Art rooted in feelings of loss and grief is often painfully conflicting. In a perfect world, there should be no such thing. No such thing as grief, and therefore, no need for its iterations appearing in any forms of art.

‘It’s Not The End…’ by Dom Quincey is incredibly honest. It’s a direct conversation with a friend lost. The artist asks questions and begs for answers as the music keeps rising and the heart begins to ache.

It’s rare to feel the lyrics pour not from the pages but directly from the mind into the song. It feels raw, not yet processed, and with an experience as intense and complex as this one, maybe never fully processed.

“It was a daunting but exciting process. I hadn’t done a session with other producers for a long time, and I hadn’t finished a song since losing my friend.”

“It was also my first time meeting the Evil Genius guys, so it felt a little strange bringing something so intense and personal into the room. I remember feeling really anxious until I started playing chords, and then the verses just started to fall out line by line.”

“I hit the minor chord at the start of the chorus, and the melody just kept flowing. It took shape really quickly in a way that doesn’t happen often for me. I filled in the lyrical gaps on the drive home from the studio, and the whole song was written by the time I got back.”

“It was really a flow state experience of writing, and it honestly felt like a gift from something beyond myself. I had to honour that by not making many changes to the song.”

“The rest of the production process was cathartic as we tried to match the sound palette to the colours of the song. I recorded the strings separately with Jed Bevington. He sat behind me as I engineered the session, and I just remember trying so hard not to cry, hearing the arrangement unfold. The strings sounded so beautiful and reflected the enormity of what I was feeling. It elevated the song to a place I hadn’t realised was possible,” the artist reflects on the process of creating the song.

The song does not hide under the easily digestible blanket of token phrases and hopeful conclusions. On the contrary, its hopeful tone feels more like a familiar manifestation of the brain trying to process the loss of someone close. Words like “tell me you’re almost home” and “tell me that I’m all wrong” appear as pleas more than concrete thoughts.

Even the chorus of the song, “Let me pretend, it’s not the end”, words so peaceful in nature, but put together and sung slowly, take on the shape of a survival instinct. The lyrics reflect the exhausting and draining process of coping. There is no light at the end, and every day forces you to go through the same experience over and over.

It’s Not The End… carefully compiles unanswered questions. As you run through them, they begin to take the place of the dark thoughts and incomprehensible emotions. The painfully bittersweet hold of the endless what-ifs.

“I didn’t consciously set out to create something hopeful, as I just wasn’t in that place emotionally. I still felt so broken and raw from the loss that I didn’t have the capacity for any more darkness.”

“Looking back, I think the hopeful tone that came through was almost like a subconscious coping mechanism. The song isn’t really a declaration of hope but more of an attempt to reach for it. Lines like “let me pretend it’s not the end” and “whisper a lie to this heart of mine, tell me this wasn’t our last goodbye” embody that feeling.”

“It recognises the sobering reality of loss whilst pleading for communication from the spirit world as a means of keeping hope alive. It’s really an act of self-soothing. Whether that sense of connection is real or not doesn’t really matter as much as the comfort and healing it’s trying to evoke.”

The song is the wind in the trees; it’s that one moment when the sun is shining onto a street as you pass it, remembering its meaningful familiarity. The lyrics relive memories as they search for signs.

When everything reminds you of the one you lost, yet no reminder seems to bring that feeling of peaceful reminiscence you are searching for, the signs become hope. The idea of something bigger than yourself, of the world where your loved one is safe. You know that world exists, and you simply want something, anything, to prove you right.

Dom Quincey’s single is inherently intangible. Weaving earthy properties into it both grounds it and reminds the listener of the real-life experiences. At the end of the day, the song doesn’t only grieve, it honours.

“The grief I experienced was so vast that the only way I could approach it in music was to weave it into a world of broader spiritual possibilities.”

“Listening to film scores helped in transporting me to a more lucid, imaginative state for my own world-building. It also informed a lot of the production.”

“Seasons also play a big part for me. I found a lot of inspiration to write the new material in the autumn and winter when the veil to the spirit world is the thinnest.”