The Release after Release of ‘Where’ve You Been?’

Releasing Where’ve You Been? feels like setting loose a collection of bottled messages into the ocean—each one containing fragments of my life, some drifting to distant shores, others caught in unexpected currents. The messages are written, and now I’m watching the tides carry them away to unknown destinations, hoping that there’s a connection when they land.

There have been a few early responses that have been surprising and very encouraging: comparisons to The Velvet Underground/Lou Reed and a little Neil Young—which feel like a welcome validation of what I was trying to achieve with my sound. And when one listener picked up on the “haunting almost surf rock guitar” and unconventional saxophone passages on This Isn’t How I Used To Be, it felt warm and reassuring to know that my experiments are resonating with people.

But then there’s the silence and the critics. For example, one listener pointed out perceived timing issues in The King Think and pitch problems in If You Don’t Mind, going on to offer me advice about warming up and practicing scales. Sure, they’re probably right about my technical flaws — especially where my voice is concerned. But this album was never supposed to be about polished perfection. It’s about capturing the messy reality of climbing out of a 28-year mental health hell hole. Heaving up from an abyss and seeking connection and reconciliation where necessary. Those wobbling uncertain pitches are the sound of relearning how to speak for myself after decades of silence and misguided living.

This isn’t an album of shiny studio production. It’s more like listening in on a live performance—intimate and raw, with all its imperfections. It doesn’t try to be something polished or unattainable. Instead, it documents the truth of that moment: unvarnished and vulnerable, unsimultaneously live.

It’s all good, though. The scattered reception—from silence to criticism to understanding—mirrors my overall interior journey, and this isn’t just about my music anyhow. It’s about the space between drowning and swimming, between losing one’s mind and finding a voice. Every awkward note and guitar scale slip tries to tell its own truth.

I’ve learned from Danielle and other teachers in my life that putting art into the world requires a special kind of courage. It’s not just about making the thing—it’s about letting it go afterwards and moving on, watching others interpret it, or overlook it entirely as they will. The vulnerability isn’t in the creation anymore; it’s in the release and acceptance of how it feels to do so.

These songs exist now, exactly as they had to be at the time they were written and recorded—rough edges, pitch problems, and all. They’re a record of a real person who was in a real struggle, not a polished studio fantasy. Whether they find people they connect with tomorrow or years from now, they’re still floating out there, carrying their scars proudly, inviting you to a conversation. Just like me.

You can hear the album on Spotify, Amazon Music, YouTube Music, and SoundCloud, with other services coming online soon. Thanks for reading, for listening. Let me know your thoughts below, or drop me a line.

With Love

Sabin