Photograph from Trust Your Artists Retreat workkshop Autumn 2025 (zine by Jean McEwan)

Somewhere underground, a seed has cracked open, certain of the existence of light. @thetinyjoyproject Jasmine Wilder

Songs Return – Danny Nedelko and Asylum Hotels/Support Artists – Buy Direct – Fund Change/ Gaza EP and Artists Supporting Palestine/ Warmth of the Ages podcast Southwark Day Centre for Asylum Seekers/ Bury Me In New Jersey Podcast/ Hibernation Sessions/ Online gig recording to close the year + relaxation and thanks for your love in 2025.

“Somewhere underground…” That sentence has been sitting with me today. It’s late November as I write, and my heart feels stretched between sadness and hope—two states that seem to coexist more frequently these days.

This afternoon, I was part of the second half of an event honouring the names of children killed in Palestine run by Know Their Names and Women in Black. In the middle of Newcastle, just outside the Civic Centre, pairs of children’s shoes were laid out in rows. A memorial wall held space for their names. People drifted in and out throughout the day—some stopping for a few minutes, others staying longer—listening as the names of children, this time aged around nine to fourteen, were spoken aloud. A few weeks ago, we read the names of children from birth to nine. Each name takes only seconds, yet the reading goes on all day.

Children remind me of seeds—small, full of promise, asking only for love and the chance to grow. The children whose names we read today are no longer here in the way their families once knew them, but I believe their spirit endures. When their names are spoken around the world, something of them continues to move. And I’m certain that the children who were physically present at the memorial today were held a little closer by their parents. I say that as someone who has been a father for only nine months, but already understands how grief and gratitude can exist together in an instant.

So—welcome to this journal post. I’m glad you’re here with me. Over the course of this entry, I want to explore a handful of threads that have been with lately: Songs Return, Danny Nedelko and the Asylum Hotels, ‘Support Artists, Buy Direct Fund Change’ Campaign, the Gaza EP with Artists Supporting Palestine and Christa Awad, the Warmth of the Ages podcast with staff from The Southwark Day Centre for Asylum seekers, the Bury Me in New Jersey podcast, the Hibernation Sessions, and an online gig to close out the year.

There’s also a small offering of relaxation—and, above all, my gratitude for your support and love going into 2026.

Songs Returned

I’m grateful to say that, thanks to a new distributor, my songs are now back on streaming platforms. They’re returning in a slightly different way this time. Instead of uploading whole albums as I did in the past, I’ll be releasing four songs from each record to the streaming world—with an invitation to come to my website if you’d like to download the full album, order a physical copy, or access the online home for each project.

I grew up buying CDs, tapes, records—sitting with artwork, lyrics, the sense of a whole body of work—so it matters to me that there’s space for that kind of experience again. And directing people to my own website lets me get to know you a little, and lets you meet the record in its full form.

There’s also a new part I’m glad to tell you about: every song connects to a theme, and each theme will receive a portion of whatever you choose to give for a download, a CD, or an album. My hope is that the music can help fund small but meaningful pockets of change. Toward the end of December, I’ll be inviting everyone who has purchased music from me this year to gather—virtually—for an evening together. We’ll decide collectively where the donated money will go, and I’ll play a little gig as part of the night. If you’d like to join us, you’re so welcome. Anyone who’s bought a download will receive an invitation.

If you’d like a fuller explanation of this whole new model, I’ve shared a short video called “Doing Things Differently.”

The first track to return was “Danny Nedelko”, a cover of Idles’ track, recorded with my friend Sophie Lowendahl. Thanks to Tom Robinson—both on his own BBC 6 Music show and when he stood in for Cerys Matthews—that the song received several plays on national radio meant a lot.

It is, at its heart, a song about immigration. And at a time when anti-migrant rhetoric is sweeping through the country—intensified recently by a new collection of bills from the current Labour government that will make seeking asylum even harder—I hope the song creates a pause. A moment for us to imagine what it must be like to choose that journey. As British-Somali poet Warsan Shir once said, there is something deeply wrong, no one…” puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land,”.

Recently I’ve been involved in protecting asylum spaces from marches organised by groups I believe are being misled by divisive political rhetoric. And, as I’ll share later, I’ve also spent many years working within the humanitarian system itself. All of that threads its way into this song.

So—this is the story of the songs returning.

Gaza EP & Artists Supporting Palestine

My involvement with Artists Supporting Palestine continues, and it continues in a landscape that feels unbearably tender. We hear talk of peace plans, talk of ceasefires, yet violence against the Palestinian people carries on. It raises a painful question: what do we do with all of this?

