Discovering the Liberated Breath

The first time I remember becoming conscious of my breathing mechanism was when I was about nine years old. As my family sat around the dinner table, my father—who was constantly stressed and regularly searching for ways to counter his stress—shared that he had just learned from a breathing expert that, ideally, we should take only eight full breaths per minute. I tested myself and noticed that I had difficulty achieving this; clearly, I thought, it was something I would have to practice.

This day marked the first in a long line of battles I would wage with my breath, a war that would revolve around the symptoms of “air hunger” and chronic chest-breathing, and that would be complicated by the imperfect tool known as “belly-breathing.” I would one day understand that it was a hopeless fight, one in which my incomplete knowledge of the breathing mechanism vied with my accumulated habits for dominance. Eventually, I would discover through the Alexander Technique that these two forces were sides of the same coin—interference—and that by becoming aware of my habits, I could choose to stop reinforcing them, thus allowing the natural intelligence of the breathing mechanism to direct the show once again. It would take years of frustration, however, before I was able to appreciate this.

Air Hunger

Despite my early forays into the controversial world of breathing via my father’s instructions—which occasionally surfaced in the back of my mind—I was for the most part happily oblivious to the rhythm of my breath until I reached the age of seventeen. It was then that I began to notice a sensation of being starved for breath, something that I would come to know as “air hunger.” It was only mild, and so it didn’t cause too much of a distraction; whenever I noticed that I was starved for air, my immediate reaction would be to take a big breath in my chest. It felt almost as if I were forcing myself to yawn in order to satisfy this urge for more air.

The phenomenon became more pronounced, however, over the following two years.  My habit of “grabbing” air to satisfy the awful feeling of being starved for breath intensified to the point where it became a chronic habit. It was a self-reinforcing cycle that behaved much like an addiction, in this case an addiction to an artificial sense of a full breath; every time I felt the need for more air, I would satisfy that need by reaching for more air in a forced and unnatural way. The excessive activity of my upper chest, neck and shoulders required in the attempts to grasp at the breath would then make it more difficult for air to be received naturally. The whole process compounded the feeling of being starved for air, which would then spur me to go to even greater lengths to reach for a satisfying breath.

In hindsight, I’m sure that the onset of this breathing pattern was the consequence of my increasingly imbalanced approach to life. I had become almost wholly focused on the future, driven both by ambition and fear to doggedly pursue some ideal of success. It had become normal for me to exist in a highly accelerated and hyper-analytical mode. Though, this was perhaps the tip of the iceberg: On a more primary level, I felt lost, empty and stifled, and was struggling to make sense of life. I’m sure that I was suffering from some degree of anxiety and depression, though my response to this was to keep it concealed and search for answers on my own. I searched relentlessly for something to fill the void, which I suppose I could even say was mirrored on a physical level in my frantic and frustrating efforts to satisfy my body’s craving for air. I believe that other factors—such as weight-training, breathing exercises for singing, and vague instructions on “diaphragmatic breathing”—also contributed to the development of these breathing difficulties, albeit to a lesser degree.

By the time I was eighteen, the discomfort surrounding my breathing plagued me each and every day. It was a constant presence in my life that I would contend with, trying to satisfy the urge for air, but knowing that if I gave in to it too fully I would find myself unable to satisfy it anymore. At that time I would have to tolerate the feelings of air hunger for a number of hours before my gasping for air would once again be effective. But even when it was effective, it provided only momentary relief; the sensation of being starved for air persisted regardless of what I did. I developed significant tension in my chest, neck, shoulders and jaw, and the feelings of discomfort and struggle that accompanied this breathing complication were abiding. I would occasionally be unaware of the tension when distracted by an activity or conversation, but only sometimes, and it would never last. The worst moments would be when I was waiting to fall asleep, and in response to the sensation of air hunger I would try to breathe fully, or deeply, or gasp for air—trying whatever would work. It often felt at these times as if I were suffocating. I think that perhaps this is further evidence of the likelihood that my interference was at the root of the problem; the symptoms and struggle seemed to intensify whenever I was not distracted by something else, suggesting that my awareness of the sensations and my attempts at intervention exacerbated the problem. An additional symptom was frequent underlying pain in my ribs, which I would later learn was the result of the persistent hyper-expansion of my rib cage as I reached for a fuller breath.

