A song for the introverts, for the bruised hearts, for the blushing ones fed up with holding it all inside.
Sometimes the past wonāt let us go, but if we turn and face it, we can take action to dull the blows. We can heal ourselves.
This is a call to tell our stories ā to ourselves and others. Our voices matter.
I wrote this song in one day in October 2023. Sometimes a song falls from the sky, and my job is to catch hold of it and nurture it.
This song helped heal me. Now itās yours.
THANK YOU.
VIDEO CREDITS Directed and shot by Laura Kidd at The Carousel, Nottingham, and edited in The Launchpad. Additional filming and warm support by Tim Bailey.
SONG CREDITS Written, produced, performed, and recorded by Laura Kidd in The Launchpad, Nottingham. Piano by Jay Chakravorty. Drums by Max Saidi. Mixed by Chris Sheldon. Mastered by Katie Tavini.
HUGEST THANKS to The Correspondent’s Club. I can’t do this without you xxx
LYRICS
When did the light fade out of your eyes? When did the life drain out of mine? Now when the storm comes Iām ready to run How do you explain what weāve become?
Just wait Donāt leave yet Donāt second guess
Iām not the life of the party Iām the light, Iām the light, Iām the light
I dream of a birthday – on my birthday Chocolate cake in my hands – donāt take my hand The gentlest fiction for my crash land
It shouldnāt surprise me – you surprise me The mess that weāre in – this mess weāre in Cos if itās not raining itās threatening – is threatening
Donāt leave Youāre never known me Just listen
Iām not the life of the party Iām the light, Iām the light, Iām the light
Where did the love go out of your kiss? Why does it always come back to this?
Iām not the life of the party Iām the light, Iām the light Iām not the life of the party Iām the light, Iām the light Iām not the life of the party Iām the light, Iām the light Iām the light
š My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories”Ā is available to order NOWĀ 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).
ā¤ļøĀ Join The Correspondent’s ClubĀ on PatreonĀ 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)
Itās two years since my collaboration album āOne In A Thousandā topped the Official UK Independent Albums Chart, and I have something to tell you.
Something strange and magical happens when people come together to make music. Thereās an unexplainable connection that means the songs written could never have existed without exactly those people being involved, at exactly that time and in exactly that way.
Thatās what Obey Robots is. And hereās what we made.
How it happened
Iāve been a solo artist since 2010, with my sixth album due out six weeks today. After playing in lots of bands as a teen and in my 20ās, I decided I wanted to explore my own inner world without compromising with multiple other people, and itās been a really fun creative adventure.
In 2019 Rat (the guitarist from Nedās Atomic Dustbin) came across the video for my song āDrown Me Outā on YouTube. He was spending some time recording his guitar ideas with Miles Hunt of The Wonder Stuff, and asked Miles if heād heard of me. āSheās a friendā1, M replied, before introducing us by email.
As you can imagine, I was beyond delighted to discover that the songs Iād been putting out into the world since 2010 had impressed one of my favourite guitarists. We decided to see what we could make together and, building on his brilliant source material, I wrote and produced the songs that became āOne In A Thousandā, emailing each new finished section to Rat over email to ever more enthusiastic responses.
Fun fact: Iāll never forget cutting up the āPorcupineā guitar riff, layering instruments and vocals to make a spiky song and then completely forgetting to send it to Rat for a few weeks. But it was worth the wait š¦
How it went
Every time I finish an album I hope that it will go and do *something* in the world, but I never know what that *something* will be.
āOne In A Thousandā was the first time I totally gave up on trying to get reviews and radio play, because I knew that talking directly to music fans was all I was interested in spending my energy on. And after his major label experiences, I know Rat was excited by the DIY nature of the way Iāve been doing things since first sharing my music online in 2009. He was fully on board, and I worked very hard with the release to make sure his trust in me was not misplaced!
I hoped āOne In A Thousandā would have an impact, but we could never have predicted the warm wave of support that we received. October 2022 to March 2023 was a very exciting time, and thatās all down to the generous support of music fans.
Our totally independently produced and released record went to #14 in the Official UK Albums Chart and #1 in the Official Independent Albums Chart ā and we have the trophies to prove it.
What the heck?!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH ā¤ļø
So, whatās next?
Every time someone asks when the next Obey Robots album is coming out, or when weāre going to tour, itās a huge compliment. Thank you.
