Ed Kuepper stands as a living testament to the enduring power of expression through art. With a career that spans almost 50 years and an impressive discography to his name, Kuepper has become a legendary figure. He’s influence on Australian music cannot be overlooked, his music has transcended time and inspired generations. Gimmie sat down with the iconic musician to discuss his journey, inspirations, and the ever-changing landscape of his craft.

As we dive into conversation we find Ed Kuepper at a vibrant moment in his life. 47 years on from the original Fatal label release of the single (often regarded as one of the first punk songs but really more a precursor) that kicked off his career, The Saints’ ‘(I’m) Stranded’ is being reissued, along with Kuepper’s back catalogue of solo records, starting with Electrical Storm and Honey Steel’s Gold. Through September he’ll embark on The Exploding Universe of Ed Kuepper Australia-wide tour to support the releases. There’s new music in the works too. Lots to celebrate!

Kuepper’s love affair with music began at a young age when his parents bought him his first guitar, adding fuel to his passion for music that still burns bright. It became a gateway to both escape and engage with the world. He tells us of how he wrote ‘(I’m) Stranded’ on that guitar. Kuepper also gives insight into his creative process, how it has evolved and his need for experimentation. Throughout the conversation, we gain insight into the enigmatic Kuepper as he earnestly shares glimpses of his personal journey, including facing moments of depression, loss, and wanting to quit music. 

This is the best chat with Ed you’ll find out there.

What’s life been like lately for you, Ed? 

ED KUEPPER: Very good. There’s lots of things happening. The reissue programme is in full swing. We’re looking at starting rehearsals for the tour coming up. There are some new recordings coming out. I did one with Jim White, which will probably not come out till early next year. 

It’s so wonderful to hear that  you’re in a really good place right now. 

EK: Yes, indeed. It’s all going well. Not that you take this stuff for granted, of course, and I don’t want to jinx it.

You’ve played the guitar for most of your life; what’s your favourite thing about playing it? 

EK: Oh, gee. I like it very much. Most of the time I like it really much and if I don’t, I don’t do it. It’s an expressive tool. Especially when you get a little bit tripped up with words and  it can communicate. That’s a nice thing to be able to do because I’m sometimes at a loss for words. Though you wouldn’t always know that. Especially when I was younger, I found it a way to both get out into the world and also escape from the world when necessary. 

The guitar was the instrument that I fell in love with when I was about nine years old. It could be any instrument, really. It could be, for instance, like people write poetry or whatever. It fulfils a large part of that function for me. 

I understand that your parents bought your first guitar for you when you were nine? A Hofner Club 40.

EK:  Yeah, that’s absolutely correct. And I still have it. I’d even get it out, except it’s under some stuff at the moment. 

That was the guitar that you wrote ‘(I’m) Stranded’ on in your bedroom at your parents’ place, right? 

EK: Yeah. I wrote on that up until about 1974, and then I bought myself a guitar that kind of took over that. Up until then a lot of things were written on my little three quarter size Hofner guitar [laughs]. 

You’ve been writing for a long time, even before The Saints, when you were a kid you used to write songs; what were those about? 

EK: Well, I don’t remember this one particularly well, but when dad was still alive and mum still had her faculties about, they said that I wrote a song about a green steam engine that turned into a rocket ship. That was written in my sandbox [laughs]. That was my earliest song, after that, the subject matters became a little less interesting, less free form for a little while, when I thought I had to write proper songs. 

I think I’ll go back to my first lot of ideas. All my songs are going to about steam engines that turn into rocket ships soon. I might do an album. A concept album [laughs]. 

[Laughter]. I would listen to that! I especially love things to do with space. I’m always fascinated by that kind of stuff.

EK: Yeah, well, it’s pretty intriguing, not just for children, but everybody. 

There’s another guitar that you have that’s really special to you, your dad’s guitar.

EK: Yeah, a classical guitar. He bought that for himself at the same time or maybe slightly before he bought the one for me. When I visited my parents, I mean, even when I was still living at home with them, I would often use their guitar because setting up an electric is kind of more work and there’s something quite nice about playing acoustic. This was a nylon-stringed acoustic guitar and it felt quite different from the electrics. It inspired slightly different things. I wrote the music for ‘This Perfect Day’ The Saints’ second single on that guitar… well, third single, but it was the second one that we actually wanted out. 

