It all started with a book, a country road and a vision. The book suggested I write 20 songs in 12 hours; I managed nine in seven. After a bout of writer’s block that had lasted the best part of a year, this was the sledgehammer I needed.I’d taken myself off to the country for a week to be alone and write; the first time I’d ever done that, I was scared and excited all at once. The place I booked was a decommissioned hotel just outside of Guildford that was now someone’s holiday house. On the first day, I walked the back roads thinking about a man and a song. On the second day, I sat by the fire and wrote, mostly crap, but at least I was writing. It was exciting and exhausting, more so because I had the feeling that I was being watched and this made it hard to sleep. The rest of the week was spent playing around with the ideas that came from that writing session and walking them through the countryside.
Most of the songs ended up in the bin, but there was one that haunted me. I’d had a very strong image of a young woman, dressed in white, waiting at the door of the hotel, watching as a slow moving procession rolled down the hill towards her. A man led the way, moving deliberately, eyes focussed only on her, singing “Marry me, marry me.” She closed the door against him and listened from behind the safety of its locked façade. But, he persisted, “Marry me, marry me.” The song’s "A" minor chord was as relentless as her suitor and the image of that bride was as relentless as that "A" minor chord. This image wouldn’t let me go and she ended up becoming the muse for the album. She now sits behind each song, calling out, warning, seducing, leaving, and lamenting him until finally, when we’ve heard all of her fears and stories, the "A" minor chord begins and he is allowed to proceed down the road toward her singing “Marry me, marry me, marry me”.
