I ‘m writing this from my home in Blackpool, the same town where, years ago, I first lived alone in a bedsit with peeling wallpaper and a record player that skipped on the high notes. I was nineteen, broke, and your albums were the only furniture that felt permanent.
Your music taught a lonely kid that sadness could be beautiful, that confusion could be art, that being lost might just be the first step toward finding something true. I still carry those lessons; they’re folded into every decision I’ve made since
Kind Regards