Early on, when I first noticed the feelings of air hunger and before they had become pronounced, I sought help in a breathing specialist. The specialist, with a background in physiotherapy, made a number of helpful observations: I was relying too heavily on my chest for my breathing; the position of my chin was too high; and the muscles of my upper back, neck, chest and shoulders carried considerable tension. I learned about my habit of “chest-breathing,” its inefficiency, and the function of the diaphragm in natural breathing. I learned that I was not exhaling fully, and was instead inhaling new air on top of stale air. She diagnosed my condition as “hyperventilation syndrome” and named the symptoms “air hunger.”

The solution that I was given to address my faulty breathing was the technique of belly-breathing, sometimes also called diaphragmatic breathing. I was taught to focus the movement of my breath in the abdominal area, the explanation being that the lungs fill downward as the diaphragm displaces the digestive organs, resulting in the expansion of the abdomen. I was also told that my chest shouldn’t move during effective breathing, and that the movement should occur in the abdomen. Attention was also given to my exhalations; my abdomen was encouraged to contract as part of the exhalation to ensure that I was exhaling fully. The last significant components of the prescription were to “tuck” my tailbone forward and allow my shoulders to relax forward, rather than trying to hold them back.

As my symptoms worsened, my breathing battle intensified. On the one hand, I was diligently practicing belly-breathing and ensuring that my chest did not move, while on the other hand, I had developed a strong habit of chest-breathing that desperately wanted to be satisfied. The belly-breathing I had been taught never seemed to provide a satisfying breath, and overriding the habit of chest-breathing was an awful task, because it literally felt like I was starving myself of air. I did my best to understand what was happening, but I was never sure if I was doing it right, since neither way seemed correct. I had a number of appointments with the breathing specialist. Sometimes I would feel a momentary sense of relative relief with the exercises we practiced, and the specialist’s assessment made some sense to me—it was clear that I was definitely not in alignment with my natural breathing mechanism. But somehow it didn’t seem like the full picture. Still, believing that I was getting the best advice possible, I continued to practice what I was taught, and was told that it just required repetition and a gradual phasing-out of my habit of chest-breathing.

After two years of worsening symptoms, at the age of nineteen, I saw my General Practitioner to ask if he could shine any light on the situation. I relayed what I had been taught. He seemed somewhat hesitant about my assertion that the chest should not move during correct breathing, but in any case he wasn’t sure what the cause was and referred me to an ENT specialist. After several appointments with the ENT doctor, we decided that perhaps surgery on my sinuses and turbinates could assist with my breathing, given that I had a history with allergies. As much as it makes me wince today, I went ahead and had surgery in the hope that I would find relief from my breathing difficulties. The surgery failed to have any impact on my breathing problems, though it did seem to result in more consistent ease in my nasal passageways.

Disrupting the habit

The worst of my symptoms continued until, at the age of twenty-one, I found a second breathing specialist, who finally offered a piece of advice that provided the beginning of real relief. After speaking together for some time, she suggested that my problems were probably the result of stress and anxiety, resulting in my sympathetic nervous system being overactive much of the time, which eventually led to chest-breathing becoming an engrained habit. It was the simplest and most accurate explanation I had heard. I agreed with the assessment, but relayed to her that although I had finally begun to find my way out of the emotional confusion and struggle that I had been in the grip of for some time, the sensations of air hunger hadn’t abated. I had been hopeful that the symptoms would subside as my emotional state improved, but this hadn’t been the case, and I wanted to understand what more I could do.

This new specialist told me that the physical habits would stay in place until they were broken, despite my having moved through the personal struggles that may have caused the habits in the first place. She offered me the one piece of advice that finally, after four years, began to free me of the habit of chest-breathing, of gasping for air, and of the perpetual sensation of needing to force a tense and panicked yawn to inhale enough air. She conveyed to me that the only way I would ever be free of the torture of air hunger was to completely override the habit of satisfying that need for air. She made it clear that the only way was to refuse to give into the habit at all, in any way. I questioned her several times to make sure that I understood; up until that point, I had always been told that when I really felt the need to take a big breath, to allow myself do it, as long as most of the time I wasn’t chest-breathing. I had never thought it was possible to refuse to give in to the more urgent sensations to take a breath in my chest; I assumed that would mean that I would be starving my body of air and that I would somehow begin to suffocate, or faint, or something horrible, because that’s what it always felt like. Luckily, however, she was confident enough in her understanding of what was happening that she convinced me, after discussing the whole situation over the course of several appointments, that it was the only way to be free of my breathing problem.

