In February, I was inside one of the practice rooms at my university. It was my second semester of my Freshman year, and I felt like exploring the buildings I hadn't yet seen. The rooms were, by all accounts, imperfect. Each had different chairs, different levels of acoustic padding, varying levels of damage on the walls and pianos, occasional trash, and the slightly out of tune upright pianos, with, luckily, most of the keys and pedals working. None of the acoustic provisions mattered. Most rooms didn't have it, and the walls were thin enough to hear everyone else playing anyway. None of that mattered to me. I spent my first day in the room just playing piano for the first time in what felt like forever. After playing for a little under half an hour, I got a call from a family member. She was asking whether or not I could attend some event back home. I responded, not really thinking about it, and after some further small talk, we finished the call. Once I put down the phone, it hit me -- small and large changes in my life and family, even the ones that just happened recently, will impact how I go about parts of my life forever. That's when I asked the question: What do you do when you know that it's different forever?


I then went back to my dorm room and fit what I could in my backpack: a Shure SM58, an audio interface, my laptop, a desk mic stand, and some cables.

This was not perfect. I'll be posting behind the scenes on my social medias so you can see the process (probably Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok). My username is kevinkempt on all of those. There's a clear room reverb and very audible piano from other students practicing in the background. All this tied with the cheap gear I used are not ideal conditions for a """studio""" recording. I couldn't be more happy about it, though. The song would not exist any way other than how it was recorded. Figuring out the chords and melody on the piano and practicing my lines for hours in that room honestly made me attached to it. The song was recorded in two sessions, one being in February and one being in April (mainly for adding more background vocals and figuring out ideas for the bridge and final chorus). When I went in April, I went into one of the practice rooms without really thinking about it. This one had slight acoustic padding. I recorded for around an hour, and kept experimenting, but when I listened back, I kept hating the result. It took me so long to realize that I wanted the sound of the other room. Before that, I never really considered how these similar spaces could have such different sounds, let alone how I could like one of them more than the others.


I wouldn't trade the process of this song for anything, and I hope it connects with you in the music. Maybe you can answer what to do when you know that it's different forever.

Lyrics:
What do you do when you know that it's different forever?
What do you do when you see someone else's family portrait?
When do you say you're beyond a lost cause?

Maybe I was a ghost in the frame
Reaching out while you lost my name
Maybe I was the last to know
Everything leaves. I should've let go
(I called but the number changed)

What do you do when you know that it's different forever?
What do you do when it feels like a blur in the rear view mirror?
Where do you go when the road never rotates back to home?

Maybe I was a ghost in the frame
Reaching out while you lost my name
Maybe I was the last to know
Everything leaves. I should've let go

I called but the number changed
I knocked but the house was estranged
I walked past the place we stayed
Until my reflection gave way

Maybe I was a ghost in the frame
Fading out while you learned my name
Maybe I was the last to know

Everything leaves. I should've let go (You should've let go)
Everything leaves. I should've let go (You should've let go)

Everything leaves. I should've let go

What do you do when you know that it's different forever?

Different Forever

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http://kevinkempt.com

contact: k@kevinkempt.com