CONCEPTUAL VEGETABLES
Ah, the concept album. I've always been a bit starry-eyed about it. The sheer ambition of it, the comprehensive feel, the pageantry involved—just delicious. As a former theatre kid, infusing a storyline or character-work into an album naturally appealed to me.
But when I look back on the amount of conceptual musical efforts I find to be truly solid from front to back, I can honestly count them on one hand. And on that hand, only a few fingers remain if you asked me how many I actually enjoy replaying. And that's the catch. When music aims to touch the soul, diving too deep into narrative can muddle that. Crafting the perfect concept album is like a tightrope act—it's all about balance.
From my adventures in crafting a trilogy of albums around one character's journey, I've learned a thing or two. Lessons often born from slip-ups. If you're considering crafting your own cohesive conceptual project, here are a few key takeaways for you to consider:
Start Small. Biting off more than you can chew (as I did at first) leaves no room for growth. Try to know your endgame before diving in, but keep it simple. Overwhelming yourself right out the gate? Not the best start.
Needs vs. Wants. Understand the difference. And yes, budget for both. I've wasted time assembling sides while my main dish was still raw. Funny enough, I eventually left behind most of those extras anyway. It's not just about saving money but aligning priorities. Are you a musician or merchandiser? If both, which comes first? Operate on two tracks at once, and both will suffer.
Show, Don't Tell. A gem I picked up in improv class. Still something I’ve yet to master. I actually complicated things by adding an audio drama, which risked spoon-feeding the audience. While clarity is great, over-explaining can strip away the magic and kill replay value. So, I simplified things by anchoring my project on a character exploring a manor and then layered complexity from there.
After all the stumbles, my grand idea was looking like a non-starter. I was essentially turning it into a broccoli before it even had a chance to be a cake. So, when you're embarking on your own journey, maybe—just maybe—keep it less vegetable, more dessert.
But the good news? I ultimately managed to salvage and complete my project after much trial and error, and the result is my debut album, WARMTH.
IN A NAME
So, I'm Clive. You knew that part already. But what you may not know is my real surname is Khan. Then, why 'Haunt'? Good question. Well first of all, I’m an artist, and we artists get to do fun things like use aesthetic stage names. Plus let’s be real, Khan is everywhere. I wanted something that stands out and kind of captures the hauntingly beautiful vibe I'm going for with my music.
Just imagine an introspective ghost, maybe a bit neurotic and overthink-y, sipping a cup of London Fog and wandering around an old library or a closed-down amusement park. There’s a fun AI art prompt for you. And a fun fact: if you pronounce Khan the way my family does, it's kinda close to "Haun"... (Yes, that really did influence my choice).
A bit about me: I'm a blend of two beautiful worlds -- my mother hails from the idyllic little island of Malta, and my father from the awe-inspiring mountains of Kashmir in Pakistan. I was born and raised in Canada, which is a melting pot of cultures and, you guessed it, it's cold a lot. But hey, it kept me on my toes and taught me to find cool ways to find warmth (on various levels).
Down the line, if you just know me as "Clive" without the "Haunt" bit, that'll be lovely too. But for now, it lends consistency to my social media handles... and in today's saturated market, an emerging artist like me can use every SEO advantage available. So, let's enjoy the Haunt while it's here.
FALL!
What tired old tale are you still telling?
What tales are you telling?
For me, it was: "I'm not ready." A simple saga of self-sabotage, and the knee-jerk response to anyone asking me why I don’t share my creative work. After all, that 'work'? It means everything to me. I’m always keen to discuss it, but then why was sharing it such a hurdle?
The Great Pumpkin showed up after all.
It was in my elementary school Drama class where I first learned of the Trust Fall exercise. The assignment? Well… fall. Y’know, with trust. Into someone’s arms. Backwards. A very straightforward task on paper — and yet, when it was my turn to do so, I feigned a sudden illness, excused myself from class and avoided the exercise altogether. I had convinced myself that if I never fall, I’d never get hurt. Pretty sound logic, right? As it turns out, it doesn’t really work that way. Life taught me that even without taking a leap, you can still trip over your own feet.
But along the way, I also learned that there’s a unique charm to failure. Seen through the right lens and lighting, it can almost become invisible. Keep failing long enough, longer than others, and you might just stumble into a form of success; a messy brand of victory riddled with beautiful twists and turns of human error and signature imperfections to carve your path. Style points galore.
Equipped with a blurred sense of self-evaluation, I set out to fail my way up. Okay, no… the cards just sort of fell that way. Let’s face it, life is a shuffled deck. It's always fascinated me how well we can grasp something intellectually but fail to synchronize our actions to the words we know are oh-so-rational. As a result, my ear can be wonderfully bendable to others but rigid as a plank when it comes to heeding my own advice. When opportunity has knocked, I’ve not only failed to answer the door but anxiously battened down the hatches and reinforced the locks. I guess it takes everyone's eyes at least a moment to adjust when moving from darkness to light. Some of us just need more time for our pupils to react.
“…you could end up spending a lifetime delaying the tide with grains of sand.”
Still, somewhere deep in those moments of adjustment, I wrote a sonic love letter to all my fellow late-blooming self-saboteurs in the form of a pandemic-penned passion project. It grew into what I’m proud to now call my debut album. I had been dwelling complacently on the pause button of life for so long that when the whole world suddenly followed suit and pressed stop on itself, it sort of took the pressure off… and I finally let myself play. And while I’m sure I’ll hit pause now and then along the way, I never again want to stop. I know I’ll regret it if I keep myself stuck in the illusive comfort of my hero’s journey’s early stages, so I’m deciding to accept the call. Better late than never. Playing it safe can be a reliable shield, but play it too safe and you could end up spending a lifetime delaying the tide with grains of sand.
My debut effort this year is dedicated to the insular over-thinkers and over-feelers who learn to harness our hyper-sensitivity into finely-tuned superpowers. To my fellow creative types lost in obsessive-compulsive, maze-like corridors of the mind, only to find ourselves in the desperate expressions of our hearts. To the world’s proverbial tortoises with sub-par cardio who step over ourselves too much to find our footing, but somehow still find a way to win through unyielding determination. And to the self-proclaimed perfectionists with imposter syndrome, always chasing that elusive “perfect”, who will always have more than enough inner resources (and unreleased magic) at our disposal than we know what to do with.
So hey, in the undying spirit of valiantly stumbling on the way to success, faults and all, I’m finally willing to confront the exercise I started running from all those years ago. I’m free-falling now, and whether I land in your embrace or on a bouncy castle crafted from my own imagination, I’m thrilled to finally step out of the Danger Room and officially share my work with you (look ma, I’m on streaming services)!
Time to tell some fresh new tales.
I’m ready. Are you?
