From the beginning weād write a song and send it to Leigh to see what she thought. We wrote five songs a week for a solid year before she said, āOkay, that oneās not bad, keep writing.ā She still has that brilliant shit-o-meter now.
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Len was calm and introverted; he didnāt stalk the stage like an arrogant rock god. After a year, I had to make the really difficult decision of taking him out of the band line-up. That was really hard. We assumed he would be my guitarist, and had no idea it wasnāt going to work, and he found it difficult letting go, but we continued writing songs together, including some of our biggest hits.
It was those conversations at the Rape Crisis Centre that gave me a clearer understanding of the impact of trauma, and how itās possible to not be treated as a powerless victim. I donāt want to be pitied. Iām very uncomfortable with that. I want options and opportunity, and I want to be listened to and respected. I donāt want anyone to do all that for me because then Iāll never learn how to do it for myself. Songwriting is very cathartic and provides a method for doing that. In those days, I couldnāt find the words in conversation to express how I felt, but strangely I could sing them.
I liked experimenting with new sounds, and started thinking about doing a solo album, working on song ideas with Len. I was unsure about Skunk Anansie, and was becoming more and more focused on the idea of making my own record. I started work on it, and sent Leigh a demo of āBurnt Like Youā. Leigh listened to it alone in her flat, to the lyrics:
I canāt watch the same mistake
Waiting for the boys to turn out straight
No I canāt run the same dog race
And get burnt like you
Youāre swollen in the gut
From all those last nights
Still swinging vodka punches
That donāt land right
She told me later, āI sat and cried my eyes out for a whole afternoon because I knew the band was over.
My guitarist Elliot came with me, all ready to work with his beautiful guitar ideas. When we walked into her studio in Burbank, forty-five minutes outside LA, we were stunned. It was impressive, with around fifty amazing vintage guitars in the live room. Elliot and I exchanged glances ā what Linda didnāt know is that he is a left-handed guitarist, so he couldnāt play any of them. Ouch! That did not help the vibes.
Seven years apart gave us a decent amount of time to look back and reflect on our band dynamic and what we had achieved. My perspective had changed ā I was much less stressed and better at living in the moment. Iād been through a lot of challenges as a solo artist, I was better at problem solving and I had lost my fear of the unknown. Everything had gone so well, and we enjoyed putting together the live album so much that we decided to continue and go on tour. This would be unknown territory; we didnāt know if the magic would be the same.