Slowdive and Death to Timelines
I saw Gen X shoegaze legends slowdive play live a few weeks ago. I’d expected a mellow, nostalgic nod to the early ’90s. Instead, I was completely blown away by a band at a creative zenith, rather than dusting off old tunes.
If you’re unfamiliar with shoegaze, think dreamy vocals drenched in guitar distortion and effects; music to get lost in.
slowdive @ Fortitude Music Hall, Brisbane / 8 May 2025
Brisbane’s Fortitude Music Hall was packed. Yes, there were plenty of us fans from the ’90s, but the crowd was mostly a new generation of indie and goth kids. Instead of a subdued, retrospective vibe, slowdive delivered a performance charged with the here and now.
It revived something in me. I’ve often felt a little late to the party—whether it was backpacking in my twenties surrounded by teenage gap-yearers, or more recently, in creative spaces where I catch myself thinking I should have started earlier, achieved more, or figured it all out by now.
Self-Protection
This kind of thinking, I’ve realised, is one of the more insidious forms of creative sabotage Julia Cameron writes about in The Artist’s Way.
In Chapter 10, she talks about the need to protect our creative selves—not just from critics, but from our own inner narratives. That voice that says we’re too late, too old, too irrelevant—it poses as realism or humility, but really, it’s fear.
Watching slowdive—Rachel Goswell and Neil Halstead’s haunting vocals weaving through layers of swirling guitar, keyboard and drums, with mesmerising lighting and warm acoustics—felt like a personal intervention. Here was a band dismissed in 1994, written off by the cultural tides, and yet decades later, more vital and creatively alive than ever.
Creative Drought
It reminded me how easily we internalise the idea that we’ve missed our shot. That if it hasn’t happened by now, it never will. Cameron calls this a “creative drought”—those stretches where we feel stuck, uninspired, or invisible. But she insists these aren’t dead ends. They’re pauses. Spaces for incubation. slowdive lived through a literal version of that (side projects aside), then returned—because the art was still alive in them.
My creative return this week has been to my little watercolour sketch book, enjoying the process of paintings that unfold in their own way and time for no purpose other than the joy of making them.
Workaholism
It’s made me more aware of how I sometimes hide behind “productive” busyness—another point Cameron makes. She says workaholism can look noble, even virtuous, but it’s often a shield against risk. A way to avoid the emotional exposure that real creativity demands.
While I’ve never been someone with a tendency towards workaholism, I can definitely be a diligent procrastinator. When a creative project is brewing, you can bet the kitchen will be spotless and the floors freshly mopped.
It’s curious, isn’t it—how with our finite days, we’ll drift toward the inane instead of prioritising what actually matters.
Fame
Cameron writes, “Fame encourages us to believe that if it hasn’t happened yet, it won’t happen,” and reminds us that fame isn’t the same as success.
Fame drains creative energy by pulling us toward others’ expectations. Success, by contrast, is the quiet satisfaction at the end of a good day’s work.
It’s about showing up for the process, not chasing the product.
Watching slowdive didn’t feel like a performance grasping for relevance or recognition—it felt like art made for its own sake.
It felt like a re-alignment. A call to stop measuring myself against timelines that were never mine. To protect the space where my voice lives, even when it’s quiet.
slowdive reminded me that the creative path isn’t a straight line. It’s a slow dive into creation. Sometimes you return to something you thought was over—and find it more alive than ever.
Here’s to loud music, slow art and no timelines.
Leonie x
