keep going. Because that’s the goal.
I make music and share it so I can keep making music. I make videos and I write to share my experiences as part of my creative practice, which is what drives me to continue making music.
It’s weird how you can focus so intensely on something for so long – in this case a full year, pretty much – and then it feels so suddenly over and done with. The album only came out four weeks ago, and it did really, amazingly well, but now it feels like there’s zero interest in the new songs, everyone’s moved on to something else, and I have to quickly summon up new things to share.
Of course I don’t have to do anything1 – but as an artist I get to do whatever I feel like doing. And that’s a gift, and I am grateful.
I last wrote a new song last July – “Space, Man”. I don’t want to let it be a full year til I write another one. So, I won’t!
I mean, I do – this dream job is my only job, and I have to continually figure out how to keep making ends meet, and that’s not always a given – but in this context I mean no-one is forcing me to make songs or market them and it’s a great privilege to get to do so x ↩︎
My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books. Music fans got it to #2 in the Official UK Independent Album Chart in April 2025. Bonkers!
Join The Correspondent’s Clubon Patreon to receive quarterly bundles of art and members-only music plus extra perks + immediate access to my entire digital archive (digital and analogue memberships available)
As I type these words, the results are in. It’s 5.51pm and I’ve been ignoring the internet all day, knowing that at some point a number will be assigned to my new album. It may well have been published somewhere online already, or is about to be.
So I thought I’d write to you before I read that number. Because, as I wrote to my Correspondent’s Club members this morning:
“We are not defined by things outside our control but by what we put into the world and how we carry ourselves. And I feel good about both of those things today.”
HUGEST thank you for your support and encouragement not only in this hectic week of album releasing, but since you first came across my work. It makes a huge difference knowing I have a friendly group of music fans to share my songs, words and videos with. You are appreciated.
Whatever numbers I read in a few minutes won’t change my belief in the album I shared with you last Friday, and the energy I have for continuing to create experiences around the songs on “House Of Stories”.
As I sang in “Emotional Tourist”: “I’m not finished”.
An album release is a new beginning, not just for those songs starting to find their homes in peoples’ lives and hearts, but for me to start the second hero’s journey of sharing them with people outside this lovely circle.
If you fancy helping me with that, I’ve created a webpage which gathers the album, videos and blog posts all in one handy place to easily share it with new people: http://penfriend.rocks/house-of-stories
Thank you!
Last time I put a record out (in 2023) it took so much out of me that I slumped into a long period where I didn’t write anything new. I’m not letting that happen this time.
Earlier this week I started excavating my piano from being surrounded by boxes of junk, and this morning I got myself set up to receive musical messages again. It feels good.
“Keep the channel open”, said Martha Graham. Too right.
I’m excited to keep sharing my new album “House Of Stories” with you in fun and creative ways over the coming weeks and months, but alongside that I’m commencing experiments for solo album 7.
#2 in the Independent Albums Chart #2 in the Downloads Chart #4 in the Album Sales Chart #10 in the CD Albums Chart #11 in the Vinyl Albums Chart #11 in the Scottish Albums Chart #74 in the Official Albums Chart
And…it’s the fourth-highest charting new entry this week.
Wow.
THANK YOU. You did this!
Now: go and have a lovely weekend. You deserve it.
My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books. Music fans got it to #2 in the Official UK Independent Album Chart in April 2025. Bonkers!
Join The Correspondent’s Clubon Patreon to receive quarterly bundles of art and members-only music plus extra perks + immediate access to my entire digital archive (digital and analogue memberships available)
I’ve had several messages this week from people who want to support their local independent record shop and buy “House Of Stories” there – a lovely idea! – but in this case please support your local independent artist and buy direct from me
WHY LAURA, WHYYYYY???
Between 2018 and 2024 I did have my records in shops, placed there through a distributor, but due to limited space it’s super competitive trying to get them to stock even 1 or 2 copies…plus they obviously have to charge quite a lot for stocking it and selling it to you.
Printing beautiful vinyl costs me £££££, so the whole thing just wasn’t working out – especially when you were hearing about the records direct from me in the first place!
As a 100% independent artist with no job or funding outside of direct-to-fan record sales and my subscription club, I do everything I can to create beautiful music and merch collections to give the best experience of my work possible, while also paying for everything to be made in the first place. Without pre-orders for “House Of Stories”, there would have been no vinyl, no CDs, no anything else.
Last year I made the decision to quit my physical distribution deal and go back to only selling my music direct. Hello there!
WHY NOW???
All physical sales made by 7.30pm today count towards the Official UK Albums Chart result tomorrow, and all digital purchases made until 23:59 also count BUT ONLY IF YOU DOWNLOAD YOUR DOWNLOADS.
My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books. Music fans got it to #2 in the Official UK Independent Album Chart in April 2025. Bonkers!
