Killer Whale was born after a summer of festivals, good times spent amongst good people, hippies, reprobates, fugitives, grooving to the boogie, selves lost in singalongs, deep chats round the campfire long into the morning. All such revelry, sadly, must end, often dying somewhere around the autumnal equinox and the comedown of the six-month Scottish darkness that is euphemistically termed “winter”. Yet out of this crash, creativity often sprouts; out of the darkness, light; in the light, shadows; like the patterns on a killer whale.

These songs were written in that twilight - attempts at faith in a godless universe. An attempt to deal with comedown, loss of purpose; a striving towards a sense of wonder. 

I was raised a devout Catholic but had a crisis of belief in my teens which saw me reject religion entirely due to its irrationality and hypocrisy - but something of that spiritual piety has always remained. I still believe in right and wrong, in truth, in transcendence, and, more than anything, in beauty. But just because I believe in it, doesn’t mean I live up to it. I can’t seem to shake that feeling that I am a sinner. Catholic guilt lasts forever - to hell and back.

Moments of wonder and transcendence: Cohen’s last Scottish concert at the Armadillo in Glasgow while Oasis played the SECC and Celtic played Man Utd at Parkhead - the old man outplayed them all; wide-armed on a stranger’s shoulders at the Albert Docks in Liverpool singing “Everyone you know someday will die” while Wayne Coyne from The Flaming Lips psychedelically rolled around the crowd inside an inflatable ball; a killer whale leaping from the water and diving under the boat as the dawn rose upon the Marlborough Sound, New Zealand; swimming in the sea while wild-camping on a deserted beach on the Isle of Coll; tasting my wife’s pasta sauce; playing kick-the-balloon with my son.
If any of this resonates with you, I hope you will enjoy the music.

David Spence 2 is following