Nine More Times

This week my band broke up. And I’m heartbroken.

Five and a half years of my life feels like a complete waste and now everything seems very, very pointless.  My living in Sheffield and my bizarre weekly routine consisting of four jobs all seems utterly directionless. I’m writing this in the aftermath of the breakup, it hasn't been announced publicly yet and I’m still crying at stupid things as it’s all so fresh. I’m lucky to be able to say that a boy has never broken my heart so it feels incredibly strange to say that this is my first heartbreak. For those of you that don’t quite “get” it, it’s more than just the end of a band. Absolutely everything revolved around Screaming Maldini. We couldn't plan summer holidays for festivals, we had to keep half terms free for tours or recording and Monday and Wednesday nights were reserved for practice. But on a more personal level, I put any career plans on hold and with that any chance of a decent income, I created a flexible working routine for the sole purpose of trying to make this band successful and I poured my heart and soul into being the best performer I could be.

But now I don’t need to be flexible and I’m suddenly met with some seriously intimidating life questions and I haven’t a fucking clue where to start. At 25 it feels a lot like I’ve missed my chance to answer these questions. Which, I’ll admit, looks laughable written down. All of a sudden I have no boundaries, nothing tying me down. I can do anything I want to. Um. Excuse me as I have a panic attack in the corner of the room.

Don’t get me wrong. I know that I've experienced some incredible things.  Countless gigs, festivals, meeting other amazing musicians, writing, recording and performing, touring Japan and France, videos, photo shoots, free shit and above all I have some very precious memories and wonderful friends. However, I’m finding it really difficult to think of any of the positives right now.  One door closes another opens, blah blah fucking blah. 

I tried to do the whole blogging thing a few years ago. Naturally, being a woman in my early twenties, it was a vintage fashion blog. Aren't they all? But looking back, it was yet another occasion where I was trying oh so very hard to project a distorted image of myself onto people. A “look I totally love fashion and am oh so totally cool because I share photos of myself wearing cRAazZy outfits like them London girls” sort of image. And though yes, I do love fashion, it isn't what defines me, it’s not my passion, it certainly isn't one of my strengths. So why I felt the need to blog about it is beyond me.

As I am plunged into completely terrifying new territory I figured I’d try my hand at this whole blog thing once more. Yes I’ll be writing about big ol’ life question stuff but also be sharing my love for new music, Sheffield, as well as other generic posts that I suppose will fit under that trendy heading “lifestyle” such as my disastrous dating stories.  As I said to my housemate, if it were the late nineties I’d probably call this blog Gina’s World. But I’m not calling it that – no no. I’m calling it Nine More Times. A little nod to the past five and a half years.

Nick, Johnny, Annie, Tim, Ben, Chris, Tom and Andy, thank you for all the songs, all the gigs and all the LOLs. I’ll miss it more than anything. Aaaaaand I’m crying again. Great.