You’ve heard the story before. Beats, the pounding rhythms that capture our youth and propel us on a musical journey through high school, awaken us to a new world. Hairs standing on end, lyrics reverberating around our minds and melodies begging to be hummed. Everybody went through it. But something broke through the din of the music of the day. A shimmering echo, cascading into ears, inverting expectations, slicing through the banality and capturing imaginations. All of a sudden, you see the Joshua tree, stretching up above you and touching the sky. The red sands of the desert all around, mirages flutter and flicker into view. A crimson rose, forcing a crack in the barren sands and growing frayed, ribbon-petals. Stare into the heart of creation and punch a hole through the night. The echoes and delays lull you into sleep – coming on like a drug.

Through the hallucinogenic haze, the rose is inspiration – arising from the nothingness of the dead wasteland. Dreams solidify. You become a friend of the desert, a companion of the inhospitable, waiting for a new rose to emerge from the dancing images. You strum a chord. This is going to work.

There is a warning. Back amidst the rushing crowds you can feel the enemy, but only if you close your eyes. You’re pushed to follow – cajoled to join the crowds and become just another one – but the message comes through time and time again, more passionate and powerful with every repetition. Don’t let the bastards grind you down. You want to go along, break bread and contort yourself to fit their expectations, but your belief is thin. Don’t let the bastards grind you down. In dreams begin responsibilities.

The experimentation multiplies, the ambience grows and the flutter of the delay continuously cuts through the mix. You’re transported to the emerald isle, feeling the Irish sun beat down on your face, the traversing clouds blocking the light, bleak, misty days and the beating of the rain on the pavement, interspersed with sunlight periodically breaching the clouds once more. The growing unease building inside. The transcendental tones shattered pre-conceptions and cemented what had been forming for years. You’ve found your heroes – the water that gives the rose the fuel to break through the wasted earth – and you follow. But do you really just want to be another follower? The unforgettable fire always burns inside you, but you have to focus it in your own direction. This is when you awaken, this is where the high hopes truly take root and start to morph into reality.

The sonic collage is full of pieces – the shimmering of the delay, the raw passion, the enrapturing melodies and the deep mystery of the lyrics. Rehearsal rooms, days on the road, the flashing of the red “Recording” light, everything invested into converting those high hopes into sound-waves. You build and build – reshaping borrowed pieces, revisiting the deserts and heeding the warnings – finally understanding the responsibility.

There are still those days, when you feel yourself being ground into the dead desert sands, swallowed by the monotony of existence. That’s when the delay pulses through, transporting you back to the foot of the Joshua Tree and the broken husk of the wall. The voice comes through again. Don’t let the bastards grind you down. In those moments, bathed in the sounds you’ve known all your life, you truly know that you never will.