"Having a sense of an object and part of it falling away" is how aya describes a thing that happens repeatedly on her debut album, im hole, which releases October 22nd. Tempos nosedive; rhythms drag and stutter; synthesised sounds reveal themselves as field recordings and IRL voices take impossible shapes. As listeners grope around for handholds in these destabilising moments, they're invited into the dissociative states aya communicates—hallucinogenic, psychotic or otherwise. Sometimes the effect is playful and light, sometimes dark and heavy. Often it's a bit of both.

Written through lockdown after a move from Manchester to London, the album has a specific flavour, but it's also the culmination of aya's music-making to date. Since 2016, her releases (first as LOFT) for Astral Plane, Wisdom Teeth and Tri Angle have showcased familiar tropes from head-spinning new perspectives. One can hear sleek post-Hessle Audio mechanics and the crash-bang-wallop of what's been called "deconstructed club" (although aya rejects the term). The listener also hears callbacks to the UK rave canon, including jungle, bassline and dubstep. The touchstones are lightly applied, the execution fresh and the technique impressive.

Despite this dizzying output, aya seems to think that she's only just finding her voice. She completed a process of aesthetic self-actualization that passed from imitation to deep experimentation with production tools into what she calls "intentionality." It's literally her voice that caps off this process: her vocals thread through im hole spoken-sung, poetic-cryptic and often funny, giving her music new depth and an autobiographical twist.

In conversation, aya talks equal parts wideframe and fine-grained, willing to range from discussions of process and concept through to VST nerdery and mixdown philosophy. She is also quick to acknowledge outside help, including from collaborator Iceboy Violet—whose vocals appear on the album—and "unofficial manager" Ginz, AKA Emptyset member and Subtext label head James Ginzburg.

I sat down to speak with the artist, who began by discussing her London studio—where most of the album was written—which was recently lost to property developers.

I moved all of my bits of gear out today. It was a bit sad. I've been in there since October, so seven months, eight months, but I was in there for four or five days a week. I kind of lived in that room for a little bit. I got very, very comfortable in that space, experienced a lot of very extreme emotions in there.

Was that the first time you had a workspace that wasn't also your living space?

Yeah. That was the first time I'd been able to have a decent studio setup that wasn't just in my bedroom. That kind of separation has been interesting. The advantages of going to the studio are, you know, you have a dedicated space and you've acoustically treated it and blah, blah, blah. All the equipment can be left set up. That has become a huge thing for me: not spending time fiddling around, just being able to go out of [output] five, into the compressor, back in, there it is, done. But then also you have to get dressed [laughs]. I have to make sure that I've eaten a meal. It's so many considerations.

Do you find it helps you to have a stricter routine? I work best when I keep "office" hours, starting at 9AM, finish at 6 PM…

I absolutely did not have that kind of routine [laughs]. I was usually making it down to the studio around midday, 1 PM-ish at the earliest. And then I would sit and work for two or three hours. I'd realize that I'd achieved something and I was pushing it too far, and so I should have a break. And then if the weather was good, I would go and skate until dark. It was a five minute skate to Folkestone Gardens in Deptford, which has an amazing community. There's loads of other women that go skating there, which is great. It was kind of perfect. And then I'd come back to the studio and I'd be there from 6 PM until 9 PM working on something. Then because we were locked down, we'd have a couple people around for a little mix, 'cause we could play tunes until whatever time.

So I could quite easily be there from 12 PM until 4 AM in one stint. So it wasn't a routine, but it was definitely a certain pace that I fell into with it. But there was also a joke that I would sit at the skatepark, smoking cig after cig, being like, 'I've got to go back to the studio in a minute. I've got this vocal take I need to redo.' And they're like, 'Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure you're going, sure.'

Have you learned to notice certain qualities that appear in a project when you've taken the wrong fork in the road?

It's usually when I start to fuck around with what's on my master bus. If I start taking things off my master bus, I know that I'm over-complicating things. I always work into at least a Waves L2 limiter, then I'll have an SSL compressor, and the D16 Devastor, which is a really fun tube emulation. Those are going all the time, pretty much. And I'm tweaking them as I'm going. But if I find that I've got so many elements going on that I actually need to get rid of some of this stuff on my master, something's going wrong in the tune. It's not a problem with the [master] chain because the chain is malleable. This has been changing the whole time that all of these elements have been changing. But if I've got too many elements and I can't modify this to make it fit, then it's become overpopulated.