The Aints’ album, The Church of Simultaneous Existence, would have been written on all of those guitars at various times. That’s what I had access to. I have a strong sentimental and emotional attachment to these objects, even though that’s all they are, just objects. 

After your father’s passing, you wrote a song on it that was dedicated to him.

EK: Yeah, which we performed with my band, Asteroid Ekosystem, and recorded. That’ll be coming out sometime this year. I hope Alister Spence, who’s kind of the band leader, I guess, is looking after that, so I’m not getting too involved. I’ll let him do his thing. 

What is the song called? 

EK: It’s called ‘For Herman’. 

Beautiful. Was it a hard to write? 

EK: Not really. I didn’t want to do a straightforward kind of ode sort of thing. It touches on a whole range of things that I recall about my dad in a way that isn’t very obvious. It’s hard to talk about it at this point. 

When Asteroid Ekosystem performed it, everybody that had heard it and had heard that we were going to be doing it, came up and said, wow, that was great, but totally not what I expected. It’s successful in that regard. 

You always seem to do that with your music, do the unexpected. You’ve released a lot of albums and every album isn’t quite the same as the last and you’re always evolving and doing something different.

EK: Well, thanks. Yeah, I do try not to repeat myself. Even though going through all the back catalogue at the moment and remastering to reissue this stuff, I sort of think I thought I was making a five kilometre jump in the air there from the previous record, but it really wasn’t. It was just a couple of steps around the corner. 

I have quite a respect for people that can repeat themselves all the time. It doesn’t hold my interest all that much, but the fact that they’re able to do it and that they hold their audience in that process. Somebody like the Ramones. The first four albums or so are much of a muchness, but good stuff. There’s no musical or lyrical development but they explore it in such a thorough way that they’re not leaving any glimmer, any little crumb of an idea left unexploited. Whereas I guess I’ve always thought I’ve done something different. 

One way or the other isn’t a better way. It just depends on what you feel like doing yourself. I don’t think there’s any right way or wrong way. I’m saying all of this because I’ve read interviews with myself where I’ve said that kind of thing and I thought, you know, it sort of sound like you’re saying that this is the only way to work. It’s the way that I work. It’s not anything that I recommend. I like doing it because there’s a big, wide world out there and an awful lot of things that you can be doing. My eyes are always bigger than my stomach [laughs]. That’s paraphrasing some old saying that my parents used to say. 

[Laughter]. You mentioned the reissues that are coming out, one of the first is a 7 inch of ‘(I’m) Stranded’ getting a rerelease 47 years after it initially came out. Was the original box of records delivered to your house in the 1970s? Were you the first member of The Saints to open the box and hold it in your hands? 

EK: They were sent to Astor Records in Brisbane City. I picked them up from there. I’d worked there a couple of years earlier, and knew that they did pressings. The other thing that was important was that they were quite possibly the best vinyl pressings in Australia at the time. Anything that has the old black and gold Astor label on it from the early 70s, those records, even if they look a bit beat up, they’re really well done and they sound still really good, for the most part. It felt like quality. Even though Astor was a really cheap and petty and miserable little place in a lot of ways [laughs]. The record was manufactured at the Astor Pressing plant in Melbourne. 

How did you feel when you picked it up? After loving music and buying records for ages; how did it feel to finally have your own? 

EK: Well, it was great doing it, but it was even better when I got home and put it on. My girlfriend had driven me to get it, I didn’t have a car. We put them in the back of her Renault. When we got back to the unit I put it on. And, without doubt, it was the best thing that I’d ever heard in my life—it was a very thrilling event. 

We didn’t have a phone. No one in the band had a phone. We must have just driven around to everybody’s place. I don’t remember how we even got to give them their copies. Maybe they came around and got them? Everyone had the same response though. There was no ambiguity, no cynicism just—this is fucking fantastic. 

I had a similar reaction when I first put it on and heard it as a teen two decades after it was released. I thought it was so cool that this came from my hometown! It’s a powerful song.

EK: Fantastic. It’s lasted longer than I thought it would have. And I stress to emphasise I wasn’t humble about it. I thought, this is a really great record! 

But the thing that was sort of happening in the environment in which I grew up in, which everyone in the band did, all the bands that we really liked, who were really fantastic, nobody knew about them. And so there wasn’t any expectation on our part, that we would suddenly become the new Beatles or something. 

