Pigeon Spins Featuring an Interview with Heron

Heron - What If?

“What If?,” is the fifth track from the upcoming album Underground Sky, which Heron is putting out independently through Cracked Analogue, one song at a time. This album is a deeply personal, fully self-produced body of work. Heron writes, performs, records, mixes, and also directs/edits his own music videos.

What If? is one of the most introspective and reflective tracks he's ever made. It sits somewhere between alt-pop and classic singer-songwriting, opening with stark piano chords and vocals before unfolding into layered acoustic guitars, intimate strings, pedal steel, jangling riffs, and cascading harmonies.

At its core, “What If?” explores the tension between knowledge and uncertainty. Lyrics such as “What if everything you were taught wasn’t what you thought?” invite listeners to question inherited truths, while images of birth, flight, and rediscovery evoke a cycle of innocence, loss, and awakening. It balances optimism with unease, creating space for reflection on life, reality, and the unseen.

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Interview with Heron

What inspired “What If?” and its introspective themes?


“What If?” was really born out of curiosity. It was the first song written for Underground Sky and became a kind of compass for the whole record. Once it was finished, I somehow knew the rest of the album would naturally follow from it, and it became the springboard for everything that came after. I was contemplating many of the big questions about what life means, which is an impossible task, and as often happens, I ended up with more questions than answers. The song asks simple but sometimes unsettling questions about what we inherit, what we believe, and how we move forward. It’s as much about doubt as it is about faith, not in a religious sense but in the quiet hope that something better can grow out of uncertainty.

How do you balance alt-pop sensibilities with classic singer-songwriter elements?


I’ve always been drawn to records that blur the lines, ones that combine emotional depth with a sense of playfulness in sound. I love recordings that feel both experimental and accessible at the same time. I tend to approach writing and production together; it’s an instinctive exploration of an idea that gradually takes shape until it sounds like a record to me. I don’t think about rules consciously. I usually shape a song into a structure that feels familiar, but within that, there’s always space to explore directions that keep me curious.

“What If?” is probably a little long for radio or some playlists by today’s standards, but I couldn’t cut much out without feeling it detracted from the narrative. Sometimes I just accept that a song is what it’s meant to be. I’d rather it exist in its natural form than edit it down for the sake of fitting in. There’s no guarantee a track will be played anyway, so I might as well make sure it sounds the way I intended.

What role does self-producing and mixing play in shaping the song’s sound?


Producing and mixing my own music is where I get to sculpt the emotional landscape of a song. It’s not just about the sonics; it’s about how space and contrast support the lyric. For “What If?” I wanted the vocal to be upfront and personal. On my previous albums, the vocals sat lower in the mix, and things were often more lo-fi. The choices you make in a mix all feed into the interpretation of that moment. Sometimes I can be quite obsessive about small details, and other times I’m very loose and just let things be. I enjoy finding that balance where the song finally feels alive.

How did you approach layering acoustic guitars, strings, and pedal steel?


The song began with just the piano, almost like a diary entry. The chords are simple but slightly discordant in the choruses, which gave me space to build around them. From there, I started layering textures to express what words couldn’t. The acoustic guitars became a counterpoint to the piano, adding width and atmosphere, while the strings were improvised freely over the foundation. I rarely overthink those parts; the music just seems to arrive.

The pedal steel brought a sense of distance in the middle section, like an echo from another time, a quiet pause for reflection. Together, they created a fragile tension between comfort and uncertainty, major and minor. I always begin with the music, sometimes with just a title, so the ideas can unfold naturally without being anchored to anything fixed too soon.

What message do you hope listeners take from the lyrics about uncertainty and inherited truths?


I suppose it’s about questioning the things we take for granted: the beliefs, systems, and ideas that are passed down almost by default. The song isn’t trying to provide answers, more to spark curiosity. The lines about birds and children suggest that we arrive with an instinctive sense of knowing before the world starts shaping us. Over time, we’re taught how to think, what to value, what’s “true,” but much of that might not actually belong to us.

The repeated question, “What if everything you were taught wasn’t what you thought?” is really an invitation to look inward again, to unlearn and re-evaluate. There’s uncertainty in that process, but also freedom. As life goes by, I realise more and more that growth often comes from not knowing, from being open to the possibility that what we’ve inherited is only a fragment of the story. So the message isn’t cynical; it’s hopeful. Maybe we can find a truer sense of understanding by letting go of the false certainty we’ve been handed.