And that's something that I found working with Ginz, actually. We keep talking about demo chasing, and how you'll have this really beautiful version of a track that's so pure, and really over distorted, really crunchy. And then going back and trying to recreate that afterwards when we were doing stem mixes, finding how hard it is to reach that point again. Because you're now going in and applying that saturation to every single channel, and then doing all of the bus compression and making sure that everything bumps and moves in the way that it did when you had this glue that was holding everything together.

What was Ginz's involvement?

He's kind of informally my manager. I was getting to the place of starting to approach labels. I had a couple of offers and wasn't really sure what to do because I'd been sent a contract and I have no idea how to deal with that. I don't have a lawyer, like I'm barely an adult [laughs]. And so I was freaking out about it a little bit. And I'd met him a couple of times. I went round to his house one time and he was like, 'I heard you're working on a record. You wanna play me some demos?' And we played him some stuff, and then he was like, 'How would you feel if I help you release this? Let's say I help you mix it down, I help you deal with talking to labels and stuff, and just help you get through this whole process.' And I'm like, that sounds like exactly what I need, you know?

He's become a mentor to me. It's been so, so amazing working with him. He hears these tiny tiny things that—well, it takes years of experience to build up what he has. So yeah, he's been working on all sides of it: the technical, the artistic, the financial, all of that.

I was really struggling with this one tune in particular, "the only solution i have found is to simply jump higher." I had this kind of chord, melody coda thing that I'd written two days after SOPHIE died. It was really, really heartfelt, very nostalgic. It was one of those moments where no matter what project I'd have opened that day, I would have done that to it. Like, those were the emotions that I needed to process in that moment. So anyway, a couple days later I send this new version over to James and he's like, 'Okay, listening now,' and then gets to the end and instantly goes, 'Nope, fuck that. [laughs] It doesn't make any sense whatsoever. There's nothing else on the album that sounds like this. It disrupts the whole flow of the entire album. You should not put this on the record at all.' And I was like, 'Holy shit. Wow! Okay.' [laughs] But then with a little bit of emotional distance I realised he's completely right. And to be honest, that's the one time that I've seen him be really firm on something. So it's definitely good to know that that's there too, and to know when we agree on stuff the rest of the time, we actually agree on things rather than him taking it easy on me or whatever.

You mentioned SOPHIE. When she died, a quote from her circulated on social media about how we should stop thinking of electronic music as a bunch of separate instruments, and think of it more as "one morphing, elastic, full-frequency spectrum composition." That popped into my head when I listened to the album. Does it chime with your approach to production? Particularly in terms of working with stuff on the master, which encourages you to consider the mix as a single unified texture rather than a bunch of separate parts.

I suppose so. I mean, I definitely vibe with it. I think what she's saying is a reduction as well. Everything that is rhythm is melody and everything that is melody is rhythm, you know? Remarc's amen chops are some of the most melodic pieces of music I've ever heard. I think these conceptions that we have around music, these fairly static ideas of like, 'This is drum, drum does drum'—these things are super flexible and malleable. To have this understanding that everything has a certain kind of duality is super, super important. You know, like compression can be musical. It's a kind of superpower that we have as producers and engineers, that we are existing in a super technical capacity, but also being artists at the same time. The combination of those two things is what makes the best musicians in our field. I mean, I think there are plenty of people who don't have a super audio engineering approach to production or whatever, but still the conditions that they're making music in have shaped the music that they're making. So if we think about all of the footwork producers who were slamming everything through the Fruity [FL Studio] limiter. That's why [the music] sounds like that, why it bangs as hard as it does. Those kinds of preconditions that they're creating music impart some musicality to the music that they're making.

If I understand you right, you're making a broader philosophical point, which is that music-making technology tends to show us that the boundaries that we place between things are completely arbitrary.

Yeah, for sure. I used to have this experience a lot where I would have a really nice chord progression that I'd written on piano. And then I'd turn it into MIDI and it would take me days to find the correct texture for it. We didn't have a particularly nice piano when I was little. Just a pretty—"cronky" was the word that my dad coined for that one [laughs]—little upright. But there's something in the essence of that object that made me play piano in a particular way. Then once you translate it into sine waves, it sounds like it's not even the same series of notes. And that's evident in so many different things, that same kind of philosophy bleeds through.