It feels like the right moment to say that neither of these things are currently happening. We never planned to tour, and we never planned to start a band.
Rat is developing some music with another collaborator, which Iām excited to cheer on from the sidelines, and as you may have picked up from this post, my whole life is about making albums into the long-distant future.
We both hope āOne In A Thousandā continues to find its audience into the future. Iām so proud of what we made. Massive thanks always to Milo for putting us in touch, and to Rat for the YouTube binge that brought us together, and the wonderful guitar demos!
š My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories”Ā is available to order NOWĀ 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).
ā¤ļøĀ Join The Correspondent’s ClubĀ on PatreonĀ 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. Iām way overdue recording my album, and Iām feeling determined.
One afternoon, in the middle of working out guitars parts for a song called āIn The Light Sometimesā, a new picked pattern emerges. I feel a surge of energy. Iām 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 ā easy for you to say, I thought.
Iām 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, āInspiration finds you workingā (thanks, Picasso).
š My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories”Ā is available to order NOWĀ 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).
ā¤ļøĀ Join The Correspondent’s ClubĀ on PatreonĀ 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 donāt 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 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]ā¦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 thereās 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 donāt get 100K views in 5 minutes (!), I have to be okay with that. I have to be able to keep going.
Iāve done this for long enough to know that simply getting to keep doing it is the real goal.
And itās certainly not just about finding new people to listen. My ābigā 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 āplayā.
Thatās ok. Itās 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 Ā£200 to make: studio hire, two costumes, props and lunch. I did my own hair and makeup, set up my own shots and didnāt 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.
š My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories”Ā is available to order NOWĀ 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).
ā¤ļøĀ Join The Correspondent’s ClubĀ on PatreonĀ 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)
It could have been so great. They could have been heroes. But no. The internet made us disconnected, but theyāre on another planet.
Maybe it was always like this, only now we can tune in at any time of day and hear the details. We watch, open-mouthed, as they get away with it. Criminal activity, noxious views, obscene gestures ā anything goes when you have all the money in the world and a platform to spew from.
Living in a permanent state of cognitive dissonance is exhausting. Let’s disobey, let off steam, take care of each other and never, ever, give up.
VIDEO CREDITS Directed and shot by Laura Kidd at The Createry, Nottingham, edited in The Launchpad. Additional filming and alien wrangling by Tim Bailey.
SONG CREDITS Written, produced, performed, and recorded by Laura Kidd in The Launchpad, Nottingham. Drums by Max Saidi. Mixed by Chris Sheldon. Mastered by Katie Tavini.
HUGEST THANKS to The Correspondent’s Club. I can’t do this without you xxx
LYRICS
Spaceman Floating in your tin can Furious at everyone Will you go straight for the gun? Coulda woulda shoulda done Still you go Straight for the gun
Are we ecstatic or just numb? Pushing through the bodies as we run Boil the water slowly so we forget to scream Pick out the wrong side So we can just fight
Spacequeen Louder than you should have been Blowing it to smithereens Still you go Straight for the gun āUnbelievable scenesā Cos you go Straight for the gun
Are we ecstatic or just numb? Pushing through the bodies as we run Boil the water slowly so we forget to scream Pick out the wrong side So we can just fight
Itās too late Let your lies drag you under Tell me what you want now Can you tell me? Tell me what you want now Youāve got nothing to say anyway Tell me what you want now Itās all so strange, strange, strange Tell me what you want now Youāve got nothing to say Nothing to say Nothing to say
Spaceman Could have been the biggest bang But you go Straight for the gun Are we ecstatic or just numb? Pushing through the bodies as we run Boil the water slowly so we forget to scream
Pick out the wrong side So we can just fight Pick out the wrong side So we can just fight Pick out the wrong side So we can just fight
š My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories”Ā is available to order NOWĀ 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).
ā¤ļøĀ Join The Correspondent’s ClubĀ on PatreonĀ 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 sheād 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 sheās just been fired from her job and she doesnāt care. She says sheās going to try and get an internship at a record label.
Itās not an interesting video on its own. She gives no context and no details. Thereās no resolution, no takeaway. If you donāt know her, and youāre in an impatient mood, youād likely shrug and say āandā¦?ā
But thatās not the point ā she wasnāt trying to ādoā 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, Iād seen it pop up another 10 times around the internet.
Weird.
