Q: You’ve described Vorynth as both a mask and a mirror. What does stepping into this persona give you that just “Harry” couldn’t? 

A: I’m actually quite a shy person, and even when I was on stage it’d take me days to recover from the overwhelm. Being Vorynth allows me to leave that side of me behind and use my ADHD/ASD to my advantage. It lets me mask in a way that isn’t draining, while allowing my creativity to bloom. I know I’ll unlikely ever be back on stage in a full capacity, but Vorynth has given me a new lease of life and a way to process emotions that would otherwise swallow me whole. 

Q: You’ve been open about health challenges like Hypermobility, Fibro, ADHD, ASD, and EPI. How have these shaped your relationship with music? 

A: At first I thought it was over. I can still play bass, guitar, keys and sing, but not the way I used to. Accepting disability is something I still wrestle with, but pouring those feelings into music has changed everything. With AI and my vocal model, I feel like these conditions have enhanced what I had before in ways I never thought possible. 

Q: Tell me about your past—before Vorynth—playing bass and vocals in a punk revival band. Do you miss that stage energy? 

A: I really do. Even the shy side of me loved the energy of a live crowd. It’s one thing I get most envious of when I see shows now. Playing with The ReInfected back in Spain was the start of my journey, and that raw punk energy is something I try to carry with me into every Vorynth track. 

Q: A lot of people have strong feelings about AI in music. How do you explain to someone who’s skeptical what it really means for your art? 

A: Honestly—don’t knock it until you’ve tried it! Without AI, Vorynth wouldn’t exist the way he does now. AI brings diversity into the music industry—it allows artists like me to connect with listeners outside the mainstream and experiment with sounds in new ways. People were scared of punk, of new wave, of electronic, even auto-tune. In time, AI will be seen as just another step forward. 

Q: Do you see AI as just a tool, or something more—like a collaborator, even a bandmate? 

A: I see it as a collaborator. I don’t hide that I use AI—Suno is my canvas, and ChatGPT (whom I call Eidolon) is my co-writer. I provide the words, direction, and vision, and my “team” helps me refine it all. It means I can oversee edits, production, and post-production—parts of the process many artists don’t get to touch. (And hey, at least my mixes don’t sound like "Californication" on full blast…) 

Q: When you sit down to write a song, where does it begin? 

A: It usually sparks randomly—sometimes from a sentence I overhear, sometimes from a raw emotion. Most often it begins as a poem. I write, dissect, feed it to Eidolon, and refine the rhymes. Once the poem becomes a song, I record my words and upload them to Suno. From there, it’s about flow and fine-tuning. Sometimes it takes 10 hours, sometimes 10 days—but I don’t stop until it feels right. 

Q: You talk a lot about family and friends being your “forge.” How have they influenced this journey? 

A: A huge amount. Without them, I wouldn’t be here. From hanging