You just opened the door to a question about your childhood musical experiences.

Oh no, let's not do this. Let's not do this. [laughs] I come from a musical household. I've been playing drums since I was very little. I've been playing piano for a very long time. It was pretty obvious from when I was very small that drums were my thing. And my parents were like, 'Sure you should play drums, but also you should learn something melodic, because as a drummer, you'll get stuck at the back of the stage and you'll want to be able to make decisions about things that are going on in the band. So you're doing piano lessons.' Then I picked up a bunch of different instruments from that, because I think if you're playing rhythm instruments but you've also got melodic training then it's quite easy to pick up a bunch of different things.

My parents did free improv physical theatre stuff. And so alongside that, my dad got really into improvisation in music. We joined a community band called Dangerous Volume when I was seven or eight. We were fairly active members until I was in my early teens. We did all kinds of bizarre musical experiments with improvisation and playing in large groups and stuff. It was a really strange cross-section of people, looking back at it. At the time I was like 10, playing this tiny little red drum kit, and I'm just like, 'Yeah, sure, cool. Of course there's 20 people who've never met before sitting in a school hall on a Monday night from 6 until 8:00 PM.' Looking back on it, oh yeah, no, that's kind of a unique experience [laughs].

My dad used to crack a lot of software. Super early days, when you could go to the market and buy CDs off people that had software on it. One of my earliest memories is him bringing home a computer. I think the first proper DAW that I used was Sony Acid 4, when it was still Sonic Foundry. Then we had ReBirth, which obviously then became Reason. We got Ableton Live version 2, on a disk.

Then I came away from it for a while, discovered that Slipknot existed and that kind of changed things. And then there was a student teacher at my high school when I was like 13, 14, who was really into Killswitch Engage. We really bonded over that. And he was like, 'You have an ear for production somehow.' We had this little recording desk, a Fostex 16 channel, which records onto a drive. And he was like, 'I'm just gonna teach you how to use this, so you can record stuff, record other people.' That's basically how I ended up feeling like, 'It's time to get into the rest of this, rather than just playing all the instruments.' So that's it, right? That's the childhood thing. We've breezed through that one [laughs].

Was there a period when you struggled unifying all these different musical interests into one project?

Yep! [laughs]. There was that for a very, very long time actually. My final project in uni, I had to make half an hour of recorded material. I brought a load of stuff into my production tutor, Tim Land, AKA Landslide, one of the first people to release on Hospital Records. He's amazing. He's really, really cool.

Where was this?

Newport, in South Wales. Tim Land, total babe. Introduced me to Holly Herndon and Arca super, super early, Andy Stott as well. He's the guy. I showed him all of this stuff that I was working on. I was trying to make Hessle Audio-y kind of rollers. And then I was also trying to make quite aggressive, weird 8 Bar stuff. Then there was also some kind of footwork-y, drum & bass-ish stuff, and there was a PC Music thing going on. And he was like, for your final project, why don't you just do four EPs? Instead of trying to make sense of how to connect these all into one project, make four EPs, and then see what works on the other side, aesthetically for you. And then that thing that I made after that was Turbulent Dynamics, and that was my first release. Looking back on that, it's like, 'Oh look, here are all of those pieces.' All of those things are folded into this release.

I think everything that I've done since then has been experimenting in different fields, different ways of thinking about production and my own music. And I think im hole is the first time that I've been able to go: collated, here's all the stuff again.

What would be your advice to someone who's earlier on in their music-making?

You just keep making shit [laughs]. I would love for there to be a more finessed answer to that. But you've just got to keep making things. And I think if you learn through a process of imitation, which everyone does to a certain degree, that's what learning is. And if that's what you're constantly doing, from each of the experiments that you have, you take something away. There's something that stays with you in your core sensibility. And over time, all of those things build together and they become personalised and they become handles that you can grab onto to pull you up as you're trying to get through making a project. And there's a point where the experiment stops being imitation.

It's like, 'Can I make a tune in x style?' then becomes, 'Can I make a tune using x process?' And so all of those little things that you've collected along the way, instead of being thrown into someone else's music, that becomes the music. You're trying to reach your music through this process. That's something that I was doing a ton on this record. I think that's why I feel really confident standing by it and being like, this is actually super personal in a way that I think a lot of my other music hasn't been. I don't think I'm trying to be, or do, anyone else. I'm getting caught up in the experience of writing and processing some really fucking personal stuff.