Join The Correspondent’s Clubon Patreon to receive quarterly bundles of art and members-only music plus extra perks + immediate access to my entire digital archive (digital and analogue memberships available)
During the pandemic I remember reading an article about how one of the ways living in close proximity was changing peoples’ relationships was the lack of literal perspective. Standing close to loved ones all the time, rarely getting a chance to step back and see them as a whole person. It has an effect.
I’ve been pondering this while making and sharing music videos for my new album this year. I make my own videos: setting up lights, tripod and everything else I need to shoot, doing my best to make my weird and wonderful ideas come to life on screen, then editing them afterwards.
It’s well-discussed that working with constraints makes you more creative. 3 minutes to tell a story in sound and song. Small budgets, basic equipment, small spaces. Using only what you already have.
But it can be hard to get the feet and legs in. It can be hard to show the full person.
“Emotional Tourist” was shot in my front room, in front of a variety of backdrops. I set the camera up behind my armchair to get a decent shot, but didn’t want to show the mess on both sides, plus my backdrop didn’t go down to the ground. No feet shots possible. Dagnabbit.
I tried to change this for “Space, Man”, hiring a studio in town so I could put the camera a bit further back. But the backdrop wasn’t wide enough again, so you didn’t get to see the white socks I wore to match my inflatable space rocket. I tried.
While filming for “The Life Of The Party”, there was a weird issue with the stage lighting. I couldn’t figure out why it was giving me a totally blue, blown-out face if the camera was set back too far.
If I was calmly filming someone else I might have been able to work it out; dressed in a party frock grasping a ukulele, I did what I always do…my best.
For “In The Light Sometimes” I decided to show the whole picture.
Last summer I spent 54 days in my attic home studio, The Launchpad, recording my new album “House Of Stories”. I decided to show the whole space; the constraints I turned into creativity.
It was only after I hung my new action camera off the attic latch for the top-down shot that I realised my feet would be on video for once. And, though my slipper game is STRONG, I decided to be dead posh for once and change into some nice shoes for the occasion.
This song makes me cry. I hope you enjoy the video.
My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books. Music fans got it to #2 in the Official UK Independent Album Chart in April 2025. Bonkers!
Join The Correspondent’s Clubon Patreon to receive quarterly bundles of art and members-only music plus extra perks + immediate access to my entire digital archive (digital and analogue memberships available)
July 2024. An attic in Nottingham, UK. I’m way overdue recording my album, and I’m feeling determined.
One afternoon, in the middle of working out guitars parts for a song called “In The Light Sometimes”, a new picked pattern emerges. I feel a surge of energy. I’m excited.
Is this a new song, or just a distraction?
Years ago I heard Neil Young talk on a podcast about how when a song idea presents itself, you should drop everything and work on it. I remember scoffing at the time – easy for you to say, I thought.
I’m literally sitting at my computer with my guitar in my hand, time set aside to create a new collection of songs.
As my favourite quote goes, “Inspiration finds you working” (thanks, Picasso).
My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books. Music fans got it to #2 in the Official UK Independent Album Chart in April 2025. Bonkers!
Join The Correspondent’s Clubon Patreon to receive quarterly bundles of art and members-only music plus extra perks + immediate access to my entire digital archive (digital and analogue memberships available)
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.
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.
My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books. Music fans got it to #2 in the Official UK Independent Album Chart in April 2025. Bonkers!
Join The Correspondent’s Clubon Patreon to receive quarterly bundles of art and members-only music plus extra perks + immediate access to my entire digital archive (digital and analogue memberships available)
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:
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 woodwormwork 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 –
OR
– 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:
My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books. Music fans got it to #2 in the Official UK Independent Album Chart in April 2025. Bonkers!
Join The Correspondent’s Clubon Patreon to receive quarterly bundles of art and members-only music plus extra perks + immediate access to my entire digital archive (digital and analogue memberships available)
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.
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.
Tap to get your FREE 12-track album + 31-page PDF zine of stories, photographs and artwork here.
My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories” is available NOW on super limited vinyl, CDs and KiT hybrid digital albums, with accompanying tees, hoodies and books. Music fans got it to #2 in the Official UK Independent Album Chart in April 2025. Bonkers!
Join The Correspondent’s Club on Patreon to receive quarterly bundles of art and members-only music plus extra perks + immediate access to my entire digital archive (digital and analogue memberships available)
Listen to my first Penfriend album “Exotic Monsters” and browse my back catalogue here.
If you make things too – or want to know more about the creative process – I’m sharing thoughtful weekly essays here on my experiments in art, music and life on Substack (and I won’t be at all offended if you prefer to read my stuff there rather than on this absolutely gorgeous website).
Chat with me on Bluesky, Twitter, Instagram and Facebook.
