Every piece of my heart lives here,
for whoever needs to hear it for a while.
Albums
Hello Goodbye's first glimpse of love in its most undeniable form: Impossible to contain.
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Hello Goodbye marks a turning point in my work. A body of music shaped with clarity and discipline, carried by something older moving quietly beneath it. These songs were built for the present, but they reach toward a time when music tried to bring the world closer to itself.
The current that once fueled the peace and love movement of the 70s threads through this record, not as imitation but as continuation. That era believed sound could soften a fractured world. Hello Goodbye carries that belief forward inside structures made for today.
It speaks to the speed of the modern ear while holding the depth that shaped generations before us. Every track reflects the intention that brought me here: to make something that stands, something that lasts, something that remembers what music has always given.
Hello Goodbye begins the next chapter. A work built to resonate long after it arrives, shaped by love, connection, and hope that once moved the world and will move it again. Rolling out from December through March.
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Written at the moment I realised there was nothing left for me in this life. A point stripped of noise, meaning, and direction. Everything I had lived, fought, lost, and carried collapsed into one truth: if anything was going to continue, it would have to begin from nothing.
I wasn’t searching for hope. The Reaping formed through accepting what stood in front of me and feeling a quiet rise beneath it. Every record before this tried to understand my youth and the weight I carried. During The Reaping, there was no world left to interpret, only the smallest will to continue.
I thought I was witnessing the end of myself. But in the emptiness something steady formed. A direction. A return. From nothing, I found the first trace of love again. The Reaping holds the moment I faced the truth and began to rebuild.
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Written while my life was collapsing, yet the songs still sounded alive. Toxic love carries that illusion. It feels warm when you are starving for something familiar. It pulls you in because it mirrors a connection your inner child lost long before he could name it.
Whispers is the sound of that reach backward. The echo of a bond I never got to finish and the return of a feeling I spent years trying to recreate. Even in the chaos the music came out bright, urgent, almost joyful. Sixteen tracks of heartbreak shaped as hope and hope shaped as heartbreak.
This is the era where my sound took form. Pain mistaken for comfort and comfort mistaken for healing, yet something true emerged anyway.
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Purpose was written at eighteen, living on my own, surviving more than living. I reached for anything that softened the weight of the days: bottles, late nights, comforts that disappeared by morning. But inside all of that noise I kept writing. Searching for meaning, direction, something solid enough to hold.
Somewhere in the making of this album I realised I wasn’t trying to escape my life. I was trying to understand it. In that search, love arrived for the first time. Not the kind that fixes you, but the kind that shows you who you could become.
Purpose is the moment I understood why I make music and who I want to make it for. It was the beginning of everything that followed.
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My first album. Sixteen and seventeen, alone in a world I couldn’t yet carry. I didn’t understand production, but I understood that something in me needed saving.
No one listened. Maybe no one ever will. But I did, and at that age that was enough to keep me alive. These songs held the weight I couldn’t. They kept me breathing when everything felt too heavy. They gave me a reason to stay long enough to finish what I started and return with something to say about what I found at the bottom.
This album didn’t make me an artist. It kept me here long enough to become one.
All I Know is the reason I stayed.
EP’s
Extra tracks that insisted on daylight. My relationship with EPs remains complicated.
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Written in the moment everything gave way. The version of me that could no longer hide, standing in the wreckage of who I thought I was. The sound of a man breaking and finally admitting it.
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Two songs that were never meant to meet, written across different heartbreaks by different versions of me. Before the psych ward. Before I knew how to name the darkness without giving it power.
After I got out, one manic night tore everything apart and rebuilt it. I sat in my room talking to a dead phone camera about a life that felt too sharp for someone who felt too much. Hours of footage. Eight recordings. One medley I have no memory of making.
The next morning I pressed play and heard a masterpiece shaped by a version of me who survived by creating.
Singles
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A record shaped by the ache of wanting to rewrite a moment that would never return. I stood inside a goodbye I didn’t know how to accept, holding everything unsaid.
Every line reaches toward time as if it could listen. But healing begins when you stop trying to pull the past into the future.
If I Could is the sound of that release.
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Written in the quiet fear of wondering whether love ever truly saw me. I kept measuring my heart against a silence I didn’t deserve. Enough lives in the moment you stop asking if you were enough and start understanding that you always were.
This song is where that truth surfaced.
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Written in an era defined by questions that never softened. The Garden rose from a place that looked like despair but kept revealing signs of life if I stayed long enough to see them.
It holds the wondering that follows you through the years. Why love blinds us. Why goodbyes echo. Why hope survives even in barren places.
The Garden is where I learned that love does not disappear. It returns in shapes you may not recognise at first, but it always returns.
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U was written in the moment life began shifting faster than I could hold it. Memories faded, returned, blurred, and resurfaced in ways I couldn’t stop, leaving me reaching for something already slipping away.
This song sits in the quiet ache of remembering someone you can no longer return to, even though part of you still tries. The lyrics hold that pull. The way nostalgia lingers even as everything else dissolves. The way the heart reaches backward long after the world has moved on.
U is the sound of love turning into memory.
The last moment before acceptance arrives.
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A thank you to the man whose music held me when nothing else did. Comfort inside despair and a hand on the back of my mind when I needed one.
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Written in the kind of hope you reach for when you don’t know who you are without it. I wasn’t waiting for the right love to return. I was waiting to feel whole again. And I thought that feeling might walk back to me wearing your face.
Someday you will return to me.
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Nineteen, alone, and reaching for someone who was no longer mine. A song born from the ache of wanting to hold someone again, to meet the eyes I had already lost.
The artwork comes from a place I will not name. I drove there whenever my mind grew too heavy to carry. In the hardest years I stood at that cliff with my guitar because sound was the only thing strong enough to steady me.
One night, after the end of an abusive relationship, I returned convinced I had reached the end of what I could bear. I stood at the edge believing there was nothing left in me to continue with.
Then the melody rose. pulsing. gentle. honest.
A dum da dum rhythm like a heartbeat returning to my chest. It arrived with clarity. A reminder that love is chosen, and choosing it can anchor a life.
That rhythm outlined the man I would become. Someone who would take every piece of love he carried and offer it to the world with intention. Someone who understood that love moves through you with purpose.
In My Arms is the sound of that moment. It saved my life. It will save others.
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A song about the home I didn’t know I still had. Seventeen, moved in with my dad, and everything changed. Rosslyn Street saved me, and it saved my little brothers. This is the sound of that return. The moment safety found us again.
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My first real release. Sixteen and breaking open for the first time. Inspired by The Smashing Pumpkins and carried by a heart finally willing to speak. My first cry for help I had the courage to voice.
