I can always pinpoint the moment when an art form grabs me. Whether it has been music, film, or literature, I have always had that clear, definitive moment that made me fall in love. My love for each of these art forms came together when I created Bleakhaus.
When my maternal grandmother was eighteen years old, she left her home in what is now North Korea to head south so she could study nursing. It was while studying there that the country split into North and South Korea, leaving her family trapped on the other side of the border. To this day, she has never been back to her birthplace and has not heard from her family ever since.
I began with a classical training from age eight on violins made by my grandfather, from a half size to three quarter, then to his “number 2” with a finessed fiddleback grain in high glaze. His Luthier’s hands I remember as large and gnarly as they would trace the creases of my palm to elucidate future prospects. After ten years of scales and arpeggios working my way through graded texts filled with compositions by the gifted and deceased, a final concert in the embers of 1990 marked the occasion of my last musical performance on stage, aside from dreams.
Barely 12 months passed before my own strange sounds were committed to cassette tape for the first time, born of a natural necessity to do, and it was this background of prescribed exam pieces that gave me something to react against.
Moonshine Effect travel through the night in a psychedelic mood, humming dream pop melodies. They enjoy riding into pink moons on dancing horses and whispering folk sounds in the cool early morning breeze. They insist on watching the constellations of trembling blue stars, gently screaming their poetry till it touches the sky.
It took a while to figure out what about music effects me the way it does. I knew melody was the first thing that hooked me into a great song and has always been my starting point when writing, but one day it just hit me.
When I was in High School, I dated a girl who introduced me to her friend Fred. Fred and I hit it off nicely and eventually started writing music together, both heavier rock and metal styles, as well as some acoustic-based compositions. We shared a very similar approach as far as how we wrote melodies and put chords together, but it was not yet as refined as it would end up being years later; we were younger then. In 2006, we began to go our separate ways in life, me with finishing my Bachelor’s in Music Education, Fred with his career and a new relationship.
This is the 7th album I’ve released – the follow up to its twin, On The Way. I’ve largely made ambient, electronic-esque music. My first 5 releases were instrumental. On The Way and As A Kite mark a shift towards pop songwriting for me. I would love to talk at length about what I’ve learned about music from making it and recording at home in my laundry room over the years, but I think for brevity’s sake it would be best to keep the conversation to this one album. I hope if you like what you hear that you will explore my older works as well, and find some value in my story and my music, and I hope I can reciprocate something for you. That’s all this is about in the end anyway, isn’t it?
I started my music journey at fourteen in mid-2014 playing small coffee venues with my ukulele and guitar. In early 2017, I began to grow tired of my acoustic guitar and ukulele. I then moved on, and I started writing “I Can Actually Speak.” The album portrays a lot of things bunched into one that happened between mid-2016 and up until the end of 2017. I endured failed relationships and projects, moving out really young, and realizing how awful human beings can be. This is where the harsh beginning of “I Can Actually Speak” starts.
As I was born by the Baltic Sea, (and this is way before I found out that I am a Cancerian), I had always been intrigued by her beauty. As if she’s a rose made of sequins one minute and then a shape-shifting platform of liquid frequencies the next…
There is no other band that we know of, which sounds like JUST LIKE HONEY. Maybe that is because we never play cover versions of other people’s songs. We recently noticed that also Joy Division never played any cover versions. We love this thought.