Two nights ago, I started reading āManifestā by Roxie Nafousi, a cheerful orange hardback thatās 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 ā 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 Iād 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 youāre currently maintaining.
A few months after our conversation was published, Bec was announced as the host of a new kidsā TV crafting show. It didnāt happen to her out of the blue ā 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 Iād already started vibrating at a higher frequency? (I didnāt see the date til Iād 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 donāt 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 didnāt 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.Ā A pandemic was right around the corner. Iād started running twice a week, and was making my third and final bid to complete the famous Julia Cameron book āThe Artistās Wayā (I did it!). Iād 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, Iām working out of a different colourful attic studio in Nottingham. Iām still doing my thing, maintaining my 5-years-ago-me dream.Ā And what a gift! Itās still one of my current-me dreams, but I know that Iāve put any future-me dreams on hold to keep the wheels turning.
Itās time to start making some new plans. Itās 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?
Iāll never forget a post I saw a few years ago that read: āItās not manifesting: itās white privilegeā.
Iāll carry that reminder with me. Itās important to check ourselves.
But Iām still going to dream big, because I exist too, and I can be more helpful to everyone when Iām vibrating at a higher frequency.
Iām 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?
Letās dream big together. Letās 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 Iām making, and he can absolutely do one.
2) Iād somehow confused the words āinfiniteā and āinfinitesimalā, which are basically opposites, and the sting of embarrassment is too fresh in my mind to consider reposting it.
š My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories”Ā is available to order NOWĀ 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).
ā¤ļøĀ Join The Correspondent’s ClubĀ on PatreonĀ 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, weāre opening a can of worms and inviting them to crawl all over us and our painfully exposed vulnerabilities.
Some of these āwormsā2 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 āwormsā, even though itās a clever metaphor, because they are the ones who keep the wheels turning. I wouldnāt have a job without them. They might be YOU. Thank you!
Youāre a name, not a worm-ber.
Receiving positive messages about your work is life-affirming and galvanising.
āMy work will find its audienceā, 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 youāve 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 Iām 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 doesnāt 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 isnāt 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, youāre a ātattooed slutā becauseā¦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 āmotherfuckerā 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 peoplesā perhaps-hidden experiences of the same or worse, written because thatās the song that wanted to be written that day and it turned into a bona fide banger7, I both swore and showed (justified) anger.
Itās 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 thatās where they had to go.
Oh, and because artists can and should do whatever the hell they want in their work8, because thatās 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?
Itās annoying, because I share things on the internet in search of actual human connection. Iām not hunting digital applause, requesting smoke be blown up my arse10 or hankering for a viral moment. Please PLEASE no.
Itās a shame that when I see a Facebook notification I automatically cringe, assuming itās going to be something awful, because thatās 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:
ā 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 ā
OR
ā 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
ā 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 canāt honestly say Iād have been amused at this exchange, but I like to think Iāve 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 didnāt 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 Iām a real life human being ā not a team of people or robots ā 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 āHouse Of Storiesā in April, I definitely donāt have time for this shit13.
Hereās my current thinking on neggy comments from HUUIGs14. I hope it helps.
Itās unrealistic to think that everyone who comes across your stuff online is going to love it and gush at you about it, and honestly wouldnāt 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 donāt 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 Iād planned to be doing which is usually making stuff15. Others are not so strong.
Others donāt 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 donāt 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. Thereās no way of knowing what situation the sender is in, mentally or physically. And thatās good, because I donāt need to know youāre on the loo writing me a message, whether itās a nice one or a nasty one. But itās also bad, because if you could tell the difference between someone being nasty to you because theyāre 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 theyāre not tiny are they, theyāre 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. Youāre great!
Iām not telling you any of this to justify myself to Bob my latest HUUIG17. Iām telling you this to remind you that YOU donāt have to justify yourself to Bob any HUUIG18 (or, fine, HUUIP19 ā though in my experience theyāre always Gās) who decides to send a comment death ray your way.
Youāre 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 ofā¦
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.
Thatās exactly what I did with my new single āEmotional Touristā aka the āmotherfuckerā song, and OH THE IRONY of receiving a list of the things someone doesnāt like about me:
š My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories”Ā is available to order NOWĀ 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).
