Here’s something I don’t say very often: my dad was murdered by a terrorist. Even now it feels a little overdramatic, like I’m making a bit of a show of it, despite those words being the most accurate way to say it.

Maybe it’s because deep down the fact he died in such an unusual way still isn’t really the point for me. The emotionally accurate phrase is more like “my dad died.” I was 21.

I bounced from one WTF moment to the next. Chatting about choirs with Tony Blair at St Paul’s Cathedral; avoiding paparazzi outside the funeral; visiting the forensically-cleaned wreckage of the tube carriage; Prince Charles making a perfectly-judged joke about my sex life; various meetings with government ministers; seeing pictures and videos of the guy who did it everywhere; sitting with a guy with a metal leg recount his incredible story; reading hours of transcripts of other similar stories from the inquest; seeing my dad’s face on the front cover of The Daily Mail and reading his obituary in The Guardian; his recovered watch forever fixed at the exact time of death; needing a second scattering of his ashes as more of his body was identified, it was kind of a crazy time.

But somehow its all the regular grief moments I remember most. The same ones that some poor soul is always going through somewhere in the world: wondering where someone is before slowly realising something’s wrong; staring into a candle flame for hours; forgetting for a while and then remembering; calling their phone to hear their voice again even if it’s just asking you to leave a message; unexpectedly crying with laughter at some morbid joke; discussions about who on earth could officiate a funeral for a spiritual atheist with an Anglican mum and a Jewish wife; panicking that I had no appropriate formal shoes to wear before realising I could just raid my dad’s wardrobe and pinch his; distant friends being unexpectedly thoughtful; close friends being unexpectedly distant; the messages dropping away after the first couple of weeks while everyone gets back to normal but you; the sense that, as bad as it is, you are really living. That this is all part of what it means to be human.

Colin Morley was an extraordinary man. Kind, intelligent, loving, fiercely principled, ahead of his time, a little awkward, always thinking, always searching, my musical inspiration, and tragically in the wrong place at the wrong time on 7th July 2005.

The song

As the years went by, more and more friends have joined the club. Sometimes I’ve been able to use my reluctant expertise to support them in ways that I liked being supported. Mainly by dragging them into the pub and using the proper words for things.

It’s been a tremendous source of comfort for me too. There’s an assumption that grieving people don’t want to talk about death, but in my experience they usually do - it’s a relief from everyone always avoiding the subject. Things feel different now than back then, more open. There are grief podcasts, grief festivals, articles, online communities, all sorts. But it still takes effort to get people talking.

Writing songs about it never really appealed until a random day a few years back. I expected a slow, tender song to come out, but instead got an anthemic, almost joyful, sub-3-minute punk-rock song about grief fraternity, like an arm round the shoulder of a new member.

Dead Fathers Club. My hope is to raise funding to record it featuring only musicians and studio engineers whose fathers have also died, raise money for a charity, make a short making-of documentary. Does that all sound absolutely ridiculous? Sometimes I think it does. I hear the song like Teenage Kicks or something by The Vaccines. It lands on an off-beat, just like all bad news.

It wasn’t a good fit for this new album, but I have a solo acoustic version recorded by fellow member Calum MacColl, and it’s ready for your ears if you want it.

Listen to Dead Fathers Club above, or download it here. What do you think?

Before leaving a comment

A few possibly unnecessary suggestions:

* This post is really not about sympathy. I wanted to share the song, and the words had to be said too. Honestly I’m good now. Not that you can’t be sympathetic, just don’t feel like you have to be.

* Others reading might be sensitive to these subjects right now. Please be mindful of that.

* Not really in the mood for comments about religious fundamentalism to be honest.

Other than that, go for it. It’s good to talk.

Everyone ok?

Bit of a heavy one there. But hopefully you understand that it’s part of my story and my journey as an artist. If I crossed any lines with this one, I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intention. Please feel free to hit reply and let me know.

Some links if you need them:Good Grief Resources - https://goodgrieffest.com/resources-and-support/At A Loss - https://www.ataloss.orgCruse - https://www.cruse.org.ukVictims of Terrorism - https://victimsofterrorism.campaign.gov.uk

UK Tour Dates 2022

Friday 23rd September - Totnes Barrel House. Tickets.Friday 30th September - Coatbridge Georgian Hotel. Tickets.Sunday 2nd October - North Yorkshire Old School House. Tickets.Monday 3rd October - Leeds Oporto. Tickets coming soon.Thursday 13th October - Suffolk Sprat Shed. Tickets.Sunday 16th October - London Green Note. Tickets.Friday 21st October - Brighton Folklore Rooms. Tickets.Saturday 22nd October - Winchester Railway Inn. Tickets.Wednesday 26th October - Manchester Rose & Monkey. Tickets. Thursday 27th October - Nottingham Running Horse. Tickets.

