Pigeon Opinion Featuring an Interview with The Kerry Gray Project

"Fault Line" by The Kerry Gray Project is an edgy and cathartic rock anthem that transforms personal hurt into empowered defiance. Driven by the lyrical content created by Alissa Gray, this track goes beyond examining emotional wounds; it shows the performer taking a decisive step towards leaving them behind.

Interview with The Kerry Gray Project

Q: At what point in “Fault Line” does anger stop being reactive and start becoming a form of control?

I don’t think the song itself is reactive – it positioned to be reflective in that the protagonist has already won the battle – she’s merely saying to that person what might otherwise have gone unsaid. Her control begins to reveal at the songs bridge, with the line “and I rise, and I rise, and I shine — where you failed.”

Q: You describe the song as a final blow what made you certain this was the last thing that needed to be said?

If you picture the antagonist standing in a hole and the victor standing at the edge, Fault Line is basically the final “fuck you” before she turns around and closes the book emotionally. Alissa didn’t originally include the word “bitch.” I added it because the line needed balance, and it was the perfect place to land a one-word pressure release valve. Sometimes a person just needs to scream one last expletive, even if it slightly undermines decorum.

Q: What is the emotional difference between revenge and release and where does this track sit?

This track is definitely the release, the exhilaration of triumph. Fault Line is autobiographical for my wife and co lyricist, Alissa, and it reflects a past long-term relationship she survived. Wounds heal with time, so that primal urge for revenge gets swapped out for something more like a dare. Still sharp, a little childish, but absolutely emasculating with the line: “look at me now, bitch.” The song is written from her present vantage point, looking back and down at that person from a newfound and self-owned place of strength.

Q: If the song carries unapologetic triumph what vulnerability still exists underneath that surface?

Alissa and I both grew up at the tail end of the progressive‑rock era. Prog was great for ethereal storytelling, but the trade‑off was 5‑ to 10‑minute tracks because both the lyrics and the music were telling the story. Often that meant there was still something to think about when the song was over.

For “Fault Line”, I used progressive repetition to move the story through its arc in far less clock time. At the risk of polarizing the listener, the track doesn’t give you time to overthink what’s being said — it just says it. The story, as it’s told and ends - either rings true or it doesn’t, and that’s the point of it.

Q: What does emotional abuse sound like when translated into rhythm phrasing or vocal delivery?

I think there are five lines that reflect many forms of emotional abuse: “You kept me folded up and shaking underneath”, “You built your kingdom on my silence”, “You cursed me with bitterness, cut me into shape”, “You said I’d break up like a rumor in the rain”, “You thought you’d keep me buried in darkness.” These lines pretty much capture - not the gory details – but the “spirit” of what emotional abuse looks like.

Q: How do you avoid turning pain into spectacle while still making something powerful and anthemic?

The track is definitely going to polarize – not because it’s spectacle, but because it is true – only it’s there’s no room in the song for introspection or thought. Alissa and I write differently, but we both aim to reflect how real people actually feel — even the shit they’d never admit out loud. Inside your head, everything’s legal. So, our minds become a kind of “scream room,” which is exactly what this song is meant to be.

It’s a place to unload that pent up rage, which is inherently therapeutic. And when you pair that with the vantage point of “look at me now,” the song becomes triumphant.

Q: What is the one line in the song that felt the most dangerous to keep in?

I love this question: there are actually two that have drawn the most reaction from other interviewers asking a similar question, but the most dangerous line I think is “I forged my fractures into weapons built to maim.” Because the song is direct in its overall tone, there are lines like this that are metaphorical that risk being conflated with an actual intent. The other line is the hook “But look at me now bitch — I’m the quake you couldn’t take.” The protagonist is telling this part of the story from a present-tense triumphant vantage point.

Q: When a single word can change the impact of a track how do you recognize the moment where it cuts deepest?

The one word is “bitch”. Alissa didn’t write that word originally – I added it. It’s sharp, and perhaps childish, but absolutely emasculating – which I’m not 100% sure women in general realize - but calling a male a “bitch” in this mindset is the prison-free equivalent of cutting of their “junk” or at least kicking them squarely in the balls. That’s about as close the track gets to a “revenge” statement.

Q: At what point does empowerment risk becoming defined by the person you are trying to move beyond?

Wonderful question, and an important one with fine lines of distinction. Anyone escaping an abusive situation and reclaiming themselves can still be sub-consciously anchored to their former abuser tending themselves to be reshaped by contrast instead of self-owned successes. “Fault Line” tries to make a distinction between the independent successes of the abused while at the same time presenting the abuser a sort of “victim impact statement” from the present.

I think that’s only human – we are by nature competitive animals – sometimes, you just need to rub someone’s face in it, then walk away. I think that’s part of the closure loop. Immature, perhaps, but sometimes closure and healing requires nothing more than a good old-fashioned “fuck you and the horse you rode in on”.

You can put adult polish on it for decorum’s sake – but what’s the fun in that? Crude or professionally delivered, both accomplish the same thing – one is just more direct and brutal. Why should the abused have to be so kind in their words when they weren’t shown the same respect? Taking the higher road may be the “right and proper thing to do”, but that’s not always the same thing as “a human thing to do”.

