Pigeon Spins Featuring an Interview with Astral Rocks

Astral Rocks - SHOOTING STAR

"Shooting Star," a poignant track that captures the essence of an aspiring artist's journey. This song beautifully intertwines heartfelt lyrics and vivid imagery, resonating with anyone who has ever chased a dream. With its emotional depth and relatable narrative, "Shooting Star" not only inspires hope and perseverance but also invites listeners to connect on a personal level.

Interview with Astral Rocks

Shooting Star tells the story of an aspiring artist chasing a dream. What first sparked the idea for this song?

The song didn’t start with a plan, but with a restless ache, a need to reveal the actual, unvarnished price of making music. Every song hides behind it sleepless nights, gnawing doubt, and the sting of being turned away. For two years, I poured my soul into empty pages and sang to empty rooms, hoping for a single listening ear. Each rejection pressed down like a heavy stone, sometimes stealing my breath. When I finally stepped onto a stage, I felt invisible, voices drowned me out, or worse, someone would ask me to turn it down. That loneliness cut deep, but it also forged a stubborn fire inside me. I wanted listeners to feel the exhaustion and hope, the heartbreak and grit that live in every note. I wanted to reach out to other musicians and say: I know what it’s like to keep going when it feels like no one cares. Shooting Star was born in that fragile, defiant space where you chase your dream even as your voice trembles. It’s my way of saying: this is our journey, and we’re in it together. Hold on to hope.

The track feels deeply personal, yet very relatable. How much of Shooting Star comes directly from your own journey?

A great deal of it. The emotions are very real, even if the details are shaped into a metaphor.

It was a lonely road, and more than once I wondered if anyone would ever care. But every disappointment, every stretch of solitude, and every flicker of stubborn hope is woven into the heart of Shooting Star. I’ve spent years caught between the need to survive and the urge to create, and that tug-of-war pulses through the song. It’s deeply personal, but maybe that’s why others see their own stories in it.

You talk about the highs and lows of pursuing passion. Was there a particular moment in your life that crystallised that feeling for you?

I realised that survival and creativity were always in a quiet struggle within me. I learned to defend myself, but I paid the price early on for ignoring my own voice. I was raised by cold hands. My new book, out this year, explores the shadows of my challenging childhood. I grew up knowing dreams could be forsaken, and sometimes you must fight to keep your spark alive. That ache, the hunger to be heard, to find warmth and meaning in a world that can seem indifferent, became the heartbeat of Shooting Star. Recognising how costly it is to wait too long to honour my creativity made me fiercely determined never to let my voice fade again.

The imagery in the song is very vivid. When you were writing it, were you picturing specific scenes or emotions?

Absolutely. I imagined night skies stretching above, endless roads vanishing into darkness, and the ache of being far from home. I could see myself sitting alone under streetlights, feeling both exposed and invisible, or gazing out a window at blurred landscapes rushing by. There were moments of deep solitude, empty venues, backstage silence, the weight of travelling, but also sudden bursts of light and energy on stage, when the crowd’s warmth felt like a spark in the dark. It was about feeling tiny in a vast world yet pressing on, seeking connection. Those vivid scenes helped me stay true to the emotion, allowing the feeling to speak for itself rather than spelling everything out.

Shooting Star is both poignant and uplifting. How important was it for you that the song carried hope as well as struggle?

It was essential. I have no interest in despair for its own sake. Struggle matters, but so does what helps you rise again. Hope isn’t about perfect endings; it’s about choosing to keep going. I wanted the song to honestly reflect pain and setbacks, but also the moments when a spark of light breaks through. For me, hope is what allows you to get up after being knocked down, what drives you to try again when everything inside you longs to give up. It’s the heartbeat that keeps creativity alive even when the world feels cold. Without hope, struggle has no purpose, so I needed the song to remind listeners, and myself, that no matter how tough things get, there’s always a reason to reach for something better. That’s what gives the journey its meaning.

As Astral Rocks, you blend cinematic rock, folk textures, and emotional alternative rock-pop. How did you decide on the sonic world for this track?

I wanted the sound to be both expansive and intimate. Cinematic rock allows for powerful emotions, while folk influences keep it grounded and genuine. The music needed to breathe, to feel like a journey unfolding rather than a snapshot. More than anything, I wanted to be heard, not just by audiences, but by and with other musicians. That’s why I involve as many musicians as possible in shaping the volume and texture of my songs. There’s strength in collective expression; it transforms a personal story into a shared experience. I’ve always believed my music should be accessible, so that anyone, even those who don’t see themselves as singers, can find a voice in these songs. My songs aren’t just for virtuosos; they’re for everyday people, for anyone who’s ever felt overlooked or unsure if they belong. I want the sonic world to invite everyone in, reminding them that their voices matter and their stories are worth singing.