It took all of my willpower to consistently override my body’s impulse to get the air it sought through gasping. As much as I hated the feelings of struggling for air that had plagued me for years, this was even worse: now I felt starved of air—which was nothing new—but I also had to suppress my body’s desire to reach for that air. At times it literally felt like I was suffocating myself, and what was more, I had to be vigilant about it at all times; I could never allow myself a “rest” of reaching for the air in my habitual way. Whenever I did allow myself this relief, I would notice that the habit would once again gather momentum and I would be back at square one. The specialist was right: I couldn’t cut corners if I wanted to be free of these problems.

Eventually, discovering a new sense of resolve, I managed a full month without once giving in to the impulse to reach for air. Although it felt awful to override my body’s most basic survival impulse, after a month I was no longer at the mercy of this habit that I had dealt with for several years. The impulse to reach for air was still alive to in me, but it was no longer in control. My breathing did not feel comfortable, and I didn’t feel satisfied on a physical level with regard to my breath, but I was at last no longer helplessly attempting to satisfy my craving for air. It was as if a debilitating addiction had been overcome, and it was a huge relief to finally be free of it. I was overjoyed to realize that I had freed myself from this burden—a burden that I had begun to believe would be with me for the rest of my life.

The Alexander Technique

For several years my breathing remained in a place of relative stability yet persistent discomfort. I was always partially aware of the tension involved in my breathing and the still palpable sense that I was not getting enough air. While I had overcome the chronic chest-breathing and reaching for breath that I had come to know as the worst of my symptoms, the sense of air hunger remained. So, too, did the impulse to force myself to yawn, though it was no longer controlling me. My dysfunctional breathing was now more tolerable, though the core problems persisted: my breathing felt stifled, restricted and unnatural, and it seemed that something that was for most people unconscious and effortless was still problematic and a frequent distraction for me.

Over the years, I searched for a solution to my breathing difficulties. At times, this would often be done in tandem with my search for answers regarding my voice: as a singer, I would often strain or lose my voice, and this was usually my major concern when looking for answers, though the two were connected. I received acupuncture, saw a chiropractor, tried massage and consulted various natural health practitioners. I explored a number of different exercise modalities, many of which ended up actually exacerbating the tension I experienced in my breathing. Nothing worked. No matter what I did, the discomfort and air hunger remained.

Eventually I discovered the Alexander Technique. I had heard it mentioned a couple of times, never really knowing what it was, but after one day researching it I decided to see if it could be of help with my breathing and postural confusion. I found a local teacher, one whom I would later discover had a special interest in the breathing mechanism, and it didn’t take long for me to know that I was finally on the right track.

Over the course of my first few lessons, I became impressed with the wisdom and efficacy of the approach. Viewing the body as innately capable of balance and efficiency, the potential for imbalance and inefficiency was attributed to our own learned habits that ran counter to the body’s natural intelligence. Or, as F. M. Alexander himself put it, “The right thing does itself.” This resonated with me. What a relief it was to discover a model that saw the body from this viewpoint, providing an ultimate and causal explanation for imbalance, rather than the piecemeal fixes that were typically offered. It made perfect sense to me that breathing need not feel effortful, and that attempting to “control” it was unnecessary—even harmful. I needed to identify the habits I had built that had come to interfere with the body’s natural breathing mechanism, and then free myself from those habits.

Furthermore, instead of isolating a particular part of a system, or focusing on the symptom instead of the cause, the Alexander Technique considered the system as a whole. In my case, for example, breathing was not dealt with in isolation. It was understood in relation to what I was doing with the rest of my body, from my feet, to my hips, to my head, and everywhere in between. If I was interfering with my body’s natural efficiency in the way I held my head, for example, it would have an impact on other parts of my body involved in breathing.

