Welcome to The Waxing Lyrical Blog Page, where passionate opinions with regards to music are openly shared. Here you’ll find all kinds of honest musical talk.

My name is Jessica. I’m a 20 year old music-lover from Worcestershire, England. I enjoy expressing my feelings with regards to music and hope that you like engaging in what you read.

I also write my own electronic music as ‘Jess Brett’. I invite you to check out my music through the links below.

Facebook+Instagram: @jessbrettmusic

Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCBLUPV7dD9ur61OWNjvB7vQ

Soundcloud: soundcloud.com/jesssbrettmusic

Bandcamp: jessbrett.bandcamp.com

Thanks for being here,

Jess x

X Will Never Equal Y

This time I accept that I won’t get what I want. I won’t fight against it like I often have, plunging into suffering. Yes I’m emotional enough that you’ll be my muse for a while. But I don’t think I’ll scream as much in them. You’re no beautiful prisoner. You make a beautiful choice.

I’m not sure I could see your face, though. Your skin, showing evidence from shaving the hour before. I’d watch the smooth get rough over the hours and then you leave. I’ll be choked. That is another level of acceptance. A complete ignorance of my desires. Can I sing whilst fighting a lump in my throat? I don’t really sound like I accept this do I… If I see the potential of something I want it to be fulfilled. Selfishly. For the pursuit of possibly incredible emotions. Thrill chaser. I’d like to feel enough. I’d like to be enough.

If I crave something I’ll go and get it for myself, like a servant to a master. In fact I whisper to myself a creepy ‘yes master, at once’ and walk off with a funny limp and a creepy grin. It’s a Kinder Buneo from the SPAR round the corner. A mocha from Nero. Cream with that? Yes please why not! I can be very impulsive and get this rush of euphoric emotion that just yells DO IT YESSSSS YOU’RE GONNA LOVE THISSSSS. The F it mentality prevails and I have to wait to come back down to earth. I must take back control and overthrow myself.

Anyway, I mean what’s the point of seeing you in the flesh. Shall we see how far we can carefully go on the right side of morals before we decide the pain is too much? Sounds like a laugh…You plunge me deep into the marine and swim with me amongst the rainbow coral. What is the point of these conversations. X will never equal Y. Times X by 10 and it still won’t equal 10 times Y. However, if we are bothering to be an X and Y, then why not both be 10 times? If you are going to live, then why not live it 10 times what you can. Or not at all.

Poem at 20:53

There were a few

I cared for

But not anymore, since

You came to remind me 

Of the loosely held law

That I’ve broken before

When people in the same boat 

Come knocking my door,

Can’t converse for long 

Because then it’ll be clear

That you make me grin

From ear to ear, and 

I’d like to protect

The little girl that hides 

And shields her heart 

Before it bursts in tides,

It’s a longer game, this one

But we’re both fools 

Knowing quite well we’re swimming

In separate shallow pools

Where the shark is so desired

That one just drools

At recklessly devouring what lies behind rules. 


My Kreuzberg room was so wonderful, I felt it was wasted on my being alone. High ceilings and sea blue surroundings. Flowers of pink and orange made by soft brushes of paint sat quietly on the walls. ‘All my love’, one had written across it. I have so much affection. I love to love. I used to give it all away without saving any for myself.

There’s something so beautiful about beds standing freely in large rooms. They aren’t fitting into a corner or pushed up to a wall, they’re just there sitting perfectly like a lilipad in a pond. A soft surface to rest your head, a wide refuge to splay tired limbs, a comfortable space to be held tightly.

Two large windows are cut out almost floor to ceiling on the left and right of the room. The floor creaks in some places. Sometimes I’d walk over them to let Josef know I was in. People’s voices in neighbouring rooms above echoed like my own thoughts. Thoughts of lust and longing after listening to Say Hello Wave Goodbye too many times.


Good Morning. I’m sat on the corner of Alexanderplatz in Einstein Kaffee. This is the only shop I’ve sat down to relax in because I know the atmosphere I’m getting and that’s nice for the nervous types like me. It’s comfortable. It’s safe. I was about to say there are no surprises and I am not kidding you, ‘No Surprises’ by Radiohead plays on the radio in my left ear as I write. Now, this is not some cheap lie to show my musical knowledge. I don’t actually know much Radiohead and so if I really had made it up, I’d have referenced some band I really know and love…I’m not sure if you believe in Synchronicity… omg as I type this ‘Synchronicity II’ is playing by The Police!!! Hahaha that wasn’t true. But I do believe when you’re working hard in a way that’s serving you well, you start to see a lot of coincidences, like the universe is assuring you you’re going in the right direction.

