The Jim Kroft Podcast

START SOMEWHERE

It’s launch week for my little project, guys!

A year ago, I walked into The Famous Gold Watch Studios with just two songs.

They weren’t complete.

And honestly, neither was I. But here’s the truth: you’re never ready.

Waiting for readiness is the greatest obstacle to our dreams and ideas.

If there’s one thing my creative journey has taught me, it’s this:

Start Somewhere.

1. The Songs Were Not Ready!
Arriving at the studio, I had two songs, but neither was finished.

This was part design; I was looking for a new process.

The other aspect was that I was warring with the Gods for my musical life.

I knew implicitly that if I tried to finish the songs, I’d probably take another 6 months — because life becomes busier with age and it's harder to focus on the act of finishing.

The one thing I knew was that I had to move forward, and if that meant bludgeoning forward, then so be it.

That is how you deal with unreadiness.

Sometimes it takes madcap bravery, putting yourself on the line and the absurd courage to fail utterly.

I had some of the best musicians in Berlin — friends of mine — coming to record.

“Where are the songs, Jim?” they asked the week before.

“You’re not getting them," I said, gleefully acknowledging that we would all be stepping into the abyss together.

Despite the fact I was unprepared, this was also a creative decision.

Why?

Because I wanted to create forward not backwards.

Look, nowadays — in my humble opinion — too much music is sanitised.

Too many computers, too much autotune, and no one playing together.

So my first resolution?

I put the creative Gods on notice.

We were going in blind and we were going to rescue Prometheus from his persecution.

Yes, the act of unreadiness is the decision to steal back the fire from the Gods.

You cannot wait forever.

Deciding not to is to acknowledge your mortality. That our time is short. That today fucking matters.

Damn, all I knew in my heart was how desperately I wanted to live and how much I knew that one aspect of my existence was bound — for better or worse — with the gift of inkling, in some minuscule way, with musical spheres.

I had felt the candle flicker.

And yes, I wanted to rage against the dying of the light.

We assembled in the studio. I asked Bob, the co-producer and engineer, to set up the studio as if it were for a rehearsal.

We were going to riff this one out!

And so that is what we did.

I played Vampires — which was inspired by my great friend DeanIsHome who is the guest artist on the song. He was the only one who’d had a rehearsal with me — and damn, Dean was ready to go! What a legend.

I had two ideas in mind:

First, I wanted to capture energy. I could feel it in the room, it was brimming with great players slightly on edge, but extraordinarily focused as a result of it.

Second, I wanted to chase good enough not perfection.

I had made a calculation.

If I can get these great players to perform at the critical edge between inspiration and boredom, maybe I could capture something cooler than perfection—ecstatic energy!

And so, to the band’s surprise, after an hour I said to the band “OK boys, time to record!”.

That’s when we started putting it all down.
And that’s what you will hear when you listen to the track.

2. Trust In Magic
If you are always trying to perfect you are buying into an illusion.

It is the illusion that by taking the safe route you will arrive at inspiration.

Safety — which is what the will to perfection is — is the graveyard of inspiration.

If you feel stuck, it is likely because you are not risking.

Before setting off on this album adventure I had hit a wall — going into the studio underprepared was about taking a hammer to it.

Nothing activates you more than putting the pressure on.

Throw out the safety.

This was not only foolhardiness.

It also came from analysis.

My favourite band, The Beatles, brought their new songs to Abbey Road studio—and that’s where they introduced, rehearsed, and developed them.

Damn, I thought — no one’s taking risks like that any more!

To be clear, unlike The Beatles, I didn’t have unlimited time. But this proved useful too.

Decisions had to be made.

We had two days to get these tracks down — that was the budget.

And I said to the band that I’m recording and releasing come what may, so there is no safety net, there is no second chance.

It felt exhilarating!

From a period of stuckness, I found myself alive, pumped, on edge, and tapped into the very heart of life.

Yes, there is risk, yes there is uncertainty, yes there is imperfection.

But there is also commitment, moving forward and throwing your anchor into the void — onto what will we grapple?!

Here’s the thing:

I felt magic enter that room.

Vampires is a quirky song — it’s one of the most unusual songs on the album and a strange one to release first.

But I loved what we came up with because it took on its own life.

I had the opening guitar riff, chord sequence and melodies. But it lives from great players discovering it in real-time.

The magic came because:

I gave up control.

The guys knew I trusted them.

And that brought their A-Game!

