Do The Thing

New original songs on the go. This feels like the start of something new for me, putting more time and energy into making solo music. And honestly? It’s been a long time coming.

Where it started

I’ve been playing music since before I can remember. Literally. My first instrument was a toy drum kit. I must have been about four or five, just smashing away at it in the front room. I’d also wail into a microphone hooked up to a PA system my dad had. Apparently I called it “the singaphone.” God help my parents, but I guess I was meant to sing at some point. Just never knew it for a long time.

By the time I was seven, I’d moved onto keyboards. My grandad had this book for learning piano and he’d sit with me while I worked through it, page by page. He’d just listen. Didn’t play himself, but he’d sit there, patiently, while I fumbled through the exercises. I think about that a lot now.

Growing up, the house was full of music. My mum’s 80s hit CDs, Billy Joel, Thin Lizzy, Dire Straits. That was the foundation. Then I started finding my own stuff. Incubus, Rise Against, Reel Big Fish, Jamie Cullum. I was always open to anything that had good songwriting and something a bit unpredictable about it. I could never really get into house or EDM. I appreciated the production side, but musically it just didn’t excite me. I needed something with more to it.

The moment I became properly obsessed with guitar was watching Thin Lizzy’s Live and Dangerous and the Dire Straits On The Night concert on VCR. Something about watching those performances, the way those players commanded a stage, that was it. I needed to do that.

Picking up the guitar

At thirteen, I wanted a saxophone. Desperately. But my parents weren’t about to drop money on a sax if I was going to pick it up for a week and leave it gathering dust. So they said, “Learn guitar first. Prove you’ll stick with it.” Being the stubborn, determined person I am, I took that personally. My dad showed me some basic chords, I got hold of some backing tracks to play along with, and that was it. I was hooked.

My mum would drive me to classical guitar lessons each week for my GCSE music module at high school. I stuck with it and got up to Grade 4 performance for Trinity College. But honestly, my teacher wasn’t great. I ended up teaching him rock and blues techniques after a while, so I packed that in. The classical training was useful though. It gave me discipline and a bit of theory that I still lean on.

Pretty quickly I started playing with a lad called Ali Waling. We’d sit in his house learning Blink-182 songs. Badly, at first, but that’s how it starts, isn’t it? You learn three chords and you think you’re in a band. And then suddenly, you actually are.

The band years

By the time I was at college in Blackpool, I was in a proper band. Twelve Feet High. Me, Steven Toole, Ben Clark, Ali, and Ben Eaves. We played originals, covers, whatever we fancied. I was the lead guitar player and I loved it. That band taught me what it felt like to be in a room where everyone’s locked in and the music just works.

We gigged all over Blackpool and the surrounding area. Bars, pubs, birthdays, weddings. If there was a stage and people wanted music, we’d be there. Later down the line, a partial lineup of that band actually played at the Reebok Stadium in Bolton too. Not bad for a bunch of lads from Blackpool.

My dad was brilliant during all of this. He’d be the roadie, transporting gear and PA systems around before any of us could drive. He was a keen supporter of the music and liked seeing us play, but he also gave his time and his car to help get us and our gear wherever we needed to be. Mum showed up too. She was just happy to come along, pick us up and drive. I’m grateful they both did that.

But bands are living things. People come and go. Ben Eaves went off to become a teacher. Andy Palfreyman walked in and brought horns and keyboards. I found myself morphing from guitarist into the singer, which wasn’t something I’d planned. It happened out of necessity more than anything. Singers couldn’t always make practice, so I’d step in and cover vocals, and eventually it just became my role. Looking back, maybe all those years screaming into “the singaphone” were leading somewhere after all.

Dan Hendrie came in on bass. Then I met Beth Pawson at university. She played drums, and she was brilliant. Jack Halpin played bass for a good stretch. He’s an excellent musician who just genuinely loved music in all its forms. Then Arran Lomax joined on bass. He was just a kid at the time.

By then the band had become Switchboard Spectacular, and we were doing something that felt real. We were playing our own stuff, gigging around the northwest, and we ended up supporting some bands I genuinely loved. Ash, Mama’s Gun, Jon Fratelli, Max Raptor, The Dykeenies. Jack was in the band for a few of those big support slots too.

The Ash gig stands out. Sold out show. We came off stage buzzing and people were actually asking us to sign things. CDs, setlists, whatever we had. We sold loads of merch that night. Standing side-stage watching Ash play after that? That’s a feeling you don’t forget.