The fundamental difference between the Alexander Technique and everything that I had explored earlier was the perspective of “inhibiting” my learned habits, and in doing so, allowing the body’s natural efficiency to reassert itself. My years of belly-breathing, for example, attempted to replace one habit (chest-breathing) with another, less harmful habit (belly-breathing). Although I found belly-breathing preferable to chest-breathing, I began to understand that it was still interfering with my body’s natural breathing process. By identifying habits, and then choosing not to reinforce them, the Alexander Technique enabled me to gradually re-discover my body’s natural ease free of the tension and inefficiency caused by my intervention. The undoing of habitual interference, combined with my teacher’s guidance and direction, allowed the natural efficiency of my body to reawaken.

I was so excited about the truly holistic and logical approach of the technique that I went for frequent lessons during my first three months. Each lesson, I would become more aware of my deeply entrenched habits, and with my teacher’s guidance, I would experience the liberation of momentarily releasing those habits. It was the freest I could ever remember feeling in my body. So practiced and deeply unconscious had my habits become, however, that they would invariably reassert themselves. It required vigilance and practice to keep progressing and to gradually introduce this newfound freedom into my everyday life. I realized early on that there was always further to go; in peeling back one layer of habit, another, more subtle layer was usually revealed before too long.

Perhaps even more important was the tendency for new habits to develop in response to the release of existing habits. I was continually surprised by how normal it was for me to attempt to “do” the unlearning of my habits, responding to a genuine release of interference by then attempting to replicate it through remembering how I thought I “did” it. The irony was, of course, that it was my doing that was the problem in the first place. In order to allow the natural intelligence to reassert itself, I had to give up my attempts to interfere, even when the interference was well-intentioned. Only then did I experience freedom from my conditioned habits. I found this particular parallel to certain Eastern philosophies of non-doing, surrender, and non-resistance fascinating. The Alexander Technique, it seemed to me, could be viewed as an experiential parallel to these concepts, wherein the body was a microcosm of consciousness.

My breathing began to change. I started to experience greater ease in my body and in my breathing. As my habitual patterns gradually subsided, I began to discover the relief and freedom of a natural breath—something I had not experienced in years, and that perhaps I hadn’t experienced since I was a young child. The initial discoveries afforded me by the Alexander Technique led me more deeply into work that was specifically breath-focused. Jessica Wolf’s work in “The Art of Breathing,” a sub-specialty of the Alexander Technique that also draws on the work of Carl Stough, was the most powerful tool I encountered for unlocking my body’s natural, free breath. As my study continued, I gradually found greater and greater freedom from the feelings of restriction and air hunger I had known for so long. My breathing began moving toward a place of greater effortlessness and satisfaction.

The habitual compression of my chest—the result of years of following belly-breathing directions that my chest should not move and that I should encourage my abdomen to contract for the exhalation—eventually eased. However, whereas once this would have been impossible without the triggering of my forced-yawn and “reaching” impulses, now this tension could be released without my body reverting back to this old habit—the Alexander perspective of habit and choice providing the means for this. The excessive focus I had developed on my abdomen’s role in the breath could now be left behind. So, too, could the habitual shoulder, neck and back tension. As I began to unlock these habits, I was amazed by the freedom of breath that naturally arose. It was true that there was a generous amount of movement in my abdomen, but now this was happening automatically and with greater freedom. Instead of this happening with the assistance of my abdominal muscles, which I realized I had been unknowingly engaging in my efforts to belly-breathe, it was now being freely propelled by the movement of my diaphragm. The same was true of my lower ribs, which began to gently swing as the lower lungs expanded, rather than being pulled open forcibly as in my previous habit of engaging the intercostals.

As the strength of my habits diminished and I learned to trust the natural mechanism, I would occasionally experience tremors in my abdomen and chest. I came to view these muscle spasms as moments of reclaiming areas of the natural range of movement that had been dormant for many years. My diaphragm, being an involuntary muscle, was gradually re-developing its natural resilience as we removed the impediments to its movement, namely my extraneous muscular tension. (This recognition that the diaphragm was an involuntary muscle, and that it could not be controlled directly, was an important distinction to make. Whereas my earlier instruction in belly-breathing claimed to be engaging and utilizing my diaphragm more fully, what I realized it had really been doing was encouraging my abdominal muscles to do some of the work that was naturally of the diaphragm’s domain, creating greater interference in my natural breathing mechanism.