It was before the punk thing kind of drew attention back to groups like The Stooges or The Velvet Underground, the MC5, the New York Dolls, those 70s or late 60s rock and roll bands that we really liked. No one knew them at that time. Everyone knows now. You probably see an interview with Iggy on the 7:30 Report or on Good Morning Australia now, but back in those days, it was a different scenario. 

We had no expectation of what we were doing, operating out of a small place in Brisbane; banned from every venue in town, and any agent would refuse to work with us. There was no reason for us to think that we’ve made a great record other than to think we’ve made a great record, and hopefully it’ll get through to a few people.That sums it up. Everything was just taken a step at a time. 

Our first review that I read, was an Australian review in Juke magazine, which was a Melbourne paper in those days. It was a real slag off. Everyone laughed about it. We held the reviewer in even more contempt than we did before he’d reviewed the record, but it didn’t make us think, oh, well, we’re still going to become the biggest band in the world. 

When the reviews started coming in from the UK, we were really over the moon, they were really positive. Within a matter of weeks, it was October, we had top reviews in Sounds magazine three times out of four, finishing with Single of the Year! That made us think, wow, this is good! 

Then telegrams started coming to my parents’ place because that was the address that I’d put on for correspondence. I asked for people to send cash and we’d send them a record. That took a few weeks, as you would imagine, because it would take time for the mail to get over there, then to get back here. Much slower process than it is now. 

But, yeah, hearing the record for the first time was a great moment. It’s hard to ever top, regardless of what you do after that. That first moment is still special.

What kind of guitar player would you say you were back then? 

EK: Not all that different to the type of guitar player that I am today. I can do more because I’ve been playing longer, because I’ve been experiencing more things. I’ve learned some things. There are some things that I don’t think that I do as well anymore, that are definitely something that you have to be fairly young and fairly focused to do.

There’s not much live footage of The Saints, but there is some from Paddington Town Hall. I look at that and I think, well, I might be a bit more sophisticated than that now, but there’s still something about what I’m doing there that I totally stand by. As a guitarist, I’ve always never really felt myself to be part of the bigger world of guitarists. I don’t immediately start talking to people about pickups and strings. I feel that I’ve maintained my own course, without too much interference from what other people are doing.

I’ve never considered myself a particularly proficient guitarist. Being able to play anything, hasn’t really interested me. When I was in high school, I had at least one friend who certainly considered himself vastly superior guitarist to me. I couldn’t, but he was definitely able to, do Deep Purple covers in a much more competent way than I was able to. Not that I tried very hard. 

But could he write his own unique songs? I know so many technically brilliant guitarists that can play other people’s stuff, but they can’t write their own song.

EK:I guess I had a sense of that in the first place. I don’t think I ever really saw myself playing the guitar to become a guitarist. It was more to do everything to the band. The guitar was a tool. It was It was the one instrument, outside of a keyboard, that could come close to representing everything that I was hearing on the radio or on a record. 

The way that I developed my playing, which is maybe a bit busy, was just a way of becoming the orchestra in a lot of ways. That was the intention. It was that slightly naive way of looking at a record, that informed the way that I actually ended up playing guitar. 

A normal way of looking at a recording would be to process what you’re hearing and to separate everything. I did the opposite, and it all became one thing, which then became the guitar. 

I know that the first albums you bought were: Paranoid by Black Sabbath, Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out! by The Rolling Stones and Live At Leeds by The Who. I noticed that two of them were live records. I was wondering if that raw live sound helped inform what you do early on?

EK: The Who’s Live at Leeds, certainly, I think that is a phenomenal live record. The funny thing with that was I got that when I was about 14, and because I only had a mono record player, the way that that album is actually mixed is that you have the bass on one side and the guitar on the other side, but in mono, they all come together. So it was often hard to tell when John Entwistle was doing some of his lead like, chunky things. It sounded like the guitar and the bass became one thing. So that is an accurate observation. Not so much that it was live. It was just the way that I heard it at first. 

Paranoid, well [Tony] Iommi for me was one of the greats and still is in that era. Those first six Black Sabbath records, I could have used them as an example instead of the Ramones before. They basically had one idea, they saw it through six albums, and I like them all. That sort of minimalist approach can be really strong. 

Yeah, I guess it’s true to say that anything that I really liked had some sort of an influence. It may not be obvious, it may not even be audible, but something somewhere along the line. But it’s also important to say that at a certain point, and I think I got there fairly young, that you have to hit upon your own thing, and that became it. 