ā¤ļøĀ Join The Correspondent’s ClubĀ on PatreonĀ 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 SethāsĀ Social Media Escape ClubĀ 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 itās always better to put any energy I can muster into writing pieces like this, emailing my lovely subscribers or doing almost anything else.Ā
Yesterday I was weak, and I commented on a companyās Instagram reel about how they should have hired a person to do the voiceover instead of shitty AI. Iām not perfect, but IĀ amĀ right.
Last Wednesday I releasedĀ āEmotional Touristā, my first new song in two years and the first single from my seventh solo albumĀ āHouse Of Storiesā.
Itās 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 andĀ āI didnāt even think to screamā.
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 youāre told by your chosen person that the thing you do best, that you care about the most, is a grubby endeavour ā that can be tough to shake, even if it never quite rang true.
Come onā¦Iām a songwriter, not a tabloid journalist.
The thing is, every one of the 77 songs Iāve 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 Ā£Ā£s crafting my thoughts and feelings into a song to share with other people.
Itās notĀ notĀ 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 itĀ isĀ a new thing for me to share so bluntly the real-life events1Ā 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. Youāre smart; you donāt need me to over-explain them. At a certain point, theyāre not even about me any more.
In the case of āEmotional Touristā, though, it felt important to explain that theĀ āsmoke in the houseāĀ isnāt a metaphor for me. It can be, and hopefully is, for everyone else hearing the song ā and that goes for every factual snippet from my life that I bury in the poetry of my lyrics.
āIn the particular is contained the universalā, wrote James Joyce to a friend. I agree. Unfortunately, the particular type of situation I was in isnāt an unusual one. Thatās why I made it into a song, and why Iām writing about it outside of the lyrics.
The song has been publicly available for 8 days, and Iāve 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 ā and immersing myself in art created by others ā has helped heal me so many times Iāve lost count.
Every day since releasing the song, the video andĀ this piece detailing what the song is really about, Iāve wondered if Iāll hear from that person, or from his family.Ā What would they say? What would I say?
I donāt think what Iāve done is wrong. I donāt 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 āEmotional Touristā online last week, describing it asĀ āan infectious, rightfully scathingĀ (I remember the guy)Ā yet beautifully melodic synth-rock-pop song that should be a dead cert for the drive-time radio A-listā. That was a real boost, thank you Ben2.Ā
Because, yeah, itās uncomfortable to extract something so personal, reversing the abstraction from poetry to prose. But when I feel nervous about something, thinking maybe it is ā or indeedĀ I amĀ āĀ ātoo muchā, I remember being told so bluntly thatĀ āI shouldnāt write about whatās realāĀ and I think about the ways we make ourselves small for other people, and I thinkĀ āfuck youāĀ and I make, write or share the thing.
I am thankful and grateful and all the -fuls for the secure, happy, nourishing relationship Iāve 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, itās my job to continually fill the well of creativity so thereās 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 wasnāt.
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.
Thatās why I decided making my new album āHouse Of Storiesā 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 donāt think they were in any way at fault and/or donāt remember what happened.
I make sad songs to make you feel betterā¢3, and Iām happy to report they makeĀ meĀ 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 āHouse Of StoriesāĀ is available to order NOWĀ 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:
š My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories”Ā is available to order NOWĀ 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).
ā¤ļøĀ Join The Correspondent’s ClubĀ on PatreonĀ 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)
TW: domestic violence, emotional abuse, general motherf*&kery. Honest, not graphic, but go easy, friend x
Yesterday I released my first new song in two years; the first single from my seventh solo album āHouse Of Storiesā.
It was accompanied by my 26th homemade music video, shot in my front room last weekend, where the current version of me (very wise indeed) educates my younger self (less wise, more glittery) on a few key matters.
Turns out, wearing a lab coat makes me feel āand look ā EXTREMELY clever:
The song is called āEmotional Touristā, and itās a fierce, wonky indie anthem / banger1 about my absolute right as an artist ā and human ā to tell my story.
When I write it down like that, so plainly, it seems so obvious. I believe we all have that right, and would uphold and encourage it forever and a day for anyone else. And yet, like the proverbial frog in a pot of gradually boiling water, Iāve found myself in situations over the years where this became very not-obvious to me.
With hindsight, itās easy to dismiss the petulant ejaculations of a frustrated person as so much absolute bullshit. In the moment, mired in the relationship, itās far more confusing when someone who supposedly loves you spends their valuable time on this planet making you feel crap.
When you choose to spend most of your time with this supposedly special someone, the things they say can start to get inside your head and form a new reality.
