Making Noise

I've been sitting cross-legged on my apartment floor at 3 AM, surrounded by tangled cables and half-written lyrics, when it hit me—there's something honest in not knowing what the fuck I'm doing. That space between notes where everything feels possible and nothing feels precious.

The dusty plastic drum machine I scored from a toy store keeps glitching in the most perfect ways. Happy accidents, right? I've started recording these moments instead of trying to fix them. The comfortable patterns I'd locked myself into with my last project started feeling like some venue's back room with no windows or air. Too tight. Too known.

The music industry tries to convince us there's a right way to create—clean production, perfect pitch, marketable hooks. But lately I'm finding truth in the messy edges, in the take where my voice cracks, in the reverb that's a little too wet because I don't really know what I'm doing with this new pedal. And honestly? It feels like coming home.

Breaking Down to Break Through

I deleted everything I'd been working on last month. Just... gone. My friend thought I was having some kind of breakdown, but it felt more like breaking free. I'm rebuilding from scratch, using borrowed gear and writing sessions that stretch until sunrise.

My new tracks are born from voice memos recorded on midnight walks and loops created when I accidentally hit the wrong button. I've stopped trying to make sense of the process. Each time I choose the weird sound over the safe one, the unfinished thought over the polished verse, something shifts. The songs start to breathe.

This isn't about escaping reality—it's about finally showing up for it, unfiltered and imperfect. Sometimes the best stuff happens when you forget anyone's listening.

Finding Your People

I played these rough sketches at a tiny basement show last week. Just ten people crammed between the water heater and washing machine, but something electric happened in that space. Strangers swapping stories after about how certain sounds made them feel things they couldn't name. No stage, no separation, just this raw exchange of energy.

This isn't about becoming famous or even "making it"—whatever that means anymore. It's about finding the handful of people who hear what you hear, who need the same frequencies you need. The world feels increasingly fragmented and weird, but when those connections happen over sound, even briefly, it feels like enough.

I'm not trying to save the world with these tracks. I'm just trying to make sense of my small corner of it, capturing the beautiful confusion of being alive right now, translating it through whatever instruments I can get my hands on.

If any of this resonates, come find me. We'll make noise together.