What do we do with the weight, the grief, the longing for justice? And if you’re someone who feels a tug to put your voice into the world—to create, to speak, to stand alongside others—then you’re welcome in our community

This Tuesday (25th) we’re gathering again for our Creative Grief & Action Circle. It’s a space for people who want to reflect together, create together, and stay connected to their values in a hostile and devastating environment. Each month we explore a different medium—poetry, drawing, movement, songwriting—and we check in with how we’re holding the news, the helplessness, the hope. It’s about nurturing our creative voice in a time when many of us feel silenced or overwhelmed.

This month we’re exploring song and the power music has to carry both grief and resistance. I’ll be facilitating. We’ll have a deep relaxation, then we’ll learn and sing a few songs together. I’ll also guide you through the very first taste of writing a melody—how a song begins, how it forms in the body before it finds its shape. There’ll be space for sharing too. If this calls to you, you’re very welcome to join us 7:30 on (gmt) Tuesday 25th November); just leave your details in the link and I’ll send everything you need.

Connected to this work, my friend Christa Awad and I have recorded a Gaza EP, available for £10, with all proceeds going to Medical Aid Palestine. These songs were written and recorded over the last two years—a kind of catharsis, I think, a way of lifting stories and feelings that might otherwise be buried under the constant layering of horror. Creating them has helped me stay connected to truth, to tenderness, to the flames that refuse to go out.

The EP is available both physically and digitally, and there’s also a dedicated online home where you can stream it ad-free and explore the notes, photographs and reflections that accompany the songs. You’d be very welcome to sit with it—no pressure, no expectation—just an invitation if you feel drawn.

Warmth of the Ages Podcast

The Warmth of the Ages podcast continues to grow with strength, and this month’s episode centres on the song Our Love, A Heart, These Hands.

The live recording for this track was captured in the garden shed at the Southwark Day Centre for Asylum Seekers (SDCAS)—a place that’s held my heart for a long time now. I’ve been involved there for about four years, though I’m currently on a sabbatical break.

The interview is with Bettina and Janet, both staff members at the Day Centre. In a political climate that feels increasingly chaotic and unsettled, organisations like SDCAS offer something steady and humane. They work quietly and tirelessly to bring dignity into the lives of people seeking asylum—meeting essential needs, yes, but also creating something deeper: community, connection, and belonging.

If you’d like to listen to the podcast, or explore more of the music behind it the full album, and podcast, is available directly through my website, and I’d be glad to share it with you from there.

Bury Me in New Jersey Podcast

A huge thank you to Bradley for inviting me onto the Bury Me in New Jersey podcast to talk at length about so many of the causes and questions that have shaped my songwriting in recent years. We wandered through my journey into folk music (and metal music!), the way songs come to life, and the ongoing realities in Israel and Palestine. We spoke about activism, and about what it means to be an artist who grieves—and to keep creating from inside that grief.

The whole podcast series centres on loss, love, and the ways we navigate what breaks our hearts, so it felt like a natural and generous place to have this conversation. It was a pleasure to sit with Bradley; his questions were thoughtful, spacious, and grounded. The episode is available to listen to through his Substack, where you can also read the written version if you prefer.

I’d love for you to listen. I think we had a really meaningful conversation there.

Two Online Gigs to Close the Year

There are two online gigs still to come as we bring this journal post—and the year—towards a close. The first is part of the Hibernation Sessions, where I’ll be playing live online next Sunday (I’ll share the exact date when it’s confirmed). You’re warmly welcome to join; just send me a note and I’ll pass along the link.

The second is something a little different—an experiment of sorts. If you’ve bought a release from me at any point this year, you have a free online gig ticket waiting for you to use. For this first offering, I’ve recorded a short set of five songs—some new, some older—filmed with a nice mic setup and camera so the sound has room to breathe. It’s a pre-recorded gig, the beginning of what I hope will become a series of quiet, cosy online concerts.

If you’d like to redeem your ticket, just let me know. Make yourself a cup of tea, settle in, and enjoy the five songs. And if you feel moved to comment afterwards, I’d really love to hear how it landed for you.

Thank You

In closing, I just want to say thank you for being here with me as we step into 2026. Living as an artist is something I feel deeply grateful for—and something I’m glad I’ve been able to keep doing, with your support, kindness, and presence along the way.

I’m hopeful for the year ahead: more songs, more gigs, more recordings, and more meaningful involvement in the issues that shape our time. It feels like a privilege to keep creating, to keep showing up, and to keep finding ways for music to meet the world honestly.

To close, I’m leaving you with a relaxation practice from what I’m calling my Welcome Page—a place for anyone who’s just arrived, whether through the website or the socials, to settle in and get a feel for the work. I wanted to share it here too, as a small offering of stillness.

I’d love to hear how you’re doing out there.

And wherever you are, I wish you a gentle, nourishing festive season.