When your special someone tells you that you shouldnāt call yourself an āartistā because you donāt have a fine art degree, that sounds faintly ridiculous, even in the moment. But theyāre really upset about this, and they do have a fine art degree, and you donāt, and maybe that is a qualification that gives you the right to call yourself an artist. What do I know? I just make stuff up and send it out into the world. Iām confused, and I really donāt want to argue about this any more.
When your special someone ostentatiously storms out of your live performance in a quiet basement venue, at the end of a night put on to honour your music- and video-making with a screening and Q&A, and they tell you when you get home later they ādonāt like it when people look at you on stageā, that is pretty weird. Itās easy to clap back āWell, Iāve been doing this since I was 13, and Iāve known you for 2 yearsā. But it doesnāt stop the feeling that maybe this is too much to put on someone else, this artist life – oops, I shouldnāt use the a-word. Sorry.
Maybe it is horribly selfish to mine your life experiences for lyrics, as he describes it, and maybe I am a shitty person, and should shut up and find something kinder to do with my time. Maybe I should be paying for everything, as he suggests. And maybe it isarrogant and strange to stand on a stage and play music to people. I just never looked at it that way before.
When your special someone repeatedly comments on your appearance, your weight, your attractiveness, and the way you making more money than them isnāt fair, that should be a red flag red flag red flag RED FLAGGGGGGG. Simple. But you live together, and youāre trying to make things work because thatās what relationships are, right? You have to work at them. And heās probably just trying to help.
Heās my special someone! We chose each other!
Yep. Things so easily get out of hand. Red flags are much easier to spot from a distance.
There is no situation in which I should have made it okay in my brain that he threw a bottle near me.
But ā he threw it at the wall, not at me. I must have pissed him off. I was on my way out to play a gig, and he doesnāt like me doing that, remember, and somehow the conversation got out of hand, and I donāt remember exactly what I said but seemingly out of nowhere that happened, so it must have been bad.
Thank goodness I kept walking out of the house, too worried Iād miss my bus into town for soundcheck to try and figure out what had gone wrong. It was a big deal gig for me, supporting New Model Army. And it changed my life forever (but not how you think2).
I know now that I should have called the police the afternoon my house filled with smoke.
I was working upstairs in my home office, and the smoke alarm started squealing, and I started coughing, and I ran downstairs to see what was going on. Wisps of grey smoke was wafting around the living room, but I couldnāt see any flames, so I went into the kitchen and saw the oven door was open, and something inside was on fire.
In a few seconds I was able to turn the oven off, grab what I discovered to be a flaming tea towel, chuck it into the sink, turn the cold tap on, and open the back door and kitchen window to clear the room. The alarm petered out after a few minutes. Phew. Crisis averted.
But wait ā the tea towel was only singed. The fire must have only just started. Where was he? I called his name. Nothing. He definitely wasnāt upstairs. I checked the rooms downstairs. Nope.
None of this made sense.
I went and stood in the backyard, trying to clear my head.
He regularly baked bread – had the bread caught fire? (There was no sign of any bread making.)
Why was there a tea towel in the oven? Was that a bread making thing? (A tea towel in the oven is not a bread making thing.)
OK, so just a tea towel. In the oven. On fire.
And he wasnāt home?
What. The. Fuck?
ā Oh.
As the cogs slowly whirred in my brain, the smoke dissipated along with some of my mental fog. He did this on purpose.
I replayed our last conversation, something about my upcoming European tour. I was excited ā it was my first time playing my own songs outside the UK. A new friend had booked the shows for me. Boyfriend was concerned about this manās motives. I was not ā Iād met him, and he seemed sound. And anyway, from years of touring in other peoplesā bands I was well practised at being careful around strangers on the road (oh, the irony).
I was secretly thrilled to be setting out on my grand solo adventure, but I knew it was a touchy subject, so I had been downplaying the whole thing. Diminishing myself, my dreams, my achievements. Even my intelligence (I hadnāt read a novel in nearly two years).
I couldnāt work out what Iād said that could have triggered this reaction.
I donāt remember feeling frightened: Iād stopped anything bad from happening, hadnāt I! Everything was clearly FINE.
I do remember, when he shuffled back in the house half an hour later, thinking āI must be a total bitch to want to say this, and thereās no going back from this if I say it out loud, but āā right before I took a deep breath and said it.
