RONNY MORRIS

A few days ago, I found a box in the studio that I hadn’t opened in years. Out fell original sketches, a handwritten letter from Berlin, and the vivid scent of a time when raw ambition and rock’n’roll dreams were the only compass.
This is the story of how the artwork for Sweet Silence was born—long before AI shortcuts, back when art required stubbornness, plane tickets, and people daring to believe in an impossible idea.
The vision was clear: A man lying flat on the brutal city pavement while business suits rush past. A moment of absolute silence inside the chaos.
Full of youth and grit, I called London directly to StormStudios—the legendary team behind Storm Thorgerson and the Hipgnosis legacy (Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Muse). I got their photographer, Rupert Truman, on the phone. It quickly became obvious that hiring 50 extras and shutting down a street the traditional way would completely blow an indie artist’s budget.
Yet the idea lingered. Daniel Abbott—Storm’s close illustrator—captured the soul of the concept. On October 27, 2009, an envelope from Berlin arrived.
Inside were these raw pencil sketches. I was almost in tears. For the first time, a thought living only in my head was alive on paper.
Designer Paul Wilson (Kashmir, Tim Christensen) came up with the breakthrough idea: We headed to New York with photographer Sanne Vinter and used an old-school street photography layering technique, shooting on Manhattan without permits or actors. We literally threw ourselves onto the concrete.
When the raw photographs needed their final, dark cohesion, Gary Kelly at 451W / Amp Visual in Dublin (U2) took over and pieced together the final artwork.
Art rarely happens the convenient way. It happens because you dare to call your heroes and jump into the deep end. Amp Visual Creative Agency Reservoir U2 pink floyd

I will never forget September 11, 2001.

A clear, bright morning where ordinary people kissed their families goodbye and headed to work—completely unaware that within hours, they would be trapped in the horrific madness of other men’s fanaticism. It was an unimaginable nightmare for the nearly 3,000 innocent souls murdered in New York, at the Pentagon, and over Shanksville.

Yet September 11 wasn’t just an isolated tragedy; it was the catalyst for an avalanche of violence that has stretched across more than two decades—and on many fronts, the bleeding has never stopped.

Independent research, including findings from the Costs of War project, estimates that the wars launched in the wake of 9/11—across Iraq, Afghanistan, and beyond—have directly and indirectly claimed between 3 and 4 million human lives. Millions of innocent mothers, fathers, children, and neighbors who had never set foot in New York and had zero connection to those terror attacks, yet had their homes, families, and futures obliterated in the fallout.

The most painful truth is that our political leaders still seem not to have learned the lesson. Violence, airstrikes, and regime change remain the default currency of power, while regular human lives are brushed aside as mere collateral damage.

When we honor the victims of 9/11, we owe it to truth and humanity to hold both realities in our hearts:
• Mourning the innocent souls murdered in the towers that September morning.
• Acknowledging the millions of innocent lives swept away in the endless war machine that followed.

Genuine respect for human life requires recognizing the dignity of every casualty—regardles of what they were born on or what flag flew above them.

#911

I just read a statistic that stopped me in my tracks.

By 2030, an estimated 200 million people worldwide will be creating music. With cheap software and instant distribution, the barrier to release a song has practically disappeared. A single day of uploads now dwarfs entire legendary release years like 1989.
When music creation becomes that abundant, the noise becomes deafening. Algorithms demand instant hooks, digital perfection, and hyper-compressed tracks designed to survive a phone speaker.

For me, that kind of overwhelming volume does not inspire a desire to shout louder. It makes me want to slow down.
It is the reason we work the way we do in the studio.
Instead of chasing algorithmic loudness, we lean into human vulnerability. We leave room for the quiet dynamics, the wooden creak of an acoustic guitar, the unpolished breath between vocal lines, and the deep, three-dimensional warmth of analog gear. We mix for space and depth rather than pure volume, and we preserve every ounce of micro-dynamics so the music can eventually live, breathe, and turn on a vinyl record.

When everything can be generated or perfected in seconds, true value is found in the patience of the craft. It lives in the human imperfections you simply cannot automate.
Music was never meant to be disposable content. It was meant to be felt.

#2026

What a deeply inspiring day in London. I had the privilege of sitting down for a long lunch with Miles Showell to talk music, the fragile art of half-speed mastering at Abbey Road Studios, and the final stages of my upcoming album.

Miles just marked his 42nd anniversary in the craft, and his reverence for the sonic truth in a recording remains completely untouched by time. It was captivating to hear him talk about working with Madonna on her new record at Abbey Road—an album that sounds absolutely phenomenal. Yet what truly resonated with me was hearing how someone of Madonna’s stature still walks into the room, sits down in the quiet, and listens through the entire vinyl record from start to finish before Miles cuts the lacquers on the lathe.

Even after decades at the summit, the music still demands that kind of naked attention. In that room at Abbey Road, there is nowhere to hide. You are completely exposed to the needle, the dynamics, and the silence between the notes.

We spent hours talking through the sonic landscape of my own tracks—the organic space, the deliberate vulnerabilities, and how we protect those delicate dynamics all the way to the vinyl groove. Having Miles’ ears, wisdom, and genuine respect for the human element in my corner is invaluable.

Come the new year, we’ll be putting the final master to lacquer at Abbey Road. Ready to let these songs breathe.

Madonna

So grateful we get to take the kids to see some of the legends from a different time. New Bon Jovi fans for sure!! Thank you Jon Bon Jovi for an amazing night. JULIAN MORRIS • JESUS POBRE, ESPAÑA BARBER💈✝️