This is the first in a series of posts which will unravel the stories behind the songs of my debut album (ahem, available right HERE), giving you a chance to have a good old nosey into my past! Haha!
I’m going to start with the story behind track 8, Give Me The Good Stuff.
In the summer of 2009 I found myself in Rio De Janeiro, floating blissfully between playing volleyball on the beach, and swimming through the night on a cool sea of caipirinha and Carioca beats.
On my last night in Rio, I met a Scandinavian girl, who I would ultimately spend the next few weeks travelling south with, through various parts of Brazil, Uruguay, Paraguay and finally Argentina. By the time we were in Argentina, we had grown close and were enjoying the fruits of our summer romance. It was passionate, carefree, complete hedonism. Those last few days in Buenos Aires were some of the best I’ve ever had, and as I reluctantly left to fly back home for my graduation ceremony in Durham, I remember feeling a rare moment of complete happiness.
I landed into Heathrow, straight onto a train to Durham, one last night of mayhem in the local nightclub, wake up, pick up my degree, smile for the camera and straight in the car to London, where I had a couple of days to get find a place to live ahead of starting my new life as an Investment Banker. I wasn’t super happy about going into banking, but with no money left and a generous serving of social pressure and long-developed family expectations, into the rat-race I crawled.
3 weeks in and I still hadn’t taken a day off. If I wasn’t sitting through mind-numbing tutorials or forced ‘networking events’, I was prepping for the looming regulatory exams. I couldn’t help but quietly mourn the loss of my recent happiness as I slowly acknowledged the bare feeling of unfulfilment.
In the cold of my new penthouse apartment, there was only one person I wanted to see. I wanted her to walk through the door and rescue me from this grey bullshit world. I wanted her to lift me, warm me, Give Me The Good Stuff that I pined for. But, she was miles away, floating around Peru somewhere.
So at 4am, I stood at the keyboard and by 4.20am I’d written the song. I played it over and over until sunrise, void of the knowledge that I would go on to play the song in a recording studio 15 months later, void of the knowledge that I would go on to play the song to her 18 months later, drunkenly perched outside a London cocktail bar.