āDid you do this on purpose?ā A curt nod.
I donāt remember there being any further explanation.
I do remember saying āOkayā and that being the end of the conversation.
I didnāt break up with him. I didnāt tell anyone.
It didnāt even cross my mind that a crime could have been committed, that I was potentially unsafe, that I should make sure someone knew what had happened. That I should, hey, go and stay somewhere else? Ask him to leave?
I think I was in survival mode. I remember thinking that I couldnāt break up with him before the tour, because he might do something to my music equipment and all my other earthly possessions, might wreck the house we were renting and cause issues with the landlord.
Isnāt it strange the way our minds work? Not once did I consider my personal safety. I didnāt think of myself as a precious thing that needed to be protected, perhaps more urgently than some guitars and microphones. I didnāt think of myself much at all.
We did break up a few weeks later, at the end of my utterly joyful European adventure tour.
He came out to meet me in Austria, and it was really weird, and we broke up twice, and when we got back to London I refused to return to Bristol with him and went and stayed with a friend for a few days (thank you forever, C).
Eventually I went back to the house and made it very clear we had broken up for good and we both had to find somewhere new to live. I remember this ā he just shrugged. It wasnāt a simple process, but in July 2014 I moved into my own place, with my beloved Schnauzer Mister Benji, and could finally breathe ā and read ā again.
Yes, dear reader, I stayed in that house for three more months before leaving. WTAF.
Later that year I told the story to a friend, in the jokey tone I tend to adopt when I have gained some distance from weird/sad/bad events. When I stopped talking he stayed very quiet.
āAre you okay?ā I asked. He was visibly shaking. He was furious.
It was only then I realised the gravity of the situation Iād ended up in. It was only then the phrase āattempted murderā was mentioned. It still seemed entirely unbelievable to me. A misunderstanding. An exaggeration. A story no-one would believe. Sure, heād tried to make a fire, but it hadnāt worked! Iād put it out!
It took a while to reprogram my brain after that, to remind myself that making sense of my life and my place in the world through art making, music making and writing was an entirely valid way to spend my time. That it wasnāt selfish to share my work ā that, in fact, it could be an act of generosity.
My story – my version of events, my reaction to factual things that happened, my emotions, my thoughtful reflections on actions perpetrated against me – that is mine and mine alone.
My story is MY story. The other person/s present will have their own version of events, and they have every right to make their own artwork3 about that.
I say this as a reminder to YOU, friend. Your stories matter, too. You never know who you could help by sharing them.
āDirection Of Travelā (recorded in late 2014) was bleak, chilly and very sad. And over the years, many people have emailed me to say it helped them through their own hard times. Iām glad I processed those thoughts into music.
Nearly 11 years on from the events above, I continue to reserve the right to write songs about whatever I damn well please, alongside striving to be a warm-hearted, kind and empathetic human being.
My last three albums āBrace For Impactā, āExotic Monstersā and āOne In A Thousandā necessarily became more outward-looking than my first three, first because Iām a mature adult woman and because having a wonderfully supportive and happy home life doesnāt make for sad-song fodder (thanks, Tim!).
My upcoming album āHouse Of Storiesā deals with events from my past that refuse to stay there. Itās my attempt to make something beautiful and hopefully helpful out of some really shitty situations, stabbing some bad memories in the eye with the blade of truth. A celebration of wisdom and experience, and a reminder of our own personal power to change our internal and external worlds.
But no, of course my life is not a research project for funneling other peoplesā mistakes into songs ā in fact, in my previous solo incarnation as She Makes War, I spent most of the time having a go at myself rather than other people. Itās called introspection, darling.
My lifeās purpose is to write truthful, emotionally resonant music.
I donāt write sad / angry songs inspired by real events and people to target them, or to provoke a reaction. I donāt want to hear from those people ever again, and the feeling is almost certainly mutual. Itās not so plain, anyway: most of the time thereās no way someone could point at a song and claim it was about them without sounding very arrogant indeed. Itās MY story, remember ā not theirs.
I very rarely choose to swear in lyrics ā there are usually better words to use ā but if you do decide to act like a motherf*&ker, I might just call you one in a song.
ĀÆ\_(ć)_/ĀÆ
Love, Laura xxx
PS my new Penfriend album āHouse Of Storiesā 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).
PPPS this was a long one – if you got this far you deserve a treat. Go and treat yourself, youāre ace!
