Happy February 28 *cough cough* Today's breakup song is Lorde's “Hard Feelings/ Loveless” from 2017's Melodrama. To me, this song really encapsulates the dull pain of letting go, and recognizing that by trying to let go you've not yet. Bombastic and beautiful in all the right ways these are what they call hard feelings. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRNSan20Wpw
*nightcore*
Just for fun, Galaxyboi is getting its own nightcore edit!
Okay, technically it's not nightcore because it's 50% faster, not 33%. Still, I enjoyed how the synths and strings sounded when pitched up so, what the hell. The outro does fall to a true nightcore tempo and changes key a little. A different take on the space jam.
Galaxyboi 1.03
Behind the Song
It's finally happening! Almost five years after writing the album this song was intended for, Galaxyboi is going to be released.
This song means the world to me. It contains so much love and so much heartbreak. I wrote it alone first on my upright Kawaii in my bedroom in Columbus, OH. Then it came with me to New York City where it was written and rewritten across Yamahas and Steinways. The melody changed a little over time, beginning a slow climb up into the falsetto where it lives now, and small lyrical tweaks were made aided by better writers than myself. I recall being the only fan of the original lyric "standing in the same room, but we're lightyears apart," and being convinced to amend it to "underneath the same moon, but we're lightyears apart." In 2026 both lyrics stand. Juxtaposing the two across two different choruses creates a compounding sense of distance and tragedy. Choosing both feels as if the song is reaching across space and time.
Eventually this song was played live in a dozen small rooms across a number of unnamed pianos. It became a staple in live performances and almost always ended in me running off stage to make a quick costume change into the ICONIC Astronaut Suit™. During those early post-covid years is when the initial recording of this song took place. That recording was not good. I'm glad I was convinced not to release it back then. But it was during those early trackings that I found the twinkling melancholy of the Bechstein. That piano speaks to me—it resonates with same teary-eyed, sullen, hopeless romance I try to lace my writings with—we get each other.
So, five years late but better than never, the song that most exemplified me as an artist is finally being released on my birthday. There's a wealth of people I want to thank, many of whom I can't here, but to those who I can: THANK YOU! Thank you to Liz Woolley who was the first person to hear Galaxyboi after writing, David Wolfert who was the first writer to ever add his fingerprints to it's pages, Janice Pendarvis who taught me how to sing it (sorry I'm not a better singer! I try), Clara Zelenka who edited the original cover art back in 2021, was the consultant for this new 2026 cover, and listens to everything I send her. Finally, thank you to Matthew Alexander for his impeccable tastes, consistent role as sounding board, and refusal to tell me a version is good just because I want to be done with it (sorry I'm not a better singer! I'm still trying!)
A Song a Month
Something new all year long
While working on the next album, I've committed myself to releasing a song a month to bide my time and keep the flow going.
These songs have no rules! Some, like "Still Breathing" will be singles from the forthcoming Metropolis project, some like the South of County Line alternate versions will be edits and remixes of previously released tracks, others like PARTY and Galaxyboi are fresh takes on songs from my personal vault: one offs that never happened, favorites from unreleased projects, real recordings of songs that used to get the crowds hyped. Hell, one might even be a cover. Really, these songs can and will probably be anything I decide, or anything the people have been asking for.
And just for fun, though the tracks might be unrelated, I promise to tell a story with each release. The dates I choose will be significant, songs will have hidden personal audio, and more. So, stay tuned!
skeleton papercuts
A Year Later
Even after a year I forget I didn't capitalize the title. deep sigh It was an artistic choice I swear!
A whole year after its release and I've fallen in love with this flawed, romantic, juvenile little record of ours. It's hard now to remember the twenty near-sleepless days in which I put the record together. From the very first notes hummed quietly as a means to self soothe, to sending off the files for the first hundred CD's—twenty f*cking days. It was a desperate move of passion, of having something to say and no time left to say it. And god, what a life changing way to say it.
Though the record did not accomplish what I intended it to, on a personal level, by every other metric it was a success. It took less than four months to move every single physical CD I had, less than four months to cover the city in skeleton papercuts stickers, have the logo painted onto the sidewalks.
For a while, the record was too painful to listen to. I'd put my heart, body, and soul into someone else and these songs were all I had left at the end of it. They became the hallmark of living a life I didn't want to be living. After the first orders were mailed out I stopped listening to it entirely. I had enough conviction to finish out my music degree, but I'd convinced myself to quit writing altogether. But these songs and the people who listened to it wouldn't let me. Little bits at a time I'd find myself humming the melodies, answering questions on how or why I'd made a particular musical choice, or just being faced with the reality that damn, I'd made a whole damn album, put the damn thing out, and didn't give a damn if people liked it or not because it was honest.
On ten exclusive copies of the record was also an unlisted ninth track. A one take, live, acoustic recording of South of County Line, which I'd initially written during the 20 days. At first, it was a final attempt to make my case to someone I felt I'd let down. Then it became a private toucstone for friends, family, and mentors who'd shaped my writing throughout the years. At last, it became one of the last projects I'd work on at NYU, to see through the complete production of the single. Without trying skeleton papercuts was haunting me. As the culmination of my writing degree, my final project was writing a 38 page essay explain the story and the choices behind skeleton papercuts.
For months afterwards the album existed in relative non-existence for me. However, some months ago I heard one of the songs while out and about in daily life. It took me back to the eager passion that fueled those three weeks. Despite the heaviness that comes with hearing your own pain, and the cringe that comes with hearing your own voice, I listened. In that record amidst all the bombastic synths, plucked ukes, broken beats, and catastrophic references, was a vulnerability. I found for the first time the charming desolation of someone who loved another person so much and couldn't do anything save it. It was human.
Now that it's been a year I can listen to those eight songs without drowning in them. In fact, most days when I feel the lingering sting of old emotional wounds, skeleton papercuts is the surest way to keep my head above the tide. I realize now I wrote this album for me. Not them, not us, just me. They are not perfect songs, they are not perfect recordings, they are not perfect productions, but that is their beauty. Slowly their listenership is climbing across platforms, which is crazy to see. And almost weekly now, someone reaches out to tell me their favorite song or favorite moment. Personally, One for the Winter Playlist (Affection) is my favorite song I've ever written and one of my favorite songs of all time. I did the impossible with this record—I helped myself and found the music again. And everyone who has ever listened, you did the impossible too.
Lastly, I don't know why we're all here. "I want to believe," to quote Atheist. But I do believe it has something to do with love. I'm convinced I'm here to feel everything and to feel it big and bold and beautifully. And if you're still reading this, then I think you're here to feel it all too. Yes, I lost the person who inspired this record, but I did something they never could or would: I turned everything in me into eight songs that didn't exist before. You have the power to redefine the universe and it's as simple as writing a few words, speaking them just loud enough to hear, and repeating them until they're your own personal songs.
Thank you for being <3
(images showing original sketch cover sketch and final proofs for the physical copies)