Lyrics

It’s my unfortunate honour to welcome you toThe Dead Fathers ClubOne day he was eating his breakfastThe next he was notYou feel lostand you’re friends are all sayingIf there’s anything I can doIf there’s anything I canWell you’re part of a club now friendYou're with us, we understandWhen to call, when to shut upWe share stories, drink til it’s lightLaugh til you’re not afraid of the nightStare it downIt won’t be long til you’re okIn a not really ok kinda wayIt was a Thursday in July when I joinedThe Dead Fathers ClubYou couldn’t find a better dadThough he made me so no one’s perfectWhether yours was a hero or a villainHe did the best he couldAnd you can’t refuse an invitation sent fromThe Dead Fathers ClubSo when you’re ironing his shirts at 3amFor no reason you can explainIf there’s anything I can doIf there’s anything I can doIf there’s anything I canWell you’re part of a club now friendLet it out, we understand When to call, when to shut upWe share stories, drink til it’s lightLaugh til we’re not afraid of the nightSo stick aroundCos in the end you’ll be okIn an actually ok kinda wayYou’re in the Dead Fathers ClubSo we talk about the cheery ones, the serious onesThe ones we hope to beIf there’s anything I can doIf there’s anything I can doI’ll break down your door Cos you’re part of the club now friendYou and me here til the endAnd then our kidsWill learn when to call, when to shut upThey'll share stories, drink til it’s lightLaugh til they're not afraid of the nightStick aroundSo in the end they'll be okIn an actually ok kinda wayYou’re in The Dead Fathers ClubDead Fathers Club

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I was s**t-scared of parenthood. But also gnawingly curious about what it might be like.

In the west, we’re repeatedly told that life is about cramming in as much fame, money, travel, adventure, friends, sex, exercise, career success, self-care, spontaneous fun and individual autonomy as possible. Often by someone who stands to profit.

From the outside, parenthood looks a lot like the death of all these things. The death of the dreams we were told to have. Can I still make music? Go off on tour? Move to Peru? Pabloooooo!

It’s one of life’s great event horizons. A mind-bending threshold of no return. Are you sure you wish to cancel? Are you sure? You can’t go back. ARE YOU SURE?

The song

Childish Thoughts is a song about this threshold, told by someone thinking about crossing it, using, as the name suggests, some obliquely immature or otherwise child-themed references. See if you can spot them all.

It documents the journey from first moments of curiosity about the idea, through denial and fascination to eventual resolution.

A range of kids musical instruments and toys feature in this version, mostly whichever ones I tripped over first in the playroom that is our entire home. Some got processed beyond recognition with fancy audio effects, you’ll see what’s what in the video.

Watch the video, take a listen

Click the video below, listen to the audio at the top or download the audio here.

It’s a mid-album track, not exactly a single (what does that mean now?). But it felt important to include. The studio version doesn’t feature children’s toys, but does feature the magnificent talents of harpist Rachel Newton and fiddle player extraordinaire Lauren MacColl.

What do you think? Post it around, share with friends and drop your thoughts in the comments.

Other songs in this series:

Keep Me Around, Asking For A Friend.

Lyrics

I’ve been having childish thoughtsAbout doing it with youWe could break this silenceWith the noises of youth

I’ve been having childish thoughtsI think you’ve had 'em tooCalls of natureAre what your mind is turning to

Some say ignore themThey need to learnBut I often return to these

Childish thoughtsWhat am I to do?Deep down I'm a child tooAll these needs and I long to be held

These childish thoughts keep changing meBut I like things as they areSome say ignore themThey need to learnBut I often return to theseChildish thoughts

Every new life starts with one little deathAnd I'm afraid to face mineThey creep into our room and seek comfort in our bedYou say baby baby baby please

Still I keep having childish thoughtsAbout us going all the wayI think I’d like to see the dayWhen I come early and you’ll be late

These childish thoughts keep following meAnd maybe it’s time to leadCos I can't ignore themAnd I need to learnThat I'm called to return

Cos every new life starts with one little deathAnd it's time to look mine in the eyeThey double dare me but I ain’t flinching when they stareIt’s time to act my ageAnd have some childish thoughts with you

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I have this recurring dream where I discover a new room in my house. Sometimes it’s a series of rooms that loop around over various floors and secret staircases, all connecting together with breathless excitement and a callous disregard for the basic rules of structural engineering. I explore each one with childhood wonderment.

For as long as I can remember it’s popped up, changing with whatever house I’m in, adapting in tone as my life changes. For example I sometimes now get grown-up bonus commentary about where I might put a studio, or how it might affect local house prices. It’s like a mixture of Narnia, Minecraft and Rightmove.

What started as standard kid imagination now feels like an attempt to rediscover some of the lost mystery about the world, eroded by decades of slowly realising what’s actually going on here. The magic isn’t real, the big wizard is actually a regular fella behind the curtain, tomorrow will be a lot like today.