The rule is, if someone else (who isnāt a friend or my husband) calls my song an āanthemā or a ābangerā, then Iām allowed to call it that too. Thatās just science.
That was the night I met the man who I would marry 3.5 years later. He ran the venue. Iād heard of him, even emailed him to ask for an opening slot for Shellac (he said no). It was all very professional ā we just said hi after the show ā but months later he told me he had beenĀ āintriguedāĀ that night, and as soon as we started dating we became inseparable.
10 years later we are still inseparable, and it wasnāt until that relationship began that I learned that the āmaking it workā thing Iād been doing consistently with various unsuitable persons from the age of 16 was not the correct approach.
š My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories”Ā is available to order NOWĀ 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).
ā¤ļøĀ Join The Correspondent’s ClubĀ on PatreonĀ 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)
Songs can mend moments. Art stretches time, giving me a chance to walk back into the room and say what I wouldacouldashoulda. Giving me the power to walk out.
āEmotional Touristā is a fiery anthem* for anyone whoās suffered at the hands of bullies, creeps and narcissists. Fielding comments – or worse – on your appearance, your weight, your life choices. Painted into a corner by politeness, with an inability to believe someone could truly be that awful – and be doing it on purpose, too.
Just me? Sadly not.
11 years ago, faced with my soon-to-be-exās final attempts to extinguish my creativity I did manage to get out, but there was no blaze of glory. Real life is usually quieter than that.
I know I’m one of the lucky ones.
āEmotional Touristā is a chance for me to rewrite my story in that blaze of glory – 3 minutes 40 seconds of foot-stomping, fist-wielding synth rock.
Because when events from the past refuse to stay there, the only thing to do as a songwriter is stab them in the eye with the blade of truth.
āYou reap what you sow.ā
* PS: my rule on such bragging is: if someone else (who isn’t a friend and doesn’t live with me) calls the song an anthem, I can call the song an anthem…
VIDEO CREDITS Directed, shot and edited by Laura Kidd.
Additional filming and warmest encouragement from Tim Bailey, my actual hero (can you spot his lovely face near the end of the video?)
Paper house crafted by LK, with a cameo from the Christmas tree fairy Sarah-Jane Osborne made for me a few years ago, when I went by the name She Makes War. Thank you, S-J!
PS I’m playing my beloved Reverend Double Agent OG in this video.
SONG CREDITS Written, produced, performed, and recorded by Laura Kidd in The Launchpad, Nottingham. Drums by Max Saidi. Mixed by Chris Sheldon. Mastered by Katie Tavini.
HUGEST THANKS to The Correspondent’s Club. I can’t do this without you xxx
LYRICS
You think Iām an emotional tourist But you donāt know how deep I go Holding tight, but Iām lost in this forest And thereās no sign of my hero So I guess Iāll just sleep in the snow
Itās like this – The lure of a late night kiss A situation that shouldnāt exist Now Iām trapped in a house in the humdrum With a cut-price narcissist – Now Iām trapped in a house with a poisoned mind
He tells me to give up my dream The thing Iāve wanted since I was 13 Or Iām not on his team Now thereās smoke in the house And I didnāt even think to scream
You reap what you sow, motherfucker / lazy lover Go Go, go
You think Iām an emotional tourist But you donāt know how deep I go Holding tight, but Iām lost in this forest And thereās no sign of my hero So I guess Iāll just sleep in the snow
Iām not finished
Thatās two years Iāll never get back Iām sick of hearing Iām too fat Iām too boring Iām too this Iām too that
He said I couldnāt make him feel That I shouldnāt write about whatās real Then he lit that match Oh well – whatās a girl to do?
You reap what you sow, motherfucker / lazy lover Go, go I hope you know You reap what you sow So go
I hope you choke
You think Iām an emotional tourist But you donāt know how deep I go Holding tight, but Iām lost in this forest And thereās no sign of my hero So I guess Iāll just sleep in the snow I guess Iāll just sleep in the snow
You think Iām an emotional tourist But you donāt know how deep I go Holding tight, but Iām lost in this forest And thereās no sign of my hero So I guess Iāll just sleep And you can just weep in the snow
š My new Penfriend album “House Of Stories”Ā is available to order NOWĀ 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).
ā¤ļøĀ Join The Correspondent’s ClubĀ on PatreonĀ 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)