How A Life-Changing Injury Inspired Velvet Trip's Debut Album 'Harmony Blooms'

I started skateboarding when I was about four years old. It has always been a huge part of my identity and creativity. The music, the culture, the community, and the mental challenges you put yourself through kept me connected and grounded; I couldn’t get enough. I used to sit through class playing with a Tech Deck and then head straight home to try flip tricks off the speed bump in my street.

Growing up in Suffolk Park, we didn't have a skatepark until I was around 13, so when they finally built one, it was all over, and I started getting more serious. I was competing in local comps and had a few little sponsors, getting free equipment from the local skate shop, and I began to push myself harder and harder. I remember winning ‘best trick’ at a local comp for a 50-50 to lipslide down a kinked rail; I had the froth, haha. I was also an avid guitarist, and so was my dad. I remember him telling me ‘’look after your hands... You might break them skating one day, and that will be it’’.

I moved to Sydney when I was 20. I was playing in a few bands at once and was doing lots of tours up and down the East Coast - often having multiple tours crossing over one another, so there was a lot of pressure, and I was very committed to building a music career. In the middle of a run of shows, I went down to Avalon skatepark one day with my bandmate Clay [Allen], and I tried to foot plant-finger flip on a Deathbox extension. I remember catching it and thinking ‘’my footing is wrong’’, but I committed anyway. I whipped out so hard and fast, slapping the concrete to protect my face - I felt something wasn't right instantly.

The hospital couldn't see any broken bones in the x-ray, diagnosed it as a torn muscle, and told me I would be OK to continue the tour as long as I wasn't feeling pain. With a golf ball-sized lump on the top side of my hand, I played three shows in a row that weekend - Byron Bay, the Gold Coast, and Brisbane. This was terrible advice that ended up nearly causing irreversible damage to my hand.

It was a complete mystery because the bones weren't broken, but something wasn’t right. It was painful and reactive - I couldn't hold onto a cup of water, do my shirt up, or hold onto my steering wheel without it flaring up into agony. I spent an entire year and every cent I had bouncing between different physiotherapists, hand specialists, craniosacral therapists, and desperate consultants with hand surgeons seeking a diagnosis.

I later found out that I had obliterated the ligaments and soft tissue in my hand. I was completely depressed and in a pretty dark place emotionally. It was the middle of COVID lockdowns, and specialists told me that the likelihood of playing guitar again was very slim. When it comes to injuries, people often only think about the superficial, physical damage but don’t often consider the mental health factors at play. I had a complete identity crisis when I received this news; I was shattered.

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My partner gifted me a MIDI keyboard in an effort to keep me grounded and connected to my creative spirit; it changed everything. I taught myself to play keys one-handed and began writing music without my guitar for the first time, recording straight into Garage Band on my laptop. I was experimenting with synths, percussion layers, and stacking harmonies. I was completely inspired and buzzing at the possibilities in front of me.

This pushed my songwriting into completely unknown territory and opened up a whole new world - I no longer felt at a loss but excited by the constraints and the challenge. In retrospect, the injury was almost the best thing to have happened to me in this weird, ironic way. I would never have written the songs I did if I could still play the guitar.

The circumstances around were so dire that writing music became a form of escapism to an extent. I didn't want to write sad, dark songs; I didn't want to write the blues any more; there was enough of that around. So, instead, I focused on projecting positivity and creating a world in my music that was beautiful and happy for myself, Clay, and anybody who was listening to it.

I bought a bunch of microphones and set the garage up into a recording studio where Clay and I began producing an album ourselves.

Over the next few years, with the guidance and support of a new hand therapist, I began playing guitar for 10 minutes a day, then 10 minutes three times a day, then 30 minutes in one session, etc. My hand would get super sore and tired, but gradually, over about six months, my hand was strong enough to get through a set. My first performance after all of this was a live session for Maton Guitars at the Powerhouse Museum - I was so damn nervous and grateful to have been asked to do that I came home and cried with joy.

Over the following months, I performed on the ABC program Going Country alongside Emily Wurramara, performed at the Opera House with Jazz Money, performed a live session for Fender, and was approached by Dan Sultan to play in his band.

So, here I am four years later, releasing my debut album with Velvet Trip, the same record I wrote on that midi keyboard and getting ready to tour the country. We have a string of headline shows, playing Bluesfest, supporting John Butler, and supporting Ocean Alley on Bribie Island.

It’s wild to reflect upon, and words don't do justice to how grateful I am to be on the other side of all of that. Even though I can play guitar perhaps better than before the accident, I’ll have a lifelong battle with my hand. It gets tired and achy, but I have learned how to manage it and know my limits both in my daily life and my guitar playing - I will never again take music for granted.

Dad's prophecy almost came true… ALMOST!

Velvet Trip’s debut album, ‘Harmony Blooms’, is out now. The Sydney duo will be touring Australia this March and April - you can find tickets here.