I guess the foregrounding of lyrics helps make the album more personal, too.

My lyric writing process is incredibly spontaneous and I have very little control over it. I wouldn't [say I] approach it in any sense of the same methodology that I practice with production. I understand it so little that I can't really speak with any kind of clarity on what it is that's led me to the lyrics that I have. There were very specific states of, well, transient psychosis to be honest, which have led to me having these lyrics. And then there's a process of refinement after that that turns them into songs.

Usually I'll have this Notes document and then start a track somewhere else. And then I'll go, 'Oh, that's actually this experience that I've had, this kind of delusional moment, they're the same thing.' I'm expressing that through the music and I'm expressing that through these lyrics. There's something in the particular heat that I'm expressing in the instrumental that is about the hotness of these lyrics, that is about the stickiness of this, or whatever. And so that comes together and I refine and refine each and so then they develop in tandem. I guess this comes back to the thing that we were talking about, this plane that everything's existing on.

Let's get into the nuts and bolts of some of the sounds on the album. To me, 'still i taste the air' and 'somewhere between the 8th and 9th floor' stand out as each being built around one really rich, unusual sound. Are you using a particular synth there?

'somewhere between the 8th and 9th floor' is a field recording. That's the stairwell in my old building. Somewhere between the eighth and ninth floor, halfway up, one of the windows, the seal had broken. And it was super, super windy. And as it was blowing air through, there were all of these tiny little pockets of air that were getting excited. As soon as I recorded that, I was like, 'This is the opener to my album.' I didn't have any of the rest of it. It was like, 'This is it. I know it.' I was on my way to NTS, so I got there and transferred it from my phone onto my USB and then played it as my first tune on radio [laughs].

I had assumed you were mostly working with synthesis, but is there more audio than I would expect on the album?

Yes and no. I like to keep people guessing. I think it's a challenge to your ear, as a—I'm not a field recordist—as someone who likes sounds, to not just record like, 'Oh, I get the pencil, and the book [mimes hitting them together].' Come on, everyone's done that. Actually just being present with the environments that you're in acoustically. Sitting on the loo at your mate's house and being like, 'Holy shit that extractor fan's resonating at a major sixth and it's gorgeous.' And then it's also a challenge in terms of your synthesis, making stuff that feels so real, but then it distorts. You have this meeting point in the middle that I think is really interesting. Nothing is ever organic, nothing is ever synthesised. Everything is always both.

On 'somewhere between the 8th and 9th floor', how much processing did you do after the fact?

That's what it sounded like in that room. It's insane. But I recorded it on my iPhone, so it was totally mono. So I used PS22, the Waves stereo imager, and then had a bunch of LFOs on the width and how many folds there are. So that kind of moves around in your head as it's going backwards and forwards. And then it moves into the section where it's pitched down and all that stuff. But as far as the actual core sound goes, that's it.

'still i taste the air,' that's using [u-he's] Diva. Diva's kind of my go-to. I think a lot of people turn it on and it does the Moog thing and then they go, 'Oh yeah, it does the Moog thing.' Actually, it does so much. As far as the spectrum of subtractive [synthesis] goes, it's really, really malleable. There's a particular module in it, which if I'm not mistaken—I may have completely misunderstood it because I've never read the manual—it's like pitch feedback synthesis. You start out with a bunch of saw waves and then you have a pitch shifter, which can go up seven, five semitones, however much. And then a feedback after that.

Your nice stacked fifths or fourths or whatever.

Exactly. And as that bends, that changes all of the stackings above it. So you have these things that open out and create all of these really complex partials. If you chuck a random LFO on that, because the LFOs work per oscillator, each of these individual notes has a different tuning and a different stack above it. So as [one] shifts, another one might shift in an opposite direction. So you have this really bizarre, super organic-feeling sound. Like this synth is aching and breathing and being forced into shapes that it doesn't quite want to move into. Working with it is this bizarre, reactive experience. You're kind of along for the ride when you're using it. But yeah, Diva's great. If you swap out the oscillator section for the digital oscillators, some of the stuff in there's crazy.