At 18 I planned to flee to Berlin in order to escape the anxiety riddling me. However, as Lana Del Rey puts it in her song, ‘F*ck It I Love You’: ‘I moved to California but it’s just a state of mind, it turns out everywhere you go, you take yourself, that’s not a lie’. Now there’s probably my favourite artist of all time. Anyway, I stuck with myself and I’m mostly under control after a few years of feeling like a bouncing ball. My decision to move here now is out of love not fear- an important distinction. I’m happy that my love for Germany lives on. Sneering at the other students who chose French and Spanish is where it all started and long may the love live on.

For the first time a couple days ago I got chuckled at when telling a Berliner of my musical desires when moving here. ‘Like everyone hereI hadn’t felt like a cliché yet so I sank a little. But listen. I’m not coming to just add to the sound of pounding techno. I’m coming to explode and let the debris hit the right people. Bis bald.

Misleading Decorative Engraving

It is widely known that crossing a road on a red light in Germany leaves you snorted at and again, met with those sparkly blue daggers. Ok not every German has blue eyes and I’m unsure why I began this metaphor of promise shining behind the eyes of the germans. Anyway, the lesser known bringer of awkwardness is the button you press when you want to walk across at the lights. Which in fact, is not a button.

When approaching the lights from the path, you notice the plastic yellow box curved in a crescent shape attached to a metal pole. In the middle is an outlined circle, with three darkly filled out circles inside. Now, this looks as much a pointless bit of decorative engraving as it does a sensor to wave one’s hand across in order to trigger the light to cross the road. Most times I’ve come to the lights, there have been others waiting and it hasn’t been long at all before it’s gone green to cross, so the responsibility has not yet been my own to wonder whether this light “button” needs triggering or if the lights are just naturally alternating to let people walk at intervals.

The time had come to make my own decision, as it was the first moment I would be alone with the yellow box. I self consciously glance around and make eye contact with some stationary cars either side of me. Rookie mistake. I’ve built an audience anticipating my decision as to whether I foolishly press my hand against these circles, or I wait. I place my hands in the pockets of my red blazer and begin a seemingly unsuspicious swivel left and right. Discovering a solution, I swing my elbow in the direction of the button so as to accidentally trigger it… if I’m triggering anything at all. I look up and there are suddenly people the other side who I cannot guarantee will have pressed it themselves. As a result, I’m still unsure whether my slight touch of the box actually then caused the lights to change or not.

Update: I still don’t know.


Thursday 5th January, 22:00, Dresdener Strasse

The U-Bahn reminds me of my Hamburg trip in 2019 and makes me smile. People are still wearing masks here, yet the wind flowing through tastes so good that they’re missing out. It’s warm and European, as if the smell of pretzels and Brötchen baking above ground has gently floated to the trains below, mixing to produce a sweet metal aroma that my freed nose can fully appreciate. 

Walking out into the night is hard at first. Darkness can excite you or inset fear, loneliness and a sort of feeling of depression that only a new day can solve. It’s important that this trip makes me feel positive about the city and my future here, so I become intimidated by the prospect of failure. I need to take the pressure off. I fight it and approach my accommodation. 

The door is already open where Josef stands, wide, red and protruding over black chords. His hair is strong and white and another pair of blue eyes sparkle at me behind thick black rimmed glasses. We laugh our way through the hello. His presence is dominant but shy and extremely gentle. I walk in and he puts out his hand for a handshake. This was incredible. It was so human and so open. I took it and squeezed, enthused and grinning, having only received this once or twice in life. He introduces his wife, a beautiful and also very gentle lady.

To let a stranger into your own home to lie in the spare room next door, share your bathroom and trust you with your keys. He put a sign on his door outside that says ‘Ich erlaube Lachen’. I ask when he wants me to be in the house by at night and he shrugs his shoulders. I wait. He says 3am and quickly laughs shaking his head- ‘If I sleep I sleep, If I don’t, I don’t’.

The moon is almost full and my spirits are high again as I step out into nighttime Berlin for food. 

Visit Berlin With Me

Hello people and a Happy New Year to you. I’m currently in Munich awaiting a connecting flight to Berlin, where I will spend some time exploring and envisioning my permanent move to the German Hauptstadt in summer after I finish university. I’ll be making short blog entries throughout my five days here. Come on this journey with me!

Thursday 5th January, 11:20, The Sky

We’re lifted above the clouds. A green and brown sludgy view quickly becomes cleansed by clouds like sea foam washing over the rock. I listen to ‘Summer in Berlin’ by Alphaville sentimentally. It’s so much brighter up here. The sun strikes me through the window and I try to catch my good side as the nice German man besides me is looking my way. I stare longingly through the glass, acting like the main character of a film.