There’s tremendous energy in the song — and that’s one reason I wanted to release it first. But there is another too…

3. Overcoming The Demon of Self-Doubt
“Vampires” is not a horror song!

The Vampires represent the demons of self-doubt.

Look, most of us in the arts live in the long tale.

I grew up in a musical environment where 17 million streams must be earned to match the average salary in Germany.

After tax, that would be 32K.

Nowadays, this gargantuan task extends across all the arts:

Journalists: Newspapers vanish; jobs follow.

Musicians: Millions of streams, little pay.

Artists: Compete with endless digital creations.

Photographers: Smartphones replace expertise.

Authors: E-books rewrite publishing rules.

Designers: AI tools replace their work.

Life in the arts IS living in the long tale.

I have lived around the arts for so long, and despite knowing so many wonderful, talented, incredible artists, I have observed that too many carry a huge weight.

It is this:

Their inability to make life financially viable through their art causes them to doubt if they had any talent in the first place.

Damn, I know many extraordinary musicians who gave up 10 years ago — musicians I am not even worth tying the bootlaces of.

“Vampires” embodies my wrestle with the curious relationship between a musician’s sense of self-worth and a marketplace that essentially expects his commodity to be free.

No, Spotify does not buy songs—and yes, songs cost at least several thousand euros to make.

The hard question I asked myself — sitting grimly in Mahalla at the start of last year — was this:

Jimbo, you’ve had a good run.
You’ve had your shot.
But you came up short.
The market decided already.
There’s no point going on this journey — you are just going to replicate your own shortcomings.

Would it not be prudent simply to refuse the call to adventure — of writing and recording a new album?

Honestly, I am not free of these internal demons.

But I am taking it to them — and that is what releasing Vampires to me — it is about dancing in the dark, it is about slaying the demon of self-doubt.

Look, there has to be a place for magic in our lives, for creativity, for taking a chance.

Who's to say that good things might not happen from this set of songs?!

My freedom lies in deciding to move forward—that’s my victory.

I am proud of these songs.
I am enriched by writing them.
I have grown as a person and as a musician through bringing them into existence.

If I can get earning again from music — if I can find a way to play again live — that will be something beautiful.

But my real goal was something else:

I just wanted to live — to be able to live with myself.

That is where my feeling of freedom comes from now — that I can.

More so than at any time in my life.

I fought with the “Vampires”.

And I won.

Mahalla, where my creative office based
4. Courage for a New Process
In the past, I had always gone to the studio with songs as developed as I could make them.

This time, I had no inclination to repeat the past.

If you are standing before a new project; make it new.

Yes, it may already live inside you in some way.

But let it represent this time of your life — and merge with the discoveries you are making now.

This decision — and attitude — helps when you feel stuck.

I invited Dean to be the guest artist because I’d never done it before.

I’ve always been a stubbornly old-fashioned songwriter.

Well, I guess I still am!

I write my music.

This is less and less the case nowadays.

The reality is that despite the talent of artists like Coldplay and Ed Sheeran, there is a degree of committee — this song by Coldplay had 15 songwriters involved.

This is not judgment — it is an observation.

What I have realised though is that I want to open my spirit in a new way — and see where that leads.

The reason I write this is that often when we get stuck it is because we are too bound by the new.

Maybe it is time for you to try something new; to play a new hand at the game.

What does that mean to you?

Usually, you can find it by asking:

What are you most afraid of?

Identify that.
Then walk towards it.
It is time for a new process.

5. Clear the Desk
Last year, when I did not know how to forward, I looked at a post-it note I framed a few years ago.

It said:

Start Somewhere.

That was my decision when I booked the studio last year.

I knew I had to start somewhere.

A year later, I am at a new point.

I have lived within a process.

Accepted that it would bring me trials.

Enjoyed that it then also brought me epiphanies.

It is now time to start releasing this material.

An unexpected outcome is already materialising.

It is clearing my desk.

Yesterday, I went to my studio and a good song came.

Damn, where did you come from?

I realised — I had dared to record, and now release — where I was.

It is making new space in my spirit.
And already new things are entering.

That is the revitalisation, the renewal, the reinvigoration I was seeking.

The light is made manifest through the dark.

You have to illuminate your cave.

Have the courage to walk into it.

If there is only a candle, that is illumination enough.

The whole universe formed from a primal spark at the end of all things.

That was the great eureka.

And it is in you.

Don’t be afraid of Chromatic Zero.

That’s what I’m considering naming the project.

You have a light inside you.

Don’t be afraid that it resides in a dark place.

Something else does too:—

The Human Heart.