Developing your own approach on an instrument or when you’re writing, you have to be a little conscious of it. I helps to steer yourself in that way initially, but after that it actually comes really naturally these days. I don’t think I could come close to impressing anybody as anyone else other than myself. I don’t do impersonations very well [laughs]. 

[Laughter]. How do you go about writing your songs? 

EK: I try not to sort of have a set formula, but it helps if I sit down with an instrument. Usually guitar, because they’re easy to have laying around the place, but sometimes I might have a toy piano. Or something, which can kind of spark an idea. I find that if I set time aside (I wish I did it more often if), I say, well, I’m going to get up earlier and I’m going to write songs between 7AM and midday. Usually I’ll have something at the end of that. It may not be all that great, but I’ll have something. Whereas if I don’t do that, it doesn’t happen. 

Do you have any regular daily routines? 

EK: Yeah, from time to time, so they’re not really that regular [laughs]. I aspire to that kind of approach and sometimes I do manage it and other times it’s quite easy to get distracted. 

I know as a musician and songwriter you’re constantly learning and that you like to find and try new things that keep your interest when making music; what have you discovered lately?

EK:  When COVID was on, I thought I was making great leaps forward in terms of what I was doing on guitar, trying to work out a different harmonic response to things. I thought, well, this is getting really interesting. Then for some reason, well, it happened in the lead up to my father dying and then doing some shows, touring and stuff, I got out of that habit. I’ll know the next time I look into that aspect of it, whether those months of hard work and of thinking about it and doing little bits have had any lasting impact.

My condolences for your father’s passing. I’ve lost both my parents. It’s a pretty big thing to happen.

EK: It is a big thing. But dad was 93. It wasn’t unexpected. It happened very suddenly, which is probably a good thing. It does something to you in terms of the way you have to sort of reappraise your entire life and all the difficulties that you may have had with your parents and you, everything that they went through. It does cause you quite a bit of time for reflection. But as I say, he lived a long life and it was really only a matter of time. I think once you get into your 90s, you must be counting your blessings.

Yeah. Did his passing make you think about your own mortality? 

EK: Oh yeah.

Is that why you’re full steam ahead into all the things you’re doing? 

EK: Well, yeah, I guess there is a feeling that there is limited time but also there were many years, going over a decade, where a lot of my things had just fallen totally out of sight. It took us a long time to get everything together to be able to do the reissues. It wasn’t as if I had all the tapes. I didn’t. They were all over the place and there were all manner of things (that I won’t go into) on this that had to be addressed. It was a long term project. 

The fact that Remote Control, who are manufacturing and distributing them, were really keen; we needed somebody like that. I didn’t think that I could go through the process of having all these records done and then be also sitting there every afternoon, mailing out LPs to people that had bought them in the way that I did with the ‘(I’m) Stranded’ single. I feel a little too old to be doing that [laughs].

Is writing lyrics something that comes easy for you?

EK: It depends on the song. It depends on the state of mind that I’m in. A lot of my lyric writing takes the form of writing a few paragraphs of prose, if I feel like making some sort of an observation. Just jotting down ideas, and then I’ll refer to those notes when it comes to actually writing lyrics. Sometimes there’ll be lines that I really like or themes that I really like and then I apply those because to me, the music comes first usually in terms of what I hold in importance. 

Lyrics are really important, but they don’t necessarily steer the song for me, in the way that they do with a lot of people. I tend to be more of a, well, this is the song, this is the melody that I want to sing. That’s got too many words, so I’ll chop those; I use the William Burrows technique. Anything that makes the process something that I think is exciting, that keeps the momentum going.

I was a very poor student in high school because I would never do my home work, I would never do any assignments just because I was bored with it. I couldn’t focus. It’s kind of like that. So the lyrics sort of tend to get a little bit moulded into where I think they need to fit and that. It works for me, not for everybody. 

I noticed you seem to write about love a fair bit. 

EK: I guess so, yeah. Got to have those chances for pop radio [laughs]. 

Does your wife inspire you? 

EK: Yeah, she does. 

She does a lot of your album art, right?

EK: I met her when Laughing Clowns started and she started doing art. She did all the really good covers for Laughing Clowns’ records. The other ones weren’t quite as good. I did one which is a very controversial cover. I think it’s great. Other people think it’s the worst thing they’ve ever seen [laughs]. But when Jude took over doing the covers, that degree of controversy wasn’t there. Everyone agreed, oh, that’s a beautiful. So she’s been working with me quite a lot. 