These moments of liberation, during which I would experience tremors in my abdomen and ribcage, always involved a natural expansion of my torso that took me beyond the territory I previously knew, providing a deeply satisfying, full breath, but one without tension or the need to “grab” the air. It seemed as if this was then carving out new boundaries in my breath’s range of movement, providing greater breathing potential. However, I would have to be careful not to interfere with this movement; the only reason these full breaths were possible were because of the increased natural coordination of my breath. Any muscular involvement on my part would cause unnecessary tension which would then restrict the full potential of the movement. Breath this satisfying depended on my being vigilant enough to give up the habitual impulses to “do something” with my breathing.

As my work with the Art of Breathing continued, my whole torso began to change. My back became fuller (in Alexander terminology, it lengthened and widened), providing support for the three-dimensional expansion of my torso that accompanied each inhalation and the corresponding movement of the exhalation. One day, while seated with natural balance and poise for some time, I noticed my breath naturally seeking greater expansion in my upper back and chest. (This was a very different sensation to the air hunger symptoms I used to experience, wherein I would be compulsively fighting for air due to a feeling of breathlessness. There was no feeling of air hunger involved in this expansion, and no muscular tension or interference on my part.) As I allowed the breath to guide my movement, my upper back, chest and shoulders seemed to naturally expand (widen) and move to what might be considered a more traditionally “correct” postural position. It now felt as though my shoulders were further back than they had been for many years, though there was no muscular tension involved. Although this had been a common attempted position during my years of air hunger, driven by my effort to find a deeper breath, it had never worked before because of the tension I had to employ to get there. Now, it seemed, the release of my habits had provided the space for my body to realign itself, and this extra capacity in my torso was being realized by my body as the breath naturally expanded into its full potential. The corresponding change in my breathing was, again, truly liberating and exhilarating.

After a couple years of study with the Alexander Technique and the Art of Breathing, the experience of natural, satisfying breathing had become my norm. Although the habits of tension that had developed over a period of almost ten years still arose at times, their power steadily weakened. Remnants of this tension still impeded my full breath at times, but again, this tension gradually subsided just as the power of the underlying habits did. It was, and continues to be, an ongoing journey of discovering greater ease. Subtler and subtler layers of habit continue to be revealed, though at this point it’s something that I continue out of interest and my enjoyment of the work, not necessity and struggle. My breathing became better than I had ever known it to be, and I am for the most part free of any distraction or discomfort stemming from breathing. Breathing has become enlivening, natural, and enjoyable.

Looking back on the onset of my breathing difficulties at about age seventeen, I can see that my natural breathing pattern had become disrupted by the subconscious interference of my emotional state. Whether the disturbances were in the form of a fight-or-flight state, or a general sense of despair and confusion, I believe that this is what caused the initial disruption to my breathing. From there, chest-breathing and reaching for air became well-entrenched, and the consciously-learned habit of belly-breathing both helped and hindered in different ways.

I find it interesting to note that many of the suggestions I was given early on—belly-breathing, tucking my tail bone, allowing my shoulders to relax forward—were well-intentioned, and were based on partially accurate, yet incomplete, understandings. The belly-breathing instruction was designed to combat my reliance on “accessory” breathing, in which the muscles of my upper torso were over-involved. However, by learning how to create the phenomenon of belly-breathing through my own effort and control, I simply replaced one form of interference (chest-breathing) with another (belly-breathing). Once I freed myself from the majority of breathing-related habit altogether, something akin to belly-breathing naturally took place, but it was not the consciously controlled form that I had learned. The learned form had me forcibly restricting the movement of some accessory muscles, and over-working others. The natural breathing that developed, however, allowed the diaphragm to lead the movement, and the secondary breathing muscles to support the movement of both the abdomen and chest with efficiency.

