The Silence Between The Notes
"Time waits for nobody, and it won't wait for me."
— Freddie Mercury
Where did the music go for 30 years?
In the official story of "The Goddess of Love," there is a neat narrative: I recorded a song in 1995, put it in a box, and 30 years later, I took it out.
But life isn't a movie jump-cut. You don't just close your eyes as a 20-something musician and open them as a 50-something software engineer. There is a whole lifetime in the gap.
People ask me why I stopped. There wasn't a dramatic "I quit" moment. I didn't smash my guitar on stage. It was a slow fade.
In 1995, I was working part-time in a supermarket, trying to squeeze a music career into the days off. I had bought one of the first digital home recording setups—a clunky PC rig that promised the future but mostly delivered crashes. I don't think I ever finished a single song on it.
Then, reality tightened its grip. I had taken on a mortgage. Debts were racking up. The pressure to be "responsible" became a noise louder than the music. Eventually, something snapped—not a guitar string, but my resolve. I sold a bunch of equipment just to keep the lights on and took a full-time role at the supermarket. By 1996, I was handling the mortgage alone.
The music didn't die; it was just displaced by necessity.
The Art of Logic
I pivoted to computers. I found that code, like music, has a rhythm. Logic can be beautiful; a well-architected piece of software is art in itself. For years, building companies and writing code filled that creative void.
Ironically, I remember thinking back in 1996, "Wouldn't it be amazing to build a website to launch my music?" But in the days of dial-up and Internet Explorer, the technology just wasn't there. Or maybe I just wasn't ready. It has taken me 30 years to finally build the platform I dreamed of then.
The Shadow and the Light
The silence wasn't just about work, though. It was about life, and loss.
My parents divorced when I was young, and while I lived with my Dad, I had a strong connection with my Mum. In 1997, I was lucky enough to live with her for a year. I didn't know it then, but those were the last years I’d have with her. She passed away in the summer of 2000.
That loss sent me into a downward spiral. But it also gave me a fierce, new outlook: Nobody else is going to help you. You have to help yourself.
I poured that energy into my career, buying houses, starting companies, selling businesses. There were moments where the timing was so perfect—money running out the exact day a new business started paying—that I knew I wasn't doing it entirely alone. I’ve always felt I had a guardian angel watching over me.
The Gifted Words
And sometimes, the music broke through the silence.
Toward the end of 2000, shortly after she died, I was standing at the window of my house, waiting for a friend. I picked up a guitar, played a chord, and words just... arrived. I had an image in my head of the last time I saw her, standing at the door as I drove away.
It didn't feel like writing. It felt like a gift.
"That night, as we stood by the door
She said I love you, and I will miss you
but I can't live in pain anymore
Stepping back inside she smiled
And with a thousand unspoken words
She said goodbye my son, forgive this life
Find the happiness you deserve
Remember me, as I’ll always be
Be your Mother’s Son, your heart is strong
Don’t cry, for this is my destiny
For when you cry for an angel
I’ll be here, right by your side
In these arms I will hold you
In your darkest night,
I’ll shine a light to be your guide.”
The song was called "Mother's Son." It sat unfinished for decades, along with other sketches like "The Vinyl Revolutions" and "The Man Inside." They were ghosts of songs, verses without choruses, waiting for me to be ready to finish them.
Breaking the Silence
Last year, I finally finished "Mother's Son." I finished the others, too.
I realized that the "silence" of the last 30 years wasn't empty time. It was the time I needed to live the life that would give me something to write about.
"The Goddess of Love" is the start of the archive, but it isn't the end. The tape is running again.
I’ve just put the final touches on the master for "Shine"—another song from ’95 that I’ve re-recorded for this new era. But that’s a story for next time.
