Josie Lambert

Det er en fuld forsamling efter strandpromenadestandarder. Tre af dem filmede det, og en af dem sang med – dårligt, højt, perfekt.

At skyde ind i lyset skulle angiveligt være en fejltagelse. Det er også det eneste tidspunkt, hvor min stemme og mit ansigt stemmer overens med hinanden.

Vinden tager halvdelen af lyden herude. Jeg bliver ved med at synge alligevel – den med vinden i er som regel den ærlige.

Jeg kommer her for at øve mig, fordi ingen lytter med vilje. De mennesker, der stopper, stopper, fordi de selv ville.

Three places I practise. The empty stage is the scariest — no audience means no excuse.

One second-hand interface and a borrowed mic. Nobody in the comments has ever asked what I recorded on.

A duvet over the door, a mattress against the wall. Soft things beat expensive things for a first take.

The wind eats half the sound. What is left is the part that actually carries — good practice for any room.

The song people know me for was written between my flat and my old job, into a phone, with the engine in the background.

Forty pounds and a warm cider. I would still do it for the cider, but do not tell the next venue.

Recorded into a phone at the back window. The bus noise is still in the demo and I am not taking it out.