Looking Back on My Debut Album – Songs of a Lonely Fragile
There’s something sacred about a first album. It’s like a snapshot of the soul at a specific moment in time—messy, sincere, vulnerable. For me, Songs of a Lonely Fragile wasn’t just my first album—it was a slow exhale after holding my breath for years.
I didn’t really set out to write an album. I set out to survive some hard days, some heartbreaks, some deep internal shifts I couldn’t quite name yet. I kept waking up with these melodies in my head—little ghosts of feelings I couldn’t shake. I remember sitting down with a simple keyboard and thinking, “Alright, let’s just see what comes out.” What came out was raw. Melodic. Heartfelt. And honest enough to scare me.
“Always Love You” was one of the first tracks I wrote for the album. It came from a conversation I never got to have—those lingering words you wish you’d said, but now they just live as a melody instead. It’s not a promise, really. It’s a confession. There’s a difference.
“Falling” was born out of that dizzying moment when you realize your heart’s gone ahead of you. You’re not thinking, you’re feeling. And it’s beautiful until it isn’t. I kept the production light, letting the vocals carry that weightless tumble you feel when you’re halfway in love and halfway in denial.
“I Can’t Change Your Mind” is the realist of the bunch. That one came from a late night with a guitar, just trying to process that moment when love isn’t enough to convince someone to stay. It’s the most stripped-down song on the album because I wanted it to sound like a conversation you have with yourself—quiet, almost whispered.
“I’m In Love With You” was terrifying to write. It’s so direct. No metaphor, no poetic distance—just the truth. And when you put that truth into a mic, there’s nowhere to hide. But I’ve learned that sometimes simplicity hits the hardest.
Production-wise, I didn’t have fancy gear or a big studio. I had a home setup, some decent mics, and a lot of stubbornness. I tracked vocals in closets, layered harmonies in my kitchen at 2 a.m., and learned more about EQ and reverb than I ever thought I’d need to. Every part was crafted, tested, and usually re-recorded until it felt right. I wasn’t chasing perfection—I was chasing feeling.
“Let It Rain” came during a personal storm, both literal and metaphorical. It’s about release—letting go instead of holding it in. The production has a bit of that cinematic wash because I wanted the song to feel like standing in the middle of a thunderstorm, arms open.
“Paradise” plays like a daydream turned bittersweet. It sounds like summer nostalgia—warm but already fading. That’s exactly what I intended. I added subtle synth layers underneath the acoustic instruments to give it a surreal edge, like memories you’re not sure are real anymore.
“Pieces of You” might be the most emotional song I’ve ever written. It came from a place of grief. Not just losing someone, but losing the version of yourself that existed with them. The strings in that song were my way of saying what I couldn’t say in words. It still hits me when I hear it.
And finally, “When It Was Love”—that’s the quiet sigh at the end of it all. A soft letting go. I wanted the production to feel intimate, like you’re in the room with me as I’m singing it for the last time. That one feels like closing a chapter.
What surprised me most about making this album was how much healing came from the process itself. Song by song, I got to lay it all out, give shape to the things I didn’t know how to say otherwise. And the fact that people have found pieces of their own stories in these songs? That’s been the most unexpected, beautiful part of it all.
Songs of a Lonely Fragile was my first real offering to the world. Not polished to perfection—but made with heart, truth, and a little bit of late-night courage. I’m proud of it. And I’m grateful for everyone who’s taken the time to listen.
If you haven’t yet, you can stream the album here. Let me know which song found you when you needed it. I’d love to hear your story, too.