THE SINGER has arrived
My new album is out in the world, a collection of songs about love and end times
Today is a big deal.
My new album The Singer is out in the world. The project I have been working on like a madman in the garret has now been released. You can now listen to these songs and I hope enjoy them.
Actually fuck that, I hope for more than enjoyment. I hope they move you in some way. I hope they get stuck in your head, and you find yourself humming them in quiet moments. I hope the words I have written circle you like seagulls around a hot chip. I hope that these songs connect with the part of you that yearns for songs.
Without further ado - the plug. If you’d like to support me in the most direct and beautiful way you can buy a record or digital download from Bandcamp HERE.
I’ve written a lot about how hard this album was to put together. About how I have been grinding away at a physical day job to fund this record. About how I am a completely independent artist with no label, with nothing but my savings and my raw wits backing me.
But that whining and grovelling tone is for another newsletter. Today on its release day I’d like to talk about another thing.
How sick is it to write and sing songs?
I once had a three year stint where I didn’t make music. Those were the saddest days of my life. The kind of sadness that you don’t see, because it becomes the lense through which you view the world.
Because of this I think I have a heightened appreciation for the act of songwriting.
Like how Gollum’s covetous appreciation of the ring grows tenfold when he has lost it to the hands of a snivelling ungrateful hobbit. I too love songs so much more for having lost and then returned to them: My humble calling.
I always knew I wanted this album to be called The Singer. I heard a Nick Cave cover of the same name (off Kicking Against The Pricks, I think Nick is making his own twisted version of a Johnny Cash song). But Nick Cave’s The Singer is a darkly dawdling number about a singer whining that his hometown no longer appreciates him. It’s a good song, bitter and twisted with yearning like Nick at his best. Something in it grabbed me, and it was not the whining about lack of appreciation.
It was this idea of a song about the act of songwriting. Here, I thought, was soil to dig about in.
I thought back to my own history with songwriting. To the older brothers in my life who took this fledgling and freaky north shore punk under their wing and showed him the ropes of DIY music. I thought of my wide eyed stunned disbelief at the reach of their abilities, and the creativity and power of their songs they were constantly pushing themselves out there, pushing their music to its limits.
I think of two young men in particular, whose presence in my life means the absolute world, and who left us way too soon.
I now look back on the lives of these young men with love and appreciation and gratefulness. Grateful for the lessons they taught me. Grateful for the songs they left us. Sad, but eternally grateful.
It is hard to write about the deaths of musicians without leaning on cliche. Cobain. Joplin. Hendrix. Morrison. These are stories we know, or at least think we know.
But I knew Reuben Winter. I knew Adison Whitley. And I know that any story about their lives that doesn’t engage with them as songwriters does injustice to their memory.
So I wrote the song The Singer. It’s dark, it’s strange, and maybe it’s a bit funny. But I hope that in a small way it shifts how people see the death of an artist. And also shift the idea of what strange thing people are actually doing when they are writing a song.
Because songs and songwriting is not some doom and gloom self flagellation. The act of songwriting is an act of hope, it is reaching out to the world hoping that your music will connect with someone and hopefully help them in some way.
That is what my friends spent their lives doing. That is what I want to spend my life doing.
That is why this album is called The Singer. And why it is for my friends Adison and Reuben.
I put a lot into this record and so did a lot of other people. If it takes a village to raise a child then it at least takes a good suburb to raise an album from the dust.
So many people took huge chances on me. Bonnie Knight my incredible producer (who as I write this I see is in studio with Sharon Van Etten!!!)
Will Oldham / Bonnie “Prince” Billy who decided to lend his voice to my song Half Real.
My amazing band on the record Chase Wallace, Keely Lawson, Mitch Thomas.
All of the incredible other people who lent their musicianship to the album Hatchie, JY Lee, Georgia Maq, Stefan Blair.
My eternal number one fan, Booker/Manager Jess Fu.
My cup of good friends and good people floweth over.
Thank you everyone.
Making this album has been a reminder of the privilege it is to make music. I spend every waking moment thinking about this weird act of songwriting, that every culture in the world has done for millenia. I know the impact of songs on my life and that through this act I get to in some small way contribute to the lives of people that listen to my music. That come and see us play live. That is huge and I don’t take it for granted.
In this disconnected and often isolated world, to sing and be heard is a wonderful gift so thank you thank you thank you so much to everyone supporting this thing, no matter how.
What do I hope this record does?
Well first off I hope people hear it. I think it says something interesting in an interesting way. It’s the best thing I’ve ever made and I am so proud of it. These are some of the best songs I’ve written.
I hope you like the album. Listen to it. Share it! Sing it! For god’s sake SING!
All my heart,
DC
POST SCRIPT:
Currently listening to: Aldous Harding - Train on the Island
Currently Reading: Presumed Innocent by Scott Turow (incredibly lit pulpy thriller!)
If you want to support my music these are a few options:
Order the album on Bandcamp!
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