Your vocals carry a strong sense of courage and vulnerability. How do you prepare yourself emotionally before recording a song like this?

I simplify everything. Before entering the studio, I remind myself of the song’s purpose and the emotions that inspired it initially. I let go of any need to impress or perform, and instead concentrate on being genuine in that moment. Vulnerability can’t be forced; it happens when I stop protecting myself from the feeling and allow whatever hurts, hopes, or memories are present to surface naturally. Sometimes that means sitting with the lyrics in silence, sometimes it means recalling a specific memory or person that influenced the song. Once I trust the song and surrender to its truth, my voice finds its way. The courage comes from allowing myself to be seen, scars and all, and believing that the listener will also feel that honesty.

You describe your music as a lifeline for the spirit. What do you hope listeners feel when they hear Shooting Star for the first time?

I hope it makes them feel less alone. When someone hears Shooting Star for the first time, I want it to feel like a gentle hand on their shoulder, a reminder that whatever pain or uncertainty they’re carrying, they don’t have to bear it in silence. I want the song to be a companion, not an instructor: a voice that walks quietly beside them, sharing the weight rather than demanding answers. If my music can reach even a single listener who’s on the edge of giving up and help them find the courage or comfort to take one more step, then it has fulfilled its purpose. More than anything, I want listeners to feel seen and understood. I hope they recognise pieces of their own journey in the lyrics, the setbacks, the longing, the flickers of hope. My greatest wish is that Shooting Star becomes a small sanctuary for anyone who feels invisible or overwhelmed, a song that says: you matter, your story isn’t over, and it’s brave to keep moving forward. That’s the power of music, and the hope I want to give.

The song celebrates perseverance and creative resilience. What does resilience mean to you personally?

Resilience isn’t about being unbreakable. It’s about moving forward even when you’re weary, afraid, or uncertain. Sometimes it’s silent. Sometimes it’s simply showing up, one more time. For me, resilience is what happens in the quiet moments, when no one is watching, and you have to decide if you’ll keep trying. It’s the courage to repair after you’ve been knocked down, and the grace to let yourself feel pain without letting it define you. Resilience means trusting that even the smallest steps matter and understanding that it’s okay to bend, rest, or ask for help. It’s the thread that ties all my work together, a belief that, no matter how many times you falter, you can still stand up and move forward.

Your background spans Yorkshire, London, Switzerland, and a deep Austrian musical heritage. How do those different places and histories show up in your songwriting?

Every place left its mark. Yorkshire taught me grit, London ignited urgency, Switzerland provided reflection, and Austria bestowed melody and tradition. My father is Hungarian, and through him, I inherited a sense of longing, resilience, and a connection to Eastern European folk sounds and storytelling. All these influences blend in my song writing, creating something rooted yet always seeking, music that bears the weight of history and the hope of finding home.

You spent many years working outside the music industry before fully embracing songwriting. How did that life experience shape the stories you now tell through music?

It shared with me real stories and genuine consequences. I learned about people, pressure, and what it means to endure. Much of this came through hardship, illnesses, accidents, and spending long periods in hospitals. Those days taught me about vulnerability, patience, and the pain of waiting for answers that don’t always arrive. Now, when I write, I’m not inventing struggle; I’m recalling it. My songs carry the weight of those experiences, and I hope they help others feel recognised in their own battles.

There’s a strong storytelling thread running through all your work. Do you see yourself first as a storyteller or as a musician?

I am primarily a storyteller. Music is my language, but the story remains central. If the story isn’t authentic, the song won’t endure. Stories were my first refuge, long before I wrote a lyric or learned an instrument, as I looked for meaning in the world through narrative. Even now, songwriting is just another way to share those stories, to connect my experience with others’. If I can’t find truth in the story, the music won’t move anyone, including myself.

Songs like In The Dark, Why War, and Bring Back Hope tackle heavy themes. How do you decide when a story is better told through music rather than words alone?

Sometimes I feel a story is better expressed through music when just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes, when the emotions are so powerful and personal that words alone can’t contain them. These are my true stories, and they move me deeply; the act of singing or composing gives those feelings the space and shape they deserve.

Music lets me express what’s too raw or overwhelming for prose. The melody, rhythm, and even the pauses between notes all help carry the weight of my experience in a way that feels honest and complete. When my tears gently roll down my cheeks as I write or sing, I know I’ve touched something real. That’s when I realise the story needs to be a song, because music can hold both the pain and the hope in a way that words alone cannot.

