MySpace a place for friends

Dirt. That's everywhere. And dust. Especially when you're not vacuum cleaning enough. Everything seems broken, chaotic and ready to collapse, yet there's some kind of thin feeling, that keeps growing and growing until overflowing like a bath tub with too much water in it.

It's the everyday things that I put into my music. How hard they are to handle, the harder the music is to understand when listened afterwards. When there's no-one around to talk to all that dirt must go somewhere, and in to the songs it goes. My life is not polished, it's not nearly always even fun, it is now also not. But what it is always, it is genuine. At best I don't have a clue what happened to the song, or where did it come from.

I believe in accidents, I believe in sounds coming from outside, from an open window. I trust my bedroom's reverb, and I trust my broken guitar. All the best sounds come from my own recordings, from moments when I decide to insert kitchen utensils between the strings of an instrument and play notes that just do not exist.

Most of my music is written to the people I know or have known. We all change, usually for the worse.