Arriving on the back of years upon years of standalone singles, extended plays and ceaseless gigging up and down the country, this record ultimately stands as a debut that’s less proof of concept and more proof of longevity. The debut record from Notts emo stalwarts George Gadd + The Aftermath (formed of Ciaran Grant, Dan Hess, Xakarus James and the titular George Gadd) Too Many Ghosts… is the accumulation of over decade of musical and personal development and a recorded that manifests as a body of work abundant with inspiration. Rich with an evident desire to express the emotion that binds it via the most authentic way possible, simply, this record is one that carries the musical and personal lessons learned across the span of a decade of one’s life.
With Too Many Ghosts… out now independently, we got in touch with George Gadd to break down the album, track by track.
Square One
It’s a strange way to open an album by drawing a line under something and moving forward. I’m a huge fan of Dragon Ball Z and I feel like this subconsciously influenced the main refrain of “is that all you’ve got?” – I can easily imagine that line being said just before a character goes Super Saiyan and everything goes to 11.
Two of my favourite moments in this song only happened during recording: Ciaran’s piano call-and-response and his lead guitar riff when everything kicks in.
Not Human
For lack of a better phrase, this song is about feeling completely dehumanised. We first released it at the end of 2016, self-produced by the band, recorded in bedrooms and over the years it’s become a live staple thanks to its raw energy. For the album version, I had more confidence in my voice and decided to re-record it in a higher key. I felt like it has given the song a huge lift and is now a lot more energised.
Sycamore
This song captures that feeling of butterflies in your stomach. It first appeared on 2017’s Better Shape EP, and I think it really showcases the contribution the Aftermath bring. It’s a testament to how good they are as musicians that we reworked it so early on. I love the night-and-day difference between both versions – the first is gentle and naive, while this one feels more self-assured and mature. At the time, we were definitely obsessed with The War on Drugs. Still am tbh.
Wrist
I had a pretty bad break-up. Surrounded by fresh trauma, I wrote constantly. There was one week in particular where I wrote 16 songs – this and ‘Little Bird’ are the two that stuck. I don’t think the rest will ever see the light of day as it is just a super depressing listen.
In terms of writing, this is probably the rawest I’ve ever been lyrically. It was one of the first post-‘Better Shape’ songs I brought to the newly formed band, and Ciaran, Dan and Xak really helped take it to a cathartic level. In fact, if you buy the CD or download the Bandcamp version, the bonus track is the original demo I recorded that week. It felt like a fitting bookend to an album that documents such a turbulent period of my life.
Invisible
In 2023, Ciaran and I went to the North Norfolk coast for a few days to focus on writing. I’d had this riff in the bank for about five years, and after countless iterations, this version just fell out of me. I was thinking about my partner, who’d recently had an unpleasant experience that left her feeling low. It sparked the line, “don’t let the bastards bring you down,” although the song isn’t strictly about that. We came back with about eight songs – this and ‘The Optimist’ made the cut and I’ve started playing some of the others live.
The final section of the song was added right at the end. It felt too short, and while walking the dog I suddenly heard Chris from Campfire Social’s voice in my head. I rushed home and wrote the part. Since we were recording in North Wales just ten minutes from where Campfire Social lived, four of them came over to add vocals. They worked out harmonies instantly and locked in perfectly, elevating the track beyond what I’d imagined.
The Optimist
This is essentially about how I use humour as a coping mechanism. I know I talk a lot of nonsense and don’t really have a filter. Growing up, I was quite insular, but when I reached secondary school I made friends with a group who’d say the stupidest things just to make each other laugh. That turned into a love of comedy – we’d spend hours watching Blink-182 music videos, sitcoms, and stand-up specials. To this day, we still chat absolute shit.
Later in life, while receiving counselling, I once walked into a session joking, “well, have I got a lot to tell you today,” and my counsellor rightly challenged me on it. He was brilliant – I often got anxious, but unlike previous therapy experiences where I’d been babied, he was more assertive and it helped enormously.
Even now, I’m not always sure where the line is with humour, but I’m grateful to have people around me who rein me in. Sometimes I go off on tangents and just think, “well, at least I can make myself laugh.”
Shake A Ghost
I’ve always believed travelling can help with most mental health dips. After a break-up, I thought, “right, I’m going to book a tour.” In reality, it was one date – three hours away in Morecambe with my good friend Joe McCorriston – but for me it was a way of escaping and trying to draw a line under everything.
It was a strange time. I was on a revolving door of medications for depression and anxiety, and this song in particular is about fluoxetine, which stopped me sleeping. I eventually went cold turkey and started exploring other coping strategies. Nowadays, if I’m having one of those days, I feel better equipped with tried-and-tested methods that work for me. There’s no linear path for mental health and no one-size-fits-all approach, but I’m happy to say that I feel like I’ve found mine for the most part.
Little Bird
A decade before I was born, my family suffered devastating loss when my uncle and cousin died in a horrific accident. That trauma stayed in the family. I grew up by the river where it happened, walking past it every morning on my way to school, and it gave me a lasting fear of water and drowning.
Stylistically, this song took many forms and took a while to get right. To me, it feels like the perfect blend of abstract influences like Bon Iver, Sigur Rós and Bear’s Den with a Springsteen-like foundation. I even asked Wil Schade (Slaughter Beach, Dog) to “go full Big Man” with the saxophone, in the spirit of Clarence Clemons – and he did exactly that.
Leo
When my mum was a child, she was bitten by a dog after hugging it on a hot day. She was left scarred and rightfully frightened of dogs, my grandad’s response was to make sure there was always a dog in the family home and my Mum carried that on. I grew up surrounded by them, and in more recent years my mum began rescuing dogs.
Leo was a Bear Shar Pei who had been passed around so many homes he even ended up on eBay. He was elegant, stunning, and unique. I’ll never forget when my mum was in hospital and I thought I might lose her – I woke up one night pretty anxious, and Leo came straight over to console me.
During the COVID lockdown, we lost Leo suddenly in a horrible accident. My mum called me, and I dropped everything to run across town. At the vets, the staff were cold and unsympathetic, giving us an ultimatum that, because of restrictions, we couldn’t properly say goodbye. My mum was devastated, and I couldn’t even hug her. It was one of the hardest moments we’ve had – made even more bitter when it later transpired that the day Leo died was also one of the days Boris Johnson had a lockdown party…Prick.
This song poured out of me shortly after Leo’s passing, and over time it’s become a live staple. People often come up to me afterwards to share their own stories about their dogs/cats and we have this lovely moment which makes it feel even more special.