The story in words
David Kerrigan has played hundreds of gigs in Oz, and in his extensive travels has played in America, The U.K., Western Europe, Thailand, Nepal, and just so as he could say it, Estonia.
Once the front man of three-piece rock outfit Audioride, lead guitarist of Ricochet, and session guitarist for live-to-air performances on Channel Ten Australia, he nonetheless found his feet for song writing and solo performance when traveling overseas – having travelled through over 45 countries, and armed, always, with pen, paper, and guitar.
He lived in London from 2010 to 2014, during which he played countless shows, including playing personally for His Majesty, Prince Charles. He currently lives in Austin, Texas.
Despite Journeyism being his third album, the following predecessors (also available on iTunes) are no less parts of the journey.
AUDIORIDE – ‘JOIN LIKE WATER ] MOVE LIKE TIDES’ (2002)
“This album is quite simply, an accident. Not that I, in a moment of weakness, made love to a blank CD, or that the songs by any means wrote themselves. No, I, through many long anxiety-riddled days and nights, took the time to write them. But where my old band Audioride (myself on vocals, guitar, piano. Matty Ryan on drums, and Dale Trickett on bass) were at a stage ready to demo our set with mind to stand back, assess the demoed songs, choose the best four, and rerecord and release an EP, I, as their songwriter, got a fraction carried away.
We first went into Idge’s studio and recorded the drums and bass (myself providing guide vocals as a reference for the rhythm section boys). My guide tracks were deleted on the day, and, with mind to save us a pile of coin, I, in a cyclone composed more of determination than technical aptitude, endeavoured to continue the process of tracking the guitars, pianos and final vocals, back home.
My poky childhood bedroom – containing no more than a pine desk, a wobbly red stool, and my trusty PC – assumed role of the project’s cockpit. My older brother’s abandoned room next-door – containing my heavily-cranked guitar amp, and, a single drum mic with the hardiness to suck it up – assumed the cabin of rollicking sound. The words ‘Don’t ya reckon it’s getting a bit late!’ and ‘Phone!’ were on many occasions barked by Dad downstairs, but, wishing to refrain from featuring his hollers on the songs, I recorded around his schedule of sitting in front of the telly as artfully as possible.
I was supposed to be quick, the very opposite of precious, but I guess I should speak only for myself when I say it, that for a young songwriter there are few highs higher than hearing the music you’ve been carrying around in your head become born into the outside world. In spirit of this labour of love, it was many all-consuming weeks later that I crawled out of my little room.
Delighted with my efforts, I played the final product to band-brothers Matty and Dale. ‘It’s good!” they said, frowning as much as smiling, ‘But it was meant to be a demo, not a f*cken album!’ ‘Sorry…’ I returned. But it is now, several years later, that I release it without apology.”
EMBRYONIC (2000)
“It was September 1999 when I discovered the pocket-sized town of Gimmelwald in the Swiss Alps. I arrived Day One, dropped my cumbersome backpack, walked a few territorial laps around the hostel, and due, without question, to the spectacular mountainous setting by which I was surrounded, withdrew my guitar from its case.
Up until this point, I’d been a guitarist only, more of a right-hand man to certain singers than a singer myself, and having never been pleased by the sound of my own voice, I was loathed to sing the mandatory backing vocals in the various bands I’d played with. Quite accustomed to this position, I was always on the sniff for singers with whom I could collaborate, but it was perhaps due to my steadily increasing vocal confidence that came with busking around Europe, that I came to the realisation that I should cease looking for singers, and step up to become that singer.
As a kind of voluntary baptism of fire, it was on Day One in Gimmelwald that I perched myself on hostel’s top balcony – encased in a mountainous view that no camera could dream to capture – and swore to myself that I would never again stand up from the stool I was sitting until I’d written a full song – not a ‘piece of music’, as I’d often done in the past, music that could be ‘sung over’ by a singer at a later date, but a song like that of actual songwriters writing for themselves. I did, and the first tangible song I ever wrote – having sat out on the balcony until night’s descent – was called Horse. Shite name, but hey, horses are cool!
From here on a floodgate opened, and due not only to the inspiring location – but, lack of distractions – I was soon producing further songs. Ghosts On A Nowhere Train was born, soon after followed That Man On The Black 'n' White TV. Perhaps even more exciting than their arrival, was that I could test them in the lively jamming sessions that occurred each night with the host of other musicians passing through the hostel.
Also included in this demo anthology, such as Vampire Butterfly and Here It Resides – dating as far back as the mid-90’s – are songs written from the point of view of a guitarist writing music as opposed to a singer writing songs. This is a warts and all album, a bookmark in embryonic time. In contrast to my tendency to feel apologetic, however, for the often weak vocals that wrack these works, and, attempts to rock that fit me less like a glove than a condom over my head, what I’m very proud of, is to hear the younger lad that I was, sifting through his influences, and embarking, for the first ever time, on farming out the music he knew was within him.”
Sincere thanks for your interest. Please be a real-life and online firebug with this information and spread it all around. To obtain Journeyism or any of the aforementioned albums, please click on the album covers above.
The journey goes ever on…
