In 2013 I packed up my studio in order to turn the room into a nursery. It was a paradigm shift: routines changed, chapters ended, and a world that had seemed in black and white suddenly sprang into color. Music was firmly in the back seat in order to make room for our growing family, move across the world, and build a life in a new country.

I consolidated my favorite studio gear into a portable rig I set up in each of the places we lived. It was liberating to have easy access to my instruments and focus on having fun with them rather than trying to produce something of value. I would turn on the system late at night, lit by the glow of blinking LEDs, and lose myself recording looping soundscapes. I collaged with the material, making sense of events or feelings in my life through my homemade loop library.

Originally I had no intention to make an album out of it. Over the years I have tried unsuccessfully to get things through music, seeking approval, validation, money, or to escape the tyranny of dead-end jobs and a normal life. In the end my responsibilities and neuroses always caught up and robbed me of what I thought I so desperately needed.

However, then as now, no matter how many times I put my instruments down, I inevitably feel compelled to pick them back up again. The baggage I have around music is pervasive, but it is not the full picture. When I feel inspired to play, none of that stuff matters. Music doesn't require a reason to be or have any goals to fulfill, it is enough in itself. I need music in my life because it is one of the few healthy coping mechanisms I have.