My cousin once said that becoming a dad felt like finding a new room in his heart. Not a bad turn of phrase for a scientist. When I became a parent myself, I liked the idea that the dream now represented a new dimension of love. Certainly it was written in those frequent moments between fragmented sleep and hazy awareness with a newborn, but to be honest I’m trying to stay clear of knowing what it’s really about.

I’d really hoped to feature it on the new album, make it all big and classic like an old Scott Walker record, but…. well you can’t record everything and we decided to cut it.

Maybe that’s fitting. It’s elusive, just out of reach, maybe not even real? I found a new track on my album today, then I woke up and it wasn’t there.

Except it is. Listen to the demo above, or download it here.

What do you think?

Some people have suggested I add lyrics to these posts. So I will, starting now.

Lyrics

I found a new room in my house todayAnd now I'm wondering how I hadn't noticed it beforeI was straightening a picture on the wallWhen I found the doorA room so bold and brightBathed in warming lightHad it been there all along?So that's where those windows look out fromI'd seen them from the outsideBut I never knew that they were mineI found a new room in my house todayUndeniably real, could I have been so unaware?But when I try to show somebody elseI find it's never thereA room so bold and brightBathed in warming lightI go there all aloneSo that's where those windows look out fromI'd seen them from the outsideBut I never knew that they were mineSo that's where those windows look out fromI'd seen them from the outsideBut I never knew that they were mine

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Let’s begin with a little expectation management. Most of my time this week has gone into making a new live video for you in between reading articles about the war in Ukraine. On the plus side that means I’m feeling a deep love and empathy for my fellow humans right now and the video is good (I think), maybe even very good, though you’ll have to make your own mind up on that one, I don’t pour your cereal.

But it does mean I’ve had less time to write these words so they may not dance off the page with an incandescent beauty. Expect more of a weak hobble with a dim glove-box-light adequacy.

For those not in possession of my top-secret JMFLEN weekly planner, this is the second of 12 live videos presenting songs from my new album. The first was Keep Me Around.

This month - Asking For A Friend.

In descending order of my own personal preference you can: 1) watch the video 2) listen above or 3) download the audio.

What if your best amounts to nothing

Nothing much at all

I’m only asking for a friend

Many of us have moments of holding it together while secretly hiding the cracks, pretending we know what we’re doing when we really don’t. As a phrase, this one seemed to have a nook I could stick my crowbar into. It took a little wiggling, but I think I cracked it open. The album version is a peach too.

I do some very embarrassing solo faces at around 2:51. Well worth a watch for that alone.

But what do you think?

Leave a comment or question if you have one. All are welcome, regardless of their candescence. And look after each other out there.

Last week’s open thread about songs you’re listening to

I enjoyed many of your suggestions immensely. Others less so, but ain’t that music for you? Why not give the wheel of chance a spin yourself? You might fall in love. Thank you to everyone who contributed, let’s do it again sometime.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit emails.jakemorley.com/subscribe

It’s a hot August night in 2021 and I’m in Pirate rehearsal studios, holding a guitar I’ve barely touched in months.

The person who used to write and perform these songs feels like a stranger to me, reduced to a memory by months of washing reusable nappies and the collapse of live music. In three days I’m meant to be playing my first show for 18 months. I’m out of my depth, sitting someone else’s school exams. God it really is hot in here. Maybe I should cancel? I should definitely cancel.

Part of the magic of songwriting is its power for releasing energy like this. I give up pretending to rehearse and within 15 minutes all this nonsense had left my brain forever to occupy a new home - the song Good Evening Wigfest which I opened the show with that Saturday night. There are claps, there are woops, we all have a lovely old time, I feel back where I belong.

Once written, the song seems to own those weird feelings, not me. In the process I’m somehow lifted, seen, understood, confident again. This, my friends, is the raw alchemy of songwriting. Turning mortal fear into swagger.

I recorded a (very rough) version for you. Take a listen above or download an MP3 here.

To be honest I’m sitting on better. This one’s never going on an album and I’ll never play it live again. But it’s a nice example of why I’m loving this newsletter right now.

Another unburdening happens. Once shared, the song somehow belongs to you, not me. I am free to move onto another. It’s a different kind of alchemy.

I hope you like it, but either way - there’s always next week.

What do you think? Post your response in the comments.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit emails.jakemorley.com/subscribe

Put the word ‘love’ in a song and suddenly it seems irresistible to people, like musical clickbait. There are two reasons it is the most used word in pretty much every genre of music - listeners are bewitched by the promise it could describe something so indescribable, and also it tends to make songwriters rich so they keep coming back to it.

On a completely unrelated note, I thought it was time I had a go at writing a love song. So here’s a live performance of a new song called Keep Me Around.