The trolley is coming through and I swiftly prepare my German after a flick through of the snack magazine. Right, I think to myself, I want to speak a lot of German on this trip. It starts here. It starts now. Be brave…..Ok I want a tea and I’ll have that nut bar. Right what the hell is the pronoun for the nut bar, I have no idea. Shall I just put eins (one) before it or shall I use a pronoun I’m uncertain about. I can’t remember. There’s a 33% chance of success… Shit the cart is here.

I raise a tentative finger as the German hostess shoots daggers at me from sparkling blue eyes. She’s quick and efficient but I’m slow and nervous.

‘Einss Schwarztee und….Nussriegel? (One Black tea and….Nut bar?)’

I don’t really know if it’s landed well and Ludwig next to me, fluent in English no doubt, probably finds it hilarious. He also probably doesn’t care that I at least tried. I mean, he’s just come from Birmingham where he’s probably had enough of conversing with my Midlands kind.

The flight attendant chatters to her colleague in a high pitched voice with dynamic mouse-like hand movements. She presents the card machine. I must have succeeded?

She asks if I want milk or sugar, but presumptuously, I assumed she was asking if I wanted the receipt and so I shook my head. Then it hit me what she had asked. But by this time, I’d already failed and she had resorted to English. I’d been found out.

I hear the voices of German children with their German speaking capabilities and get jealous. Earphones back in to enjoy my tea.

P.S: I forgot to ask for sugar but I think I’ll just go with out.

Serpent Raptor: The Most Unwanted Man In Electronic Music

Imposter Syndrome is Meeson’s most personal and emotional work yet. Though they will try to silence him, he must be heard.

As 2022 draws to a close, the brightest star of Worcestershire’s underground electronic scene finally burns out. Serpent Raptor’s thirteenth and final album will mark the end of ten dynamic years in the music industry that he has been repeatedly cornered out of. They told him to quit several times, he’s been banned from multiple open mics and dealt with the darkest emotions that life can offer. But for over a decade, Grant Meeson has battled on through this industry, producing the brilliantly raw and powerful Industrial Synthwave of Serpent Raptor.

The new thirteen-track concept album features the classic solemn melancholy of synth strings showcased in much of his electronic production. He delivers brooding layered vocals supported by relentless, weeping arpeggios, driving on for one last time. Grant’s energy rages in his words of anger, always articulated so cleverly. Underneath all the sinister passion lies the most beautiful voice, reminding us that music is a conduit. Something to relate to and help others with- something best expressed and not kept inside. Like Kraftwerk say: ‘Musik als Träger von Ideen’ (music as the carrier of ideas).

This man is skilful. Upon visiting him at his home last week, he blessed my arrival with ambient versions of ‘Are Friends Electric?’ And ‘The Model’ on his Yamaha Electone. He is just as talented as his pioneer influences. His lyrics are so gracefully cutting. He sings tales of pain with elegance, layering vocals in a way so perfectly woven between rhythms. He releases his soul in animated live displays, channeling intense heavy metal personas. The work of composers such as Hans Zimmer and John Williams has had a profound influence on Grant also, showing itself in the grandeur of his ballads and storytelling abilities. No matter how much gloom a Serpent Raptor tune might have, you’ll always be left humming to his catchy melodies. This man is a true original. 

We recently took a walk in the estate of Tolladine in Worcester, where he grew up. He told of the formative years of a damaged young man. We both wondered whether we would still be so creative without our traumas. We don’t think so. We have only been given the ability to feel it all more deeply. Abandonment, loss, memories, time. Grant’s dedication to the musical documentation of these experiences is incredible, but trying to succeed in the Malvern music scene has proved especially difficult where a fearful village mentality has looked to exclude the unique Raptor.

It began with the open mics at The Great Malvern Hotel, headed by a man by the name of Enzo. Quite an exotic label for someone churning out Bob Dylan cover after Bob Dylan cover at the weekly gigs. Despite people enjoying the ‘breath of fresh air’ that Serpent Raptor was, Enzo decided to slowly push him out. Beginning with that fake PR smile and ‘maybe you shouldn’t come every week’, to impressing a ban because his music and image scare people. 

‘I mean I’m called Serpent but he’s the real snake’. That was funny from Grant. Enzo began to refer to it as his open mic, which really acted as a stage for himself. This became a bit of a pattern. How sad that egos should get in the way of creativity so excitingly untethered. It reeks of insecurity and fear of difference. The village mentality is choking the electronic scene right at its roots, suffocating the reach of Grant’s unpredictable, magnetic force as a musician.

‘You have to book… you can’t book’. Grant was turned away multiple times. It’s all beginning to feel a bit League of Gentlemen. Boz Za lead the Worcestershire and Herefordshire EMOM where I met Grant and played on the same bill as him that night. His performance was rich with the real essence of life. Full of heart and rich with substance, he stepped out clad in black clutching his Alesis Vortex Keytar, with the stage presence of Keith Flint and that quiet Numan confidence. What a vision. Boz wouldn’t allow Grant in my place when I couldn’t make the next gig. The argument was like a Monty Python sketch.