Even more interesting is the realization that my natural, liberated breath seems almost at odds with all three of those early instructions. I was taught as part of my belly-breathing instruction that my chest should not move. However, as my breathing progressed, I discovered that my chest began to move again, although it was no longer driven by the accessory muscles; it was moving freely. Granted, this was a very different type of movement than the one we were trying to combat during my years of air hunger, but advising a patient that optimal breathing should not involve any movement of the chest seems like a dangerous oversimplification. Similarly, as my breathing progressed, my shoulders naturally moved back into a position that I had come to believe was incorrect (though this time, importantly, it was not driven by muscular tension), and the direction to “tuck my tailbone” was eventually revealed as a burden as well. (I found that the relationship of my hips to the rest of my body changed dramatically over the course of my Alexander instruction; again, this was an area that was ultimately addressed by removing interference). To me, it suggests that my early habits were artificially exaggerating my body’s natural breathing movements, creating real problems, and that the well-intentioned instructions I was given early on were designed to combat these exaggerated movements. The confusion this created, however, ultimately compounded my difficulties. I believe that my experience demonstrates that substituting new habits for old habits is often not helpful and can be damaging. In my experience, the habits must be dealt with directly, while supporting the natural intelligence of the body to lead the way. For me, this was made possible by the Alexander Technique.

The Alexander Technique revealed that the secret to the battle on my breath was that there was no winning the war. In the battle between my will and my habits, neither side could ever be victorious for long. However, what an exquisite surprise it was to discover that there need not be a winner in order for there to be peace. In exploring the opportunity to give up the war altogether, I discovered the resolve and understanding that enabled me to recognize my ongoing involvement in this war, and then to gradually give that up. What was left in place of the conflict was the natural efficiency and intelligence of my body. My breath was finally liberated.

Simon Spire is a singer and songwriter residing in New York. He has received instruction in the Alexander Technique, including the Art of Breathing, from Amira Glaser and Jessica Wolf.

I’m uncomfortable in this world

I don’t know how they do it

I’m uncomfortable in this world

Am I gonna get through it?

‘Cause it’s cold outside and dark as night

And everything I do

Is only good for messing up the world that I once knew

I’m uncomfortable in this world

I don’t know how to do it anymore

*

I’m uncomfortable in this world

How long can I do it?

I’m uncomfortable in this world

I can’t bring myself to pursue it

‘Cause I’m tired of hearing all the lies

Particularly mine

The only thing I still believe is belief cannot outlive time

I’m uncomfortable in this world

I don’t know how to do it anymore

*

All the effort comes to naught

All the work and clever thought

Screw it, I don’t need it anymore

I’ve battled the world but the world is winning

I’ve battled beyond a tale worth living

Take this thing and let it go

This thing called “me” I’ll watch it go

*

I’m uncomfortable in this world

I don’t know how they do it

I’m uncomfortable in this world

And I’ve tried and tried to get through it

‘Cause it used to be I owned my shit

But now my shit owns me

The only thing I can control it seems is playing me

I’m uncomfortable in this world

And I don’t know how to do it

*

I’ve battled the world but the world is winning

I’ve battled beyond a tale worth living

Take this thing and let it go

This thing called “me” I’ll watch it go

And look what’s left — it’s just so

Performer Magazine review

Relate Magazine review

Performer Magazine review link here.

Simon Spire is going to be a star, and his first U.S.
release, No Solid Ground, is every indication of this.
The young artist’s brand of indie pop perfection is
meticulously crafted and carefully accented with
electronic elements. The disc begins with the playful
yet profound punch of “Liberate Your Love,”
bringing to mind Graham Colton, Pete Yorn, and
Ben Kweller. According to Spire, “’Liberate Your
Love’ is a call to free ourselves from our conditioning
and to step into the truth of who we are. The
song seeks revolution in what our lives stand for – an
individual revolution that reverberates through the
collective.” The next track, “Knocking On An Open
Door,” explores the themes of identity and potential
through rich textures and an enthusiastic beat.
Spire clearly has the ability to transition from
slower ballads to upbeat material, each equally as
soul-searching and introspective. The EP closes
with “The Blue Pill,” a delicate piano ballad that
showcases his flawless voice as he sings: “Maybe
now I should start tellin’ lies, ‘cause I’m too honest.”
Spire is gifted, relatable to all generations, and
has the innate ability to pull listeners into his world
through songs of a genuine and heartfelt nature.

The Daily News (PA) says in its review of the EP: “Spire has what it takes to be a star”, and TheBykeRack.com calls Simon “a rising star with an extraordinary talent for forthright and introspective songcraft…a songwriter that just might be a household name this time next year.” View recent No Solid Ground press here: The Daily News; Relate Magazine; TheBykeRack.com; Write. Click. Cook. Listen.

Click here to view and purchase the EP on iTunes.

