This is a story with a happy ending. But first, the unhappy beginning. Picture the scene. Although not too clearly 'cause it might make you cry.
A bloke is slumped at a piano on the top floor of an old toffee factory in Stockport. He's been in this space, now a recording studio, for five 'intensive' weeks. He's barely seen his missus and kids. Spring has turned to summer. Twenty rough'n'ready songs, played live by a band, have not turned to album-worthy gold. Many Marlboro Lights have been held in trembling fingers. Things ain't good. It is last year.
'I think I lost grip on what I was actually trying to do,' says Damon Gough, softly. 'I had this goal in my head of putting out five albums in five years, from The Hour Of The Bewilderbeast in 2000. That was my big mistake. That was stupid. In a way I rushed it. At the end of those five weeks I didn't feel it was going in a direction I liked. And I just walked away from it and left those songs alone.'
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