‘You can’t play this time because you played last time.’

‘So anyone who played last time won’t be playing this time?’

‘That’s not what I said.’

Open Mics do not exclude. You grown men could at least have the balls to be direct. I think many would agree that we don’t need old blokes clinging tightly onto the limelight, gatekeeping this scene. You run backwards towards long gone days of glory, desperately avoiding change. This type of oppression would’ve been enough to put anyone off trying the first time, let alone the third or fourth. We need innovation and the pioneering spirit of unstoppable youth steering this ship. A true and vibrant music scene could then be given the chance to flourish. All this creativity so excitingly untethered is being choked right at its roots. The village mentality has poisoned the likes of Serpent Raptor’s unpredictable, magnetic force with its insecurities. Out with the gatekeepers.

Grant’s fantastic history of works is an inspiring legacy that will always remain. It’s been a pleasure getting to know him as a friend. Telling his story has become imperative. To fight through the hate mail and death threats and your own family telling you to give it a rest whilst staying 100% true to one’s self is the most rare and Rock ‘n’ Roll thing. He knows he won’t please everyone as a niche artist, but the man has a spirit that you can’t buy or work for. Imposter Syndrome will showcase the greatest of Serpent Raptor and is not to be missed. 

I asked Grant whether he thinks he’s done enough for his music. He referenced something Hans Zimmer remarked about making songs being like chasing something you’ll never accomplish. True. We don’t really arrive at any sort of ultimate success. We just enjoy everything along the way, because the way is only made ultimate by death.

*Happiness Not Included: The Lyrical Smallprint Of Life From Soft Cell

‘Thank god for that’ says Marc Almond on social media, relieved that ‘*Happiness Not Included’ is finally released. He hasn’t been shy in sharing his feelings on Instagram lately, which has provided an intimate insight into the emotions fuelling this new release. Soft Cell have returned after 20 years with something refreshingly personal.

Each song possesses the attitude of a bold protagonist in the final act reflecting on his life through a lens of meaninglessness. Marc has never failed to provoke thoughts or tears. This monotony of existence bounces on through the mechanical ‘Polaroid’ as Marc references his New York liaison with Andy Warhol. Nostalgia is a prevalent theme.

It wouldn’t be a Soft Cell album without a bit of sleazy weirdness, which we receive our dose of in ’Nighthawks’. As I listen to ‘Heart Like Chernobyl’ again, I’m reminded of how brilliant this single is. It perfectly envelopes melancholic perseverance through life and who better to tell the story of this depressing new decade and our guaranteed depressing future than Marc Almond?! (It’s not that depressing really but after listening to Marc for a while, I’m in an excited mood for despairing about everything)

‘The future’s in another lunatic’s hands’- the title track is another excellently written song with such clever lyrics. Dave Ball’s creativity is fresh and evident. He fabricates such chunky rubber beats that reverberate so deeply underneath fun little synth lines. The more chaotic tracks are soothed by mellower ones like ‘Light Sleepers’. Marc’s theatrical narration glides through a sea of soft saxophone in this observant and poetic new tale. Another for the Soft Cell storybook.

The last track, ‘New Eden’, emphasises the same closing-scene feeling of Frank-N-Furter singing ‘I’m Going Home’ as he returns to Transylvania. *Happiness is something the boys should really be proud of. I particularly enjoyed the loneliness of ‘Tranquilliser’. Marc says how no-one rings him anymore… I’d give you a call, Marc!

Big In Japan: The Symphonic Version

When you ask people over forty if they remember Alphaville, those who aren’t really into music will go ‘oh yeahhh’ when you start singing ‘forevvvver young, I want to be forevvvver young’. Those who do remember a few 80s hits will probably recall ‘Big In Japan’ and synth-pop fans may remember ‘Sounds Like A Melody’. 

Lovers of Alphaville know just how brilliant the under-praised 1984 album, ’Forever Young’, is. There is such a variety of imaginative and exciting tracks, all narrated by the one of the most impressive voices of the 80s. The voice of Marian Gold.

Marian has recently reminded us that he is still a boss in a symphonic version of ‘Big In Japan’. Recorded with the Deutsche’s Filmorchester Babelsberg, this revival emphasises the drama with its orchestral grandeur rising through magnificent strings. In the new official video, we are commanded by Marian’s black leather fist and a voice that seems even more powerful than it was near four decades ago. 

He has always believed in Alphaville and with a new album out in Autumn, it appears he always will. A total insight into the new release, ‘Eternally Yours’, can be had by preordering The Collector’s Box at www.alphaville.info/preorder-now/.

Watch the official video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5jz44fCgAc