Your lyrics often confront pain while still reaching for the light. Is that balance something you consciously work toward?

Yes, but it is also something I feel very strongly about. I do not believe in darkness for its own sake. Reaching for light is how I tell the truth.

That became particularly clear to me after my accident and the subsequent operations. Learning to balance highs and lows was not a philosophy but a way of managing each day. I realised that hope is not a denial of pain. It is a choice to hold both simultaneously and to make room for healing or moments of joy, even during struggle.

When I write or sing, the pain softens and recedes into the background. Music becomes a refuge where I can step away from physical suffering and connect with something brighter. That is why I try to balance pain and light. It is not only a conscious choice; it is how I carry on and find meaning.

Does your experience as an author influence how you structure your songs and lyrics?

Certainly, my experience as a writer deeply shapes how I arrange my songs and lyrics. I naturally think in story arcs; I’m always seeking a beginning, a middle, and an end, even within just a few verses and a chorus. I care about pacing, about building tension and then providing release, much like in a well-constructed chapter. Every song must earn its conclusion; it should feel like a journey, not merely a collection of lines.

Writing prose has taught me to focus on details, to plant small images or ideas early that pay off later. It’s also made me more patient with my process; sometimes a lyric needs to simmer, just like a scene in a novel. Ultimately, I want every song to have its own narrative heartbeat, so that listeners feel they’ve travelled somewhere and been changed, even if only for a moment.

With sweeping arrangements and powerful choruses, your songs feel almost cinematic. How important is scale and drama to your artistic expression?

It matters greatly. Emotions need space to grow. Sometimes, a feeling is too intense for a quiet corner and requires a sweeping arrangement or a powerful chorus to truly come alive. Scale allows those feelings to swell and settle, just as breathing does. The drama in my music isn’t just for effect; it’s there to give each emotion its own landscape, to let hope soar or to let grief echo.

Cinematic arrangements enable me to paint with a wider palette, inviting listeners into an immersive world where they can experience the highs and lows as vividly as I do. I want the songs to be more than mere background noise; I want them to move people, to make them pause and truly feel. For me, drama and scale aren’t about spectacle but about honesty: giving emotions the space they deserve.

Shooting Star invites listeners to join you on your journey. What would you like people to understand about you after hearing this song?

My path has never been easy. I want people to understand that every step has been hard-won, and that the struggles behind the music are real. Persistence outweighs perfection; what matters most isn’t getting everything right, but continuing, even when things are difficult or uncertain. And that to dream is a brave act. Shooting Star is my way of saying that holding onto hope and daring to chase your dreams, no matter how many setbacks you face, takes real courage. If listeners feel inspired to keep going, or to believe in their own journey a little more, then the song has done its work.

Looking ahead to projects like Gotthard – Heartbeat of the Mountains, how do you see your sound continuing to evolve?

I notice my sound deepening and growing louder, with even more confidence. Projects like I feel my sound getting deeper, bolder — like it’s finally breathing at full volume. Gotthard – Heartbeat of the Mountains pushed me to explore new textures and a much wider emotional spectrum, and that shift is only accelerating.

At this moment I’m writing these words, Astral Rocks is recording the first two tracks of our debut album at the studio P’ra Música in Alverca do Ribatejo in Portugal, alongside João Sanguinheira — long-time musical director and arranger for Tony Carreira — who is producing, serving as musical director, and playing bass on the project. Over Christmas and New Year, he reunited an incredible group of musicians, including Rui Barreto (Paulo Gonzo), Pedro Joaninho (DAMA), Paulo Rebordão (SysmiQ) and Virgilio Marujo (Tony Carreira, Rui Bandeira) to lay the basic tracks of the new songs and something magical is happening. It doesn’t feel like “sessions”, it feels like a shared heartbeat — raw, human, alive, just like one soul!

This experience completely reshapes my vision. I’m no longer just expanding my sound… I’m letting it evolve through genuine collaboration, blending my roots with new influences and discovering how far this music can really travel. And honestly? I think we’ve only just scratched the surface.

Finally, what would you want Shooting Star to say to someone struggling to believe in their dream?

It's okay to feel tired and to have doubts. You don’t need to be fearless or confident all the time. If your dream still flickers, even faintly, it’s worth guarding and nurturing, no matter how small or distant it seems. You don’t have to shine every moment; sometimes just holding on, taking one more step, or simply refusing to give up is enough.

Shooting Star reminds us that even the faintest light is important in darkness. Your journey is unique, and your dream is worth fighting for. Keep going, you’re not alone, and you are needed.

(•)> That's all, Folks! Check out Astral Rocks on the Pigeon Spins Playlist or