After “Fault Line was produced and Alissa heard it for the first time – she said she finally felt closure. Even if her abuser never hears the song, she said she felt released just for finally having voiced the sentiments. Sometimes, that’s all you need – for someone just to hear you.

Q: If this is a declaration of independence what does freedom actually feel like in the quiet moments after the song ends?

For Fault Line, we use progressive repetition and direct language to move the story along, so, in the chorus, “I’m rising through” becomes “I’ve risen through,” and “I’m breaking through” becomes “I’ve broken through.” It’s a pain in the ass to write that kind of compressed arc, but it’s intentional and it gives the listener a sense of time and progression they can digest inside a four‑minute window. The final line “I’ve broken through the fault line; all you once had claimed.” Sung with a spent, breathy delivery from Bec Hollcraft is what the freedom feels like.

Q: How do you translate something as personal as this into a voice that others can inhabit without losing its specificity?

We know when people hear the song, it will naturally tap into memories, and the sentiment will either be understood and empathized or rejected because maybe it hits a pain point. We know that other victims may be in different places, so we expect polarization, and our early testing of the song bears that out – people either love it or hate it. The track can definitely be inhabited by those who have been there and survived themselves and any specificity is metaphorical, so I think survivors can adapt the meaning from their own situations.

Q: What part of the song refuses closure even as it presents itself as final?

There is no part of the song that refuses closure. Refusing closure would be antithetical to the point. The story is told from the present looking back to the past. If you picture the antagonist standing in a hole and the victor standing at the edge, Fault Line is basically the final “fuck you” before she turns around and closes the book emotionally.

Q: When lyrics lead everything how do you know when the music is supporting versus competing with the message?

The method of lyrics driving melody is admittedly rare, but it is also not uncommon. Elton John and Bernie Taupin are well-known examples. Taupin wrote the lyrics and then Elton wrote the melody to support – they don’t write the songs as a team together in the same room at the same time. Paul McCartney wrote “Yesterday” from words and phrasing then plinked it out on a piano – you can tell the music for “Yesterday” is contoured by the lyric because who writes a 7-bar verse followed by a transitive bar and the first bar is just one word? We do the same thing, lyrics are the song and music supports, but the music itself is never the “star”, so you won’t hear iconic “licks”.

Q: What does it mean for a melody to feel inevitable and where in this track do you hear that most clearly?

Alissa and I write in different but compatible styles. I generally take on the role of finalizing structure in such a way that the phrasing collapses the melodic contour to a very limited space. It’s like an architect that designs a high-rise where form follows function. When a skyscraper is built, for instance, it’s built from the inside out because the skeleton of the building - which goes up first - serves a very detailed and sculpted purpose. The exterior finish merely hangs onto the skeleton of the frame giving it polish and appearance, but it’s look is inevitable because the skeleton of the frame dictates only a handful of possibilities. In my experience, the verse construct and phrasing are the most determining factors of melody. Like McCartney’s “Yesterday”, one line – 8 bars – determined everything else about that song musically. There were simply no other workable alternatives.

Q: Is there a moment in the performance where triumph almost slips back into grief?

It might seem that way because each verse begins by returning to a past moment before the survival; but those lines function as recollections to set the scene or the starting point before what ultimately transpires – survival.

Q: How do you distinguish between catharsis and escalation when writing something this intense?

I think the song does both – it clearly has its cathartic moments, but escalation is always past-tense – what she’s already done to escape. So, I think it’s important to hear not just what words, but how the words are delivered. Tense is a key, critical technique employed in the lyrics of the song and changes throughout especially within the choruses – it’s easy to miss but critical to understanding the protagonists frame of reference at any given point in the storytelling. The line “all you once had claimed”, with Bec’s breathy delivery is like the abused saying “you had this once and you’ll never have it again”. It’s a thinly veiled, sexually tinged taunt.

Q: If someone listens to this song while still inside a toxic situation what do you hope they feel first?

Simply hope. That they are not alone. It can be survived but it will require intestinal fortitude and that’s what the song is revealing – the song is autobiographical, so it’s not a ‘made-up’ imagining. That’s why I enjoy doing interviews like this - that ask the tough probing questions, because, for this song, we want others in toxic relationships to know that there is hope.

Q: What is something in “Fault Line” that you could not have written earlier in your life?

In the second verse, the lines “Funny how small your shadow, as I don’t give a damn,

Funny how you tremble, as I’m free from your demands.” To say those words to the abuser requires speaking from a position of strength and power – something that doesn’t exist while the abuse is occurring. It is goal at that point, but unrealized.

Q: At what point does telling your story stop being about the past and start reshaping your identity?

The story alternates between what happened – setting the stage – and what she is today which I think is clear with lines like, “I’m the quake you couldn’t take” and “look at me”; which are most clearly being spoken in the present. So, her reshaped identity is inferred without being specific.

Q: If this song is a middle finger what is the part of you that no longer needs to gesture at all?

The line, “and I rise, and I rise, and I shine — where you failed.” This is present tense, so it serves as the final “gesture” before the protagonist turns her back and walks away from the abuser forever and never to return.

(•)> That's all, Folks! Check out The Kerry Gray Project on the Pigeon Opinion Playlist