Between a tape deck and a cloud. In 1977, a little girl got hold of a cassette recorder. She probably had no idea what she was starting. No grand plan. No content strategy. No algorithms. No hashtags. Just a fascination with sound. A curiosity about songs, voices, stories and the strange magic that happens when one piece of music follows another. Fast forward a few decades. The cassette recorder became turntables. The turntables became radio shows. The radio shows became a blog. The blog became mixes. The mixes became YouTube. And now, somewhere along the way, that same little girl has found herself making adverts, artwork and original songs with artificial intelligence. Not because technology replaced creativity. Because it gave creativity somewhere new to live. The latest advert I've created for Rehab's Couch feels like a full-circle moment. The tools have changed beyond recognition, but the reason I do any of this hasn't changed at all. I still chase the feeling. That moment when a song lands exactly where it needs to. That moment when a lyric explains something you've never quite found words for. That moment when a stranger, somewhere in the world, presses play and feels a little less alone. Alongside the advert, I'm sharing two new songs I've created using Suno. And honestly? The biggest discovery hasn't been the technology. It's been learning that the ideas were always there. For years I thought creativity was about having the perfect equipment, the perfect setup, the perfect circumstances. Life has a funny way of proving otherwise. Between school runs, caring responsibilities, hospital visits, washing piles, shopping lists and all the ordinary chaos that comes with being a grown-up, the songs kept arriving anyway. What AI has taught me is that creativity isn't waiting for permission. It isn't waiting for a bigger studio. It isn't waiting for more time. It's waiting for action. I've also learned something else. People don't connect with technology. They connect with stories. Nobody falls in love with a microphone, a mixing desk or a software package. They connect with the feeling behind it. The memory. The heartbreak. The hope. The groove. The reason you pressed record in the first place. That's probably why Rehab's Couch still feels like home after all these years. It was never really about music. Music was just the vehicle. The destination has always been connection. So here we are. From a cassette recorder in 1977 to AI-generated songs in 2026. Different tools. Different shapes. Same soul. And if there's one thing I've learned on this journey, it's this: The music was never lost. It was simply waiting for the next way to be heard. 🛋️ Welcome back to the Couch. 🎵✨

 In 1977, a little girl got hold of a cassette recorder. It was a Christmas gift I believe, there's a photo of it somewhere I'll ask my brother. 

She probably had no idea what she was starting. Recording the top 40 on a Sunday holding it's little microphone up to the radio. Then I started making my own shows talking in-between the tracks. Gosh if only I had those now. cringe!

No grand plan. No content strategy. No algorithms. No hashtags. Just a fascination with sound. A curiosity about songs, voices, stories and the strange magic that happens when one piece of music follows another.

Fast forward a few decades.

The cassette recorder became turntables. The turntables many years later became  mixtapes became a blog.  Nearly half a million visits, honestly amazing , ive been writing here since 2009.  Not always constantly but music always brought me back. The blog became mixes. The mixes became YouTube. And now, somewhere along the way, that same little girl has found herself making adverts, artwork and original songs with artificial intelligence.

Not because technology replaced creativity.

Because it gave creativity somewhere new to live.

The latest ad  I've created for Rehab's Couch feels like a full-circle moment. The tools have changed beyond recognition, but the reason I do any of this hasn't changed at all.

I still chase the feeling.

That moment when a song lands exactly where it needs to.

That moment when a lyric explains something you've never quite found words for.

That moment when a stranger, somewhere in the world, presses play and feels a little less alone.

And honestly?

The biggest discovery hasn't been the technology.

It's been learning that the ideas were always there.

For years I thought creativity was about having the perfect equipment, the perfect setup, the perfect circumstances. Life has a funny way of proving otherwise. Between school runs, caring responsibilities, hospital visits, washing piles, shopping lists and all the ordinary chaos that comes with being a grown-up, the songs kept arriving anyway.

What AI has taught me is that creativity isn't waiting for permission.

It isn't waiting for a bigger studio.

It isn't waiting for more time.

It's waiting for action.

I've also learned something else.

People don't connect with technology.

They connect with stories.

Nobody falls in love with a microphone, a mixing desk or a software package.

They connect with the feeling behind it.

The memory.

The heartbreak.

The hope.

The groove.

The reason you pressed record in the first place.

That's probably why Rehab's Couch still feels like home after all these years.

It was never really about music.

Music was just the vehicle.

The destination has always been connection.

So here we are.

From a cassette recorder in 1977 to AI-generated songs in 2026.

Different tools.

Different shapes.

Same soul.

And if there's one thing I've learned on this journey, it's this:

The music was never lost.

It was simply waiting for the next way to be heard.

🛋️ Welcome back to the Couch. 🎵✨