Diving At Dawn has always been a frustrating stop-start affair for me. I’ve never been able to be genuinely productive and build momentum with it because I find working alone so tricky. As part of a band or production team, I’m pretty efficient, but when the responsibility falls solely upon my shoulders, I become a procrastinating perfectionist of epic proportions. The lack of productivity in my solo work has caused me a fair bit of anxiety over the years, but I’ve always been busy enough with other projects to distract myself. However, in 2022 my anxiety levels went through the roof. Unfortunately, age, experience, budget constraints, and technology have all conspired against me, thus turning Diving At Dawn into a genuine one-person band.
Music is where I go when I wish to step out of current time and space.
There is no Control mechanism in there playing on my conscious or unconscious mind telling me I must, should or am obliged to be doing something or other.
It is my place of Zen or a form of meditation if you prefer.
It’s the only place where everything external stops other than the immediate Now and I feel at peace in my own world.
I like to put sounds together to see what will happen. Often with words, sometimes not. The way they synthesise is an endless source of enjoyment and wonder to me. I never know where it’s going to end up and that is the main joy.
The spherical ball flew flyingly through the damn autumn leaves like a nauseating plane that was too small and round to be in any way practical. But flew it did, having been propelled as it had by Adam’s fearsome left foot. The kids who lived in Miyashita-koen still tell stories about that left foot and use words like “fearsome” and “left”. I stood vertical in the goalmouth, a moth to the flame, a fish in a barrel, a horse to water, and did what any decent Thursday morning goalkeeper is obliged to do: I saved the potential goal so hard and crushed the dreams of the understandably confident Adam.
My somewhat modest success in the good ol’ music biz came rather late in life, and almost completely by accident. Although, having said that, a lot of hard work had gone into making that accident happen.
The time to start a musical project should probably have been in a university where access to a range of different musicians was abundant. But then most people choose to learn the hard way…
The New Nervous Kind was created in the wake of the university with nothing more than a laptop (to program drums), a guitar, and a bass guitar, with the help of a trusty microphone. The setting was an isolated attic space, far from friends or family, which would serve well as the basis for the nostalgic lyrics and mechanical quality for our first single “Going Nowhere.”
My name is Peter Gilliver. I am in a London based band called Wondergeist, along with my bandmates Sam Stretch and Sam Lott. We released our first album as a three-piece this year called ‘The Gulf.’ This is how we got there.
What do you get when you combine the funky bass lines of the Chili Peppers, the haunting vocals of Nirvana, the screeching leads of Buckethead, the beefy guitars of Basement, and the powerful rumble of Balance and Composure drumming? A cacophony of styles and tastes blend into a unique representation of alternative rock music in the form of Tuesday Atlas. We just like to make songs that get stuck in your head, like a ghost in your attic.