She’s done the bulk of album covers for my solo projects. She’s done the covers for the Aints and she’s done a few other bits and pieces that I’ve been involved in, as well as a few covers for other people. That’s been a very long, ongoing relationship, which has brought out some really good results. 

Do you ever run your songs by her to get her input? 

EK: Not so much. We collaborated on an album called Jean Lee and the Yellow Dog, where she wrote most of the lyrics. That was interesting because I hadn’t worked with many lyricists. 

I’d worked with Chris Bailey, of course, in The Saints. But working with Jude was a different sort of interaction due to the writing of the lyrics in a more sort of traditional lyricist kind of way, which in some ways, sort of clashed a little bit with the way that I worked. 

With Chris, it was a really straightforward kind of scenario. The way that we would normally work would be that I’d write a verse and a chorus and then give it to him to write more. The more amusing lyrics that he took into it for the verses, that was great. 

With Jude, I approached her lyrics as if they were something that I’d written. I would alter them to make it fit in what I thought the song should be. I actually made quite a lot of compromises on that and I didn’t always do that. Sometimes I think that was absolutely the right decision. Other times I think the song doesn’t work quite as well as it could have, but it’s no big deal. 

Are many of the lyrics that you write very personal? 

EK: Everything that I write is personal. Whether that is personal in a way that’s going to be revealing to people or something, I don’t know. I try these days not to do too much heartfelt stuff with my lyrics. I prefer to be a little bit objective and sort of observational, I suppose. 

Your album, Electrical Storm, which was your first solo album that was reissued, I really love the song ‘Master of Two Servants’. There’s a line in it that says: Hate was just behind me / Love directly in front of me. What’s that about?

EK: Those songs were written in a burst, most of them, after Laughing Clowns split up. I was definitely channelling a lot of things. But I think ‘Master of Two Servants’, I would call that an observational song, a song that has some sort of a moral in there, but it’s largely a watch-what-you-wish-for-thing. 

I know that there’s been a few points where you’ve wanted to quit music. One was when you came back from London after being over there with The Saints. Another was at the end of Laughing Clowns. What made you want to give up? And, what was it that brought you back to music? 

EK: The music industry made me want to stop. I really hate the music industry, and I still do. Apart from the people at Remote Control and my agent [laughs]. 

I get it. I hate the music industry, too. That’s why we make our own publication, and do things our own way. Music is more than a product. 

EK: I get depressed, get sort of overwhelmed. The Saints had been together five years. We worked hard in the early days. Then we quickly tried to process what was happening in those last couple of years once the records started coming out and dealing with all that without having any idea, any business sense, and not having any really good advice. At the end of that, it was sort like, I don’t know. It was a combination of relief that it was sort of over and also a sadness. I thought, well, isn’t it fucking great? We’ve done three LPs in the last 18 months and I really like them all— that was enough for me in a way. 

When I’ve talked about quitting music, they seem like significant moments to me at the time, but in reality they probably last two or three weeks. I’m definitely in a state for a while where I think I’m just not going to bother with this. I’ll do something that I’m less sort of emotionally or personally invested in. I’ll just get a job where I get a paycheck and I don’t actually care about when I knock off. Whereas doing this you don’t really ever knock off. Which is great too. I’m not complaining about that. It’s a good thing too that you also have that ability to kind of just shut off from. 

Did you have other jobs other than being a musician? 

EK: I worked as a storeman at Astor Records. I was making my way up the ranks very quickly. I was the only one in the Brisbane office that knew anything about music, and they offered me the chief salesman’s rep position in North Queensland, which would have been very humorous if I had got that. One of the jobs that I had was to send out what they called rack orders, a shop would say, send me $250 worth of records (this is back in the days when $250 could buy you quite a lot of records) and I got to pick what they were. A few weeks later they’d all come back saying, we don’t want this, we want this other stuff, which I thought was rubbish. I don’t think I would have made a very good salesman because Astor didn’t have that much that I liked. They had John Lee Hooker, which is fantastic. Lightnin’ Hopkins, Nina Simone, The Kinks and Status Quo; I liked all of that. And that would have been the only artists that I probably would have been promoting as a salesman [laughs]. My commissions probably wouldn’t have kept me going for long. 