When you're trying to get an interesting sound out of a synth, are you generally working more at the point of sound generation rather than in the effects chain afterwards?

I'm really interested in chaos in sound generation. Having a set of parameters that I know something's going to move around in, but that I don't have total direct control over. I want to hit the key and it does something slightly different every time. You can access that in so many different ways. But as far as, is it in the synth or in the chain? It depends: am I creating a strange object, or am I describing a familiar object in a strange way? What's the thing that's interesting about it? In what way is this thing broken or is there a unique kind of perspective on it? Or is it that this sound is just fucking batshit?

The sound design on 'the only solution i have found is to simply jump higher'—all of those big [synth] hits—that's pure [Native Instruments] Massive X. Thinking about, okay, if I want to simulate the idea of someone's throat getting longer and gurgling, what are the processes that are going on there? There's some kind of feedback because it's happening inside the throat, but then there's also all of these pulses that are happening, too. It's thinking about the physical process that's taking place in acoustic sound generation. It's physical modelling, right?

Physical modelling as a guiding principle rather than literally a physical modelling synth.

Yeah. I mean, I find most physical modelling synths that I've worked with are actually quite limited. And I think that's because I've not spent the last 15 years fucking around with them. Whereas I've been playing around with subtractive synths for however long, thinking about how they work and what you can do with them.

In 'the only solution i have found is to simply jump higher', those throat sounds—is there not also some real voice mixed in on top?

Yes, there's both. I started with the [synthesised sound], and then the microphone was there, the microphone was set up. So I went over and went like that [does voice part]. And then processed that a little bit more and layered some of that over the top so it matched the envelope. It's that thing, you know: nothing is ever synthesised and nothing is ever organic. Everything's always both.

It seems like you enjoy using tools in unexpected ways.

Before I got really into thinking about synthesis, before I became a bit obsessive with physical modelling, my whole thing was: get a tool and use it wrong. [That] was my place of experimentation. How can we automatically generate music that has all these reference points without me actually just imitating someone? I'd just get lost in tools. I think there's been a nice development through imitation, experimenting with tools, and then into a kind of intentionality. And I'm obviously still doing all three of those things. We're all always doing all three of those things.

There's this technique on 'tailwind' I stole it off Alex Walchester. His music's amazing. He was taking Gucci Mane tunes, putting them through noise reduction plugins, and then flipping the output. So you're only hearing the difference—you're hearing what the noise reduction plug-in is getting rid of. And as you pull the threshold down, you start to hear more and more of the tone of the sounds that you're applying this to. So initially it's just clicks and then as you pull down you get more and more of the tone.

So the [main hook in 'tailwind'], that's a break that I've programmed with the noise reduction going. And then pulling the threshold down, the break starts to emerge. The thing that's giving us the tone is a phaser with super, super high feedback going really, really slowly. And then moving between four pole phase up to a hundred pole or whatever it is that the MeldaProduction [MPhaser] can do. So you've got this modulation of the texture that's happening because the threshold of the noise reduction's changing, and then you've got the modulation that's happening after that, because of the change in the phaser.

Let's talk about outboard stuff. I noticed some 500 Series chat on your Twitter recently.

For my sins [laughs].

When I first encountered your music I assumed it was all in the box. Was that true earlier on?

I was pretty much exclusively in the box until I got an Allen & Heath mini desk thing that had a soundcard in it. You could record directly into the desk and you'd get a sum mix out. I picked up a couple of really cheap effects units, like a BOSS multi effects, from the '80s probably. You know, 12 different flangers and then you turn this knob and it's 12 different choruses, and then it's a reverb and a really nasty pitch shift. I bought it for 35 pounds. Really naff, really cheap. I would play my drum bus out into my effects chain and then play about with feeding it back into itself. So you'd get stacking pitchshifting and stuff. And then I'd bring that back in and compress it loads and chuck it super far in the background. Oh look, we've got texture. That's something that I still do now, but only very specifically. I'm still working with that one particular unit. I think it's probably one of my favourite things to work with. It's got loads of really crap reverbs which if you shove through a compressor afterwards sound really flat and fun.

With the 500 series stuff... Actually, MVP of this record: I picked up a Golden Age Project Pre-573, which is a Neve 1073 clone preamp. I recorded all of my vocals for this record through that, using an Audio-Technica AT4050 [microphone]. It's really fucking annoying, but [with vocals] it's just one of those things. If you spend money on a good, large diaphragm condenser, and you get a good preamp and a good soundcard with good AD [converters] in it, it just already sounds good. You do a little bit of compression and a bit of de-essing and it's like, we're off to the races.

