Originality is what makes you different. Stop copying others instead of bringing uniqueness into your work. Let the world know who you are and what stuff you are made of.
I live in a small house. High on a forested mountain. It rarely snows during the winter. I drive long distances to see the entire country sometimes. I eat alone in vast naturistic scenarios. However, I have a deeply loving partnership. I can only live openly as sex is a constant and powerful urge in my life.
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.
I always knew music was the path I wanted to devote my life to. Over the last few years of high school the constant batter of society with its expectations pushed me into believing that I needed to have a backup plan, a plan B. I was always pretty academic and loved learning whatever I could get my hands on. So with this plan B in mind, I followed the rest of the sheep and went to uni to do a Bachelor of Science at Sydney University. Even though I knew music was my passion.