It’s part of a project to share a live performance of each song from my new album. Good idea? Bad idea? Doesn’t matter, it’s happening now. The full studio versions come out later this year.

You can listen above, download the MP3 here or watch the video below.

Featuring my other wife John Parker on the extended cello. Recorded and mixed at Lovebird Studios by Thomas Dibb. Video production by Thomas Dibb and Lauren Housley of Northern Cowboy Films.

This time 7 years ago, my girlfriend bought me a Martin D35 acoustic guitar.

Obviously I married her. But the least she deserved in return was a love song.

Stephin Merritt of the Magnetic Fields once said of his group’s 69-song concept album:

“69 Love Songs is not remotely an album about love. It’s an album about love songs, which are very far away from anything to do with love.”

A bit dramatic Stephin. But often love songs are secretly about more than love - dependency, lust, insecurity and loss. I miss you, I want to own you, I’m on my way to your house in the dead of night to creep into your bed and have sex with you. Sorry I didn’t ask you first, I’m old fashioned. It’s romantic right?

I wanted to write a proper grown up love song about actual love. A post-honeymoon, bathroom-door-open, real-life I’ll-put-up-with-you-if-you-put-up-with-me love song. I absolutely love watching older couples when I play it live.

Longtime readers will not be surprised to learn it took an embarrassing number of re-writes to finish, many of which were better than the end result.

To be honest, I have a lingering sense this wonderful song deserved a better writer than me. Someone more perfect.

Instead it got me. I did an excellent job, the best I could do, but no more, because that’s all I have.

In other words, much like grown up love. In both songwriting and love I often get flashes of the transcendent, but both also have this habit of bringing me face to face with my true imperfect self. Well-intentioned but flawed in execution, hampered by mundane limitations, not quite as brilliant as I’d like to be (or somethings think I am), somehow loved for who I am regardless.

In that sense, maybe it’s exactly what I dreamed of?

Watch the video, take a listen. What do you think? Any other favourite love songs to share? Let us know in the comments.

Shout-out to Ewout from Belgium and his fiancée. They’ll be dancing to this song on their wedding day.

Last week’s open thread about physical music

is here. So many people contributed and I learned so much. A massive majority of you listen to music on CDs and vinyl, so I’m hoping to place my orders soon. I’m working on the artwork right now with Lynn Hatzius.

I asked the question because to be honest I don’t really know the right way to release music. I don’t have a team right now. No management, no publicist, no label. Even if I did they’d probably all disagree with each other.

What I love is writing these emails and singing songs, so how’s about we let that be the strategy? It can be the gig you come to before the album is out.

Any help you’d like to offer in spreading the word would be great, but to be honest just reading this is everything. I love you just the way you are.

I’m booking tour dates at the moment.

If you put on concerts and want me to play somewhere, hit reply and let me know.

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For a longest time it was Track 1 on The Manual. In the end it didn’t even make the record. What went wrong for The Treasurly Trinkety Trap?

Originally played on one string of a guitar, it was written after a long day clearing out my childhood bedroom. All these objects had been carefully curated and imbued with meaning by my younger self. It got my older self thinking about the role ‘stuff’ plays in our lives, the nature of our relationship with it.

He did what he usually did - have a mildly philosophical twenty-something revelation then go write a song.

During one memorable session, producer Calum MacColl and I stood giggling side by side at a microphone for about 50 layers of joyfully random backing vocals. We larked about, we tried to put each other off, we paid scant regard for the fact he’d have to edit all this nonsense later, we felt totally free. Hopefully some of that comes through.

I even chose the key signature to match ‘Track 2’ - The Floods. They would overlap for a few seconds, one leading seamlessly into the next. It was a beautiful dream.

But I was also hopelessly lost in the Second Album Cliché. Over-attached to ideas about what this album meant I couldn’t always see what it actually was. I spun off in a thousand directions, lost perspective, forgot which way was up.

My management didn’t get The Treasury Trinkety Trap at Track 1, and it didn’t seem to fit anywhere else. I tried writing new lyrics, obsessed with saving it, but it was too late. Crunch time came and I decided to cut it.

Re-listening now I still like it. I want to give that me a hug and tell him that his twenty-something revelations are powerful, that his circular fretting is just a sign that he cares about the songs, and that the people who matter most will get to hear the song eventually. It will take another 6 years though, sorry about that mate.

Not sure what he’d say to all that, but it doesn’t really matter. I killed him and took his place.

What do you think of it? Does it mean anything to you? Did I make the right call? Let me know in the comments.

Song credits:

Calum MacColl: Production, Engineering, Mixing, Backing Vocals. Jake Gordon: additional engineering. Jake Morley: Vocals, backing vocals, guitar, piano, vibes, organ. Extra special thanks to Calum who did such an incredible job producing this song and that record. Love you mate!

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