SIMON SPIRE, “No
Solid Ground” (selfreleased)
✰✰✰1⁄2 — New
Zealand native Simon Spire
is a star in his homeland,
and now the talented Kiwi
is looking to make his mark
in America. The five-track
“No Solid Ground” EP is
his first U.S. release and
gives every indication that
Spire has what it takes to be
a star.
The radio-ready indie
pop platter gets off to a
fast start with “Liberate
Your Love” and “Knocking
On an Open Door,” and
Spire is almost as effective
on the title track and “The
Blue Pill.” An unnecessary
remix of “Knocking On
an Open Door” brings the
19-minute set to a close,
but there’s enough here to
make me want to hear more
from this kid. (JS)

Simon Spire- No Solid Ground

Think you’re already well versed in every must hear singer/songwriter? If so and you’re not familiar with New Zealand’s Simon Spire it’s time to become acquainted. Though Spire has a forthcoming full length slated for a release date this year, he’s just dropped this precursor to the album- a 5 song EP to test the waters of this rising star with an extraordinary talent for forthright and introspective songcraft.

Drawing parallels to luminaries like Pete Yorn or Ben Kweller, Spire bridges the gap between indie-rock and pop sensibilities with a universally accessible sound. Possessing a voice that resonates with perfect clarity, Spire relates personal musings and timeless reflection that succeeds in releasing enough disclosure to keep you hanging on every word but never so much that you’re left cringing at the details.

Coming in just under 20 minutes, this is an EP that leaves you wanting more and there’s little doubt in my mind much of the world is going to be hearing a lot more of Simon Spire in the very near future. Worth the price of admission for the first track alone- an upbeat, guitar driven rocker that might be what Ryan Adams sounds like on prozac- this is the perfect introduction to a songwriter that just might be a household name this time next year.

- Tom Haugen

http://thebykerack.com/m/articles/view/Simon-Spire-No-Solid-Ground

Click here to open the Relate Magazine interview.

Philadelphia Daily News review of No Solid Ground, by Jeffrey Sisk:

SIMON SPIRE, “No
Solid Ground” (selfreleased)
✰✰✰1⁄2 — New
Zealand native Simon Spire
is a star in his homeland,
and now the talented Kiwi
is looking to make his mark
in America. The five-track
“No Solid Ground” EP is
his first U.S. release and
gives every indication that
Spire has what it takes to be
a star.
The radio-ready indie
pop platter gets off to a
fast start with “Liberate
Your Love” and “Knocking
On an Open Door,” and
Spire is almost as effective
on the title track and “The
Blue Pill.” An unnecessary
remix of “Knocking On
an Open Door” brings the
19-minute set to a close,
but there’s enough here to
make me want to hear more
from this kid. (JS)

Recorded in New York, Four-Letter Words is Simon’s second full-length album. Initial NZ release track list, which excludes new additional material, is not listed below; below album details are for the upcoming US/worldwide version of the album.

Track list:

1. Liberate Your Love      lyrics
2. Uncomfortable        lyrics
3. Knocking on an Open Door      lyrics
4. A Four-Letter Word      lyrics
5. No Solid Ground      lyrics
6. Find      lyrics
7. Today      lyrics
8. The Blue Pill      lyrics
9. Turn Away      lyrics
10. Whisper From The Dark      lyrics
11. Light Survives      lyrics
12. Uncomfortable (clean version)

Album Credits:

• All songs written by Simon Spire
• Produced by Rich Mercurio and Lee Nadel
• Track 2 produced by Mike Beck
• All tracks mixed by Brian Malouf
• Recorded at Pod Studio and Threshold Studios, New York, NY
• Mixed at Cookie Jar Recording, Studio City, CA
• Mastered by Louie Teran at Marcussen Mastering, Hollywood, CA

The Players:

• Simon Spire: lead and background vocals; electric and acoustic guitars
• Rich Mercurio: drums and percussion; programming; synth
• Lee Nadel: bass guitar; programming; synth

Additional Players:

• Mike Beck: programming/piano & keys/bass (track 2)
• Bette Sussman: piano (track 5)
• Marc Ribler: additional guitar (tracks 7 and 10)
• Oscar Bautista: additional guitar (track 10)
• Simon Spire: piano (track 8 )
• Brian Sanders: cello (track 2 )

Purchase from:

• All good music stores in New Zealand
• Worldwide release: 2012