That was something that Ginz really helped me with. I got my advance through and he was like, 'Buy these three preamps, try them with a bunch of different sources. Try a bass into them, try a synth, run some stuff out, distort it and bring it back in, and see what you like about each of them. Make a decision about what you're going to use, and then we'll sell the rest of them on Reverb. And just keep that going, try these compressors, blah, blah, blah.'

Were there other hardware bits which fed into the album?

The drums on 'OoBros Prosthesis,' I got sick of working with the same folder of breaks, diving in and just hearing the same thing. So [I made] a kind of early '90s New York hip-hop style drum break, and then processed that out through some stuff, recorded it back in. And then that's my break.

So I did that out through the nasty reverb that I was talking about before. And then into one of the other [500 Series] units which I've got—the DIY Colour Modules. The modules that I have for that include the US Pentode, which is basically a tiny tube distortion. The other is an SSL compressor emulation. You can throw stuff through it and it squashes and distorts. So I made this really nice drum break and then processed that. I'd love to do a version of that tune that's way more like [mimics early New York hip-hop] 'So I went down to the store and I bought myself a hat.' [laughs] Like me and Iceboy going bar for bar on it.

You were a drummer before you were a producer. Listening to the album, there's often something unusual going on rhythmically, funny time signatures, off-grid grooves. Are you tapping things in by hand? Or just drawing on your sensibility as a drummer?

It's sensibility. It's not me playing stuff in. I haven't played drums in three, four years. I don't have a kit. Every time I sit down behind a kit now I get really, really sad. Because I used to play three, four hours a day when I was teenager. I'd get afternoons off from lessons or I'd skive off and go to the music block and play drums. And then I'd get home and play for another two hours. I was dedicated. I thought that was what my life was going to be. I thought I was going to be a touring hardcore drummer. So I don't have that. I just have the sensibility of it now.

The subtitle of Turbulent Dynamics was "Five Exercises In Obfuscation Of The 4X4 Metric," and I'm constantly trying to live up to that. There are so many ways of coming to the conclusion of 'drums are happening' outside of just like, kick, clap, kick, clap. The Jersey five beats to the bar is great. That's lovely. What if those five beats were equally spaced? And what if that was actually our pulse? So 'dis yacky' is actually 175 BPM. It's not, because when you listen to it, it sounds like it's 137-ish. But the metronome is running at a quintuplet pulse against what we're hearing. I was messing around with some clap patterns and was like, 'If I just turn the metronome off, this actually feels like this tempo. So now I'm just going to leave the metronome off and learn how to build in this tempo instead.' So I've ended up with that [mimics halting beat]. That quintuplet got baked into the rest of the tune.

Are there tools to help you do something like that in a gridded DAW? Or are you just zooming in and dragging things around?

I don't use any tools to do it. I'll take five 16th notes and then squash them into four beats of time and then use that as my grid.

So you're using that as a reference to line things up with.

Yes, it's a reference. And then I can pull slightly off the grid that I've made. The grid is off while I'm doing this. I turn the grid back on to move blocks around and stuff. I know that all of my sections are going to be an extra however many bars, or minus however many bars. But yeah, for the most part, it's just feeling really. I have a rhythmic language—or I feel versed in a variety of rhythmic languages, should I say—to the point where I can take this thing from here and this thing from here.

To me, the album's rhythmic feel is slippery. You can't quite get a handle on it. You feel lost in it, but pleasantly.

I mean, the whole record is about dissociation. And in those states nothing's certain, you know? Having that kind of thing where you've got a grip on this shape in front of you and then part of it falls away. I mean that partially in a hallucinogenic sense, but also in a dissociative psychotic [sense], and all the ways that we can think about dissociation. Maybe if you haven't had those experiences from drugs or mental health, there's also, you know, alienation or whatever. Having a sense of an object and part of it falling away. And having to get a new handle on it and experience it as this thing. And then it might reappear in a different way. That's what this whole record is about. And so I try however many different ways I can get that into the production. Because I'm living in that state fairly constantly, that's going to show itself in my music, if I'm making something really personal.