Observing process
The light in their spare bedroom is on for the first time since they moved in. A man enters and sits at a desk where there's a small microphone connected to a laptop. He improvises a little song, which I cannot hear. He sings into the microphone like he's searching for something.
The next day I see the man looking around the room, inspecting books and trinkets.
On the Wednesday, as I'm working at my own desk, I begin to hear a muffled beat: a synth.
The following day an electric guitar is introduced, and then the vocals that were recorded days before. He moves between being seated with the guitar to standing upright.
A few months later, I receive a parcel in the letterbox: his latest EP burnt onto a CD. I put the disc into the player and listen to the lyrics. They're about time passing, the monotony of bringing up young children, sleepless nights.
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