Editor’s Note: On Friday, August 15, British soul-experimental musician Luke Marzec will release his debut album Something Good Out of Nothing via Swift Half Records. According to the press release, the album is a “lush, genre-bending release that’s equal parts protest and poetry, blending analog textures, jazz, soul, and modular synths into something that feels both radical and soothing.” In SWT’s opinion, that’s a winning formula. It’s easy to get swept in Marzec’s eclectic and adventurous musical world.
Marzec has an impressive resume so far. He attended the Royal College of Music at the age of 11, lived on an off-the-grid narrowboat during the pandemic, and is building a countryside studio for artists to record in a natural setting. Additionally, he helped design the candy tree featured in the 2023 movie Wonka. Musically, he draws on classical/jazz conservatory training, as well as underground London jam sessions. His talent has earned him collaborations with Maverick Sabre, Benjamin Francis Leftwich, Jazzanova, and Johannes Brecht.
Today, SWT is excited to premiere the live performance music video for Marzec’s song “Broken Promises”, and share an accompanying essay he wrote about how his travels and musical inspirations have impacted his musical process.
You can watch the performance video and read his essay below:
During the pandemic, whilst many artists were busy using their time to write and record, I found myself on the stern of my narrowboat, put-putting through the English countryside at a snail’s pace. I was actively not writing. I had in fact stowed away all the recording gear that I had set up on the boat and spent my time doing quite the opposite. I took my hand to my first-ever carpentry projects: I made a couple of tables. On one, I countersunk a marble surface within the wood. None of it was particularly square or structurally sound, but they were charming. I re-painted the whole narrowboat: the paint had to be stripped back; the rust treated; then all of it primed, followed by several layers of topcoats, sanding between each layer with progressively finer grades of sandpaper – it took a full six weeks, and we were proud of our achievement. Although I spent some time playing the piano, I turned away from writing in earnest completely and was more than happy to spend my time reading books, listening to the radio, cooking, exercising, simply hanging out with Neil, walking with his dog Django, or losing to him at chess (Neil, not the dog).
I loved hearing about his adventures all around the world: motorcycling from the UK to China. Sailing the seven seas. Living in many countries abroad. Though I’ve done a bit of travelling, I had spent most of my early adulthood on the breadline trying to make it as a musician: the odd paid gigs and busking. I produced my first EP in 2017, played a few good shows, and landed a hefty publishing deal. But with the obligation to write, the writing soon stopped. For so long, I felt a shadow over me, judging me, every time I went to write. By the time of the pandemic, there was little left in me but to leave the city and embark upon living a life without music. It wasn’t bleak: the air was full of promise and adventure, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t write again until one day in the future, after my darker days were behind me, when I would begin to write again without even realizing. I dared myself to take as much time as possible, so as not to re-enter the writing space with any doubt whatsoever.
Lockdown was spent traversing the country. I connected with my good old friend Theo, who started to visit when helping repaint the boat. It was a beautifully light and warm spring and summer, with many long, temperate evenings, as we are fortunate to get in England. We worked outside all day, grafting. I learnt the basics of DIY. We worked out and swam in the rivers and had a few adventures with other friends. We did even write one song together – “Red Boletes” – after a wide-eyed day Cep hunting. Theo got me my first job in the film industry, hard landscaping in the Greens department, building roads, moving dirt, and laying acres and acres of turf for the set of Masters of the Air. I got strong. After a couple years working on the sets, I sold my boat and moved to Devon and began working with builders, developing my carpentry skills whilst learning the basics in masonry and re-pointing with lyme mortar. I could now confidently do most of the legwork restoring an old house – a dream of mine.
All the while, I was really enjoying life and had still not picked up my instruments again. But I did get all my saxophones serviced. And I properly archived my studio computer files. I had learnt that a good carpenter must have sharp tools and a well-organized toolbox. There was a piano at the family home, and at some point, in the winter of 2022, I found myself recording into a microphone with the headphones on again: I was back and hadn’t even noticed myself putting together the studio. Before long, I was back into the flow again, and finally, in the autumn of 2023, after much encouragement from a couple of collaborators of mine to do the hard work, I had an incredibly productive month or so during which I wrote and demo’ed about 40 songs in total. Many of these found their way onto my debut album.
Next, I properly set up a live recording room, pairing up with neighbor and drummer David Beauchamp to invest in a set of drum mics. I acoustically treated the whole space, and we set about recording the drums and reproducing all the demos. It was a dark and rainy winter spent inside, recording in the barn. What a beautiful time that was. I decided to release the record independently through my label Swift Half Records. My dad helps me a lot with the day-to-day management of things. I recently made two music videos with my close friend and collaborator Alice Carfrae. I now have a band with some brilliant local musicians, and we are about to play our first gigs. Though I can be terribly disorganized, often choosing to rely on impending deadlines to get stuff done, I think I’m now closer to a calmer, simpler time in my life. I’ve done the hard work, learning all about the basics of managing my music, and can’t wait to continue with the process, replacing the sprints with the long-distant, slow, steady, and consistent work.
See, I thought I was going to write an essay about deadlines and about the importance of fast-paced work, but during the drafting process, I realized that those days will soon be over. I have now found some order in my life. I know what I like, I like what I know, and I’m ready to simplify and make the good things happen. The music industry is what it is these days – I can’t expect to make much money, not in the short term, but I can endeavor to make good work, trusting in my intuition, in my collaborators, and enjoying the process. All we can do is keep plugging away; each time learning and improving our craft. I’m sometimes reminded by that line in the song of mind “Will We Ever Carry On” and it says, “make yourself uncomfortable”. Since lockdown, I did that several times in earnest. By first leaving the city, next selling the narrowboat, and next breaking out of a toxic relationship. And though it was tough at times, I’m finally on the other side and a better man because of it. Struggle is inevitable, whatever you do, so struggle for a life you’ll be proud of. I have so much gratitude for the loved ones in my life. Anyway, I’ll be off now. Tomorrow is tech-rehearsal at the venue for the album launch the following night. Best get a good night’s sleep.
Luke Marzec
Contributor
Luke is a London based musician that creates music that has been described as "lush, genre-bending release that’s equal parts protest and poetry, blending analog textures, jazz, soul, and modular synths into something that feels both radical and soothing."