How does the “What If?” video reflect the song’s themes of innocence, loss, and awakening?


The video is pretty simple and was filmed in Ireland and India, two places that mean a lot to me. I wanted it to move loosely between worlds, much like the song does, between childhood and adulthood, memory and the present. It’s made of double exposures, playing with light and water, almost like fragments of a dream.

I tried to avoid having a narrative structure. That’s true for many of my videos because I prefer not to overdefine an idea. The moment you make something too literal, you close off other interpretations. For me, the song itself is the narrative; the visual is there to accompany the feeling rather than explain it. I like when imagery hints at something just out of reach, when it alludes to meaning rather than spelling it out. Keeping things open and simple allows each person watching to project their own memories or emotions into it, which feels truer to the song’s spirit.

How did your hiatus and return influence the creation of Underground Sky?

The hiatus had a profound effect. I’d lost my singing voice, literally, because of an undiagnosed paralysed nerve on one of my vocal cords. For a very long time, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to release music using my own vocals. I never stopped recording, but I didn’t have the confidence in my voice to share what I was making. When I finally returned, it wasn’t because of any outside pressure. I just focused on one song at a time, slowly rebuilding trust in the process.

Underground Sky became a document of that return, a kind of rebirth. Every sound and lyric carries that sense of rediscovery. Having not released something of my own for so long, I wanted it to be something special to me — a record made with complete freedom and intention. It feels like who I am right now.

How do you maintain a cohesive artistic vision while releasing singles one by one?


All the songs were completed in the same room and shaped by similar processes that I use to start and build ideas, so there was always going to be a natural sense of continuity. I’ve never stuck to one style of music and grew up listening to artists who explored different genres within their albums. My singing voice and the music itself leave their own kind of fingerprint, which I hope helps to signpost my sound.

There was also no one else involved in making the album other than mastering engineer Toby Campen, who came in right at the end. This was a crucial step. A mastering engineer provides an outside perspective that I don’t have after hearing the songs so many times. Toby ensured they all sat together sonically and shaped the final master to sound the way I intended. He was also fantastic to work with, so it was nice to have someone else to share things with by the end.

It’s been a joy to release each track individually. That’s how they were created, one by one, and I feel it gives listeners more time to absorb each recording in isolation. Eventually, they will all sit together as Underground Sky. I think the lyrics are very honest and personal, too, which helps them connect naturally. Finally, I designed each record sleeve to come from the same family, style-wise. I was inspired by labels that use the same disco bag sleeve for each release, with only the artist details changing, but I tweaked each sleeve to give it its own character.

Which past influences shaped your approach to baroque-inspired arrangements and Beatlesque harmonies?


I’ve never tried to emulate other artists, but I’ve always loved how Prince, The Beatles, Brian Wilson, Rufus Wainwright, Beck, and many others used melody, harmony, and arrangement to reveal emotion rather than just decorate it. Some of their records have such craft but also heart; they aren’t afraid of beauty. That’s something I’ve always held close. With Underground Sky, it was impossible for me not to be affected by that lineage, but through a modern lens, with my own textures and less polished symmetry.

How do you see your music evolving after this deeply personal, self-produced album?


I think the next phase will be about opening the doors a little wider, exploring more genres, rhythms, and contrasts in new ways. I have an unfinished experimental electronic record in progress that’s completely different from anything I’ve released before. I’m still deciding how, or even whether, to share it, either as part of my main catalogue or under another name.

I began that project when I was having trouble singing, but stopped midway as things improved after a lot of vocal therapy. That was when I started Underground Sky instead. I’ve also recorded a large part of my next full-length HERON record, but I’m still in vocal therapy after a recent operation on one of my vocal cords. I’ll only finish the vocals when I’m confident I can hit all the right notes in the right way. I’m very excited about this one; it’s a melodic, diverse, and personal record.

I’m also moving to a new studio, which always brings a shift in energy and perspective. Each new space changes the sound and mindset of making a record. Underground Sky was very introspective and captured in its own self-contained space. Now that I’m moving somewhere new, there’s a real sense of change and possibility again. Ultimately, I just want the next record to be the best I’m capable of while keeping the same emotional core.

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