But life has a way of pulling things apart. Around 2012, Switchboard Spectacular lost its momentum. The songs weren’t landing the way I wanted them to, people were moving in different directions, and I just knew it had run its course. So we stopped.

Donkey Vision

Alongside all of this, I did a stint with a guy called Will Procter in a corporate wedding and party band called Donkey Vision. We were doing weddings nearly every weekend and becoming a pretty prevalent duo. We’d pack out pubs and play to huge local festival crowds. For just two of us, we made a big noise. I have a real soft spot for singing harmonies with Will. It was something special.

Playing the cider festival each year at Owd Nell’s was always a highlight. It would rain and the hundreds of people would just keep dancing with us. Such a party. I’m so thankful for everyone who would sing along and support us to play. So much fun.

We Like Humans

Beth and I got talking pretty quickly after Switchboard wound down. We both wanted something heavier. She had this raw energy that I knew I could work with. We got on well, shared a similar sense of humour, and played well together. It just made sense.

I reached out to Rob Kenny, an old family friend who played bass, and the three of us started something new. We called it We Like Humans, and the energy was completely different. Darker, bigger, more aggressive. We went into the studio with Romesh Dodangoda producing and cut a great EP, Kings. That was a proud moment. Working with Romesh, hearing those songs come back sounding massive. It felt like we’d levelled up.

But Rob had other priorities. Work pulled him away, and things weren’t moving the way they needed to. Beth and I carried on as a two-piece for a bit, which was chaotic and fun in its own way. Then we connected with Ian Grundy, who’s now in a band called Vices, and he came in on bass. We Like Humans kept going. We wrote some of our best songs in that period and recorded another EP, Go Fix Yourself, that I’m still really proud of.

Then life happened again. I’d decided to move to Canada. Beth had kids on the horizon. Ian was building a startup. And just like that, the band wound down. Not with a bang, not with any drama. Just the quiet recognition that everyone was heading somewhere different.

Calgary and starting over

My partner and I had come to Canada on holiday a few times. Or “vacation” as the North Americans call it. Every time we came, we just wanted to stay longer. The nature, the great expanse of it, the similar lifestyle but with a freshness to it. We were ready for a reset, and it felt important to listen to that feeling. So in 2018, we made the move to Calgary.

New city, new country, no band. Donkey Vision had wrapped up when I left. For a while I didn’t really know what to do with myself musically. I ended up playing in a couple of cover bands. The Feel Good Band and more recently New Originals. And look, I’ll always love entertaining people. There’s something about standing in front of a crowd and watching them sing along to songs they love. It’s pure. I’ll never knock it.

But the relentless cover gig stuff wasn’t really for me anymore. It was time for some new challenges. And singing other people’s songs for years does something to you. Your voice gets better. Mine is better than it’s ever been, honestly. But you pick up habits. Their inflections, their phrasing, their delivery. Not a bad thing at all, but when you sit down to write your own stuff, you realise you’ve been channelling everyone else for so long that you have to dig around to find your own voice again.

That’s where I’m at now. And it feels a bit vulnerable, if I’m honest. Letting my natural voice and my actual accent show up in my music more than I have in the past. Not hiding behind someone else’s style. That’s new for me.

It also feels right.

Finding my sound

Some songs start on guitar, some on piano, some start as a sentence that won’t leave me alone. I’ve always had too many ideas across too many genres and instruments, and for years that turned into procrastination. Too many directions meant no direction at all. Then the classic spiral of beating myself up because nothing was ever finished.

So this year I’m making a proper commitment. Write. Record. And most importantly, release it. Stop sitting on half-finished demos. Stop waiting until it’s perfect. Just put it out there.

I’m still figuring out what it all sounds like. Heavy, anthemic rock is where my heart is, but I’ve got a soft spot for folk, pop, ambient. Whatever the song needs. “My sound” has always felt like a moving target, and I’m starting to think maybe that’s fine. Maybe that is the sound.

Studio sessions are coming. I’ll share the process as it happens. The good bits, the frustrating bits, all of it.

And if you’re in your own version of this, whatever your thing is, I’d genuinely love to hear about it. The struggle, the avoidance, the overthinking. I get it. I’ve lived in that space for years.

But the main reminder is simple.

Do the thing. Do the fucking thing.

Stop putting it off. Life is short. Make something. Share something. Connect with people. Put yourself out there. And imagine looking back and actually enjoying what you made.

If it’s music, art, a business, a family, friendships, whatever it is. Do the thing. Have fun. Be true to what you love.

I’m finally doing mine.