[Laughter]. Another thing that I’ve noticed about your music is there’s humour in it. guess people often see you as a very serious artist. But then I think here’s also a lot of play.

EK: Yeah. Okay. I have a very serious, earnest way of singing sometimes, which I’ve noticed going back through all my stuff for reissues. I think, Gee, talk about deadpan delivery [laughs]. I guess that’s just the way that I am. I don’t go out of my way to write something funny unless I’m doing my stand up routine [laughs]. 

[Laughter]. Another album that’s been reissued is Honey Steel’s Gold, your fifth solo album. When you think of it, what kind of comes to mind? 

EK: They’re all important records. Honey Steel’s Gold was noteworthy because it was the first of my solo albums to get into the Top 40. That was a surprise. It was the first record that I had that received national airplay. It coincided with Triple J going national, so we’re lucky on that. It meant that people around the country got to hear the record at the same time and it meant people bought it at the same time, which actually got it charted, which was quite a thing. 

I don’t care that much about charts, but it was still nice. It lifted things up. To put it in the speak of the managers, shows went from being in front of 200 people a night to 1000. 

You’ve put out so many albums. There’s like five or so years, I think, where you didn’t put anything out since you started. There was a period where you were churning out two or three records a year. What was kind of driving you to do so much? 

EK: The fact that I could, the fact that people were releasing it. It was an interesting sort of thing to do. 

When I was a kid, when I first got into music, it was commonplace for groups to be churning out singles. The Beatles did two albums in a year. And all those 60s pop bands were doing that. That changed in the 70s, but I still had that impression of that was a reasonable pace to aim for. So I did it while I could. After a while, that sort of dried up, and a number of other things happened. Life changes. I pulled back from that quite a lot.

I was probably doing more in a year for a couple of years in the 90s than I do in a decade these days. But anyway, that’s the way it is. 

What do you feel was your most experimental album so far? 

EK: I don’t go into the process thinking, I’m going to make this experimental. Whenever I’m in the studio, if the recording budget allows, I muck around with things, try things out which aren’t planned. It’s not like everything is worked out beforehand. I use the same amount of openness to experiment on anything that I do and always have done. 

You mentioned before that there’s been times in your life where you felt really depressed. What helped you get through those times? 

EK: A lot of wrong turns initially. I will give one piece of advice, and that is alcohol is not a good aid to dealing with depression, that’s for sure. Even though you think it is, but it isn’t. I can’t really talk about it. It’s one of those things that you either are lucky enough to deal with or you’re not, which a lot of people aren’t. But the jury is still out whether my way of dealing with things has been totally successful. I suppose I’m still around at the moment [laughs].

I’m glad. Have you ever tried anything like meditation? 

EK: Look, it’s been recommended. I haven’t really. But I can get into a meditative state with listening to music or playing guitar, or sitting in the park, or just sitting in the garden, patting the dog.

That’s all really good stuff. I was sitting in my garden, patting my dog this morning. And listening to music usually always helps me too. 

EK: That’s a great thing. I don’t often listen to music in the garden. If the neighbourhood is quiet enough, which it sometimes is, I actually like to hear the sounds of nature. It’s a great thing to do. If you’re lucky enough to have a garden. 

Have you ever been inspired by any sounds in nature when you’re writing? 

EK: Yeah, sounds of insects and things like that. I hear music in that sometimes. The wind. The sound of our rusty old air vents when they’re being buffeted by the Westerlies, that’s a fairly beautiful and haunting sound. 

You’ve written songs about the rain and storms! 

EK: Yeah, they’re things that everything sort of changes in the build up to a storm. The ions change your whole way, your body, your moods change. They’re important aspect of what we are, how we live. The heat, the cold; they all have an impact on me. 

Yes! And are you still working on your book about your life? 

EK: Well. This still is a stretch,,because I haven’t really… you could say yes. I’m still thinking about it, I haven’t done very much yet. To be honest, I’m just not enthused enough about writing about myself at this point, which is why I’m so slow. It feels too much like homework. Like, what did you do on your holidays? [laughs].

There’s a lot of people that would be interested in your story. I hope you finish writing it one day. Stories are how we connect and learn, and feel not so alone, all that good stuff. Just like there’s stories in music. 

EK: Where would we be without music? It’s very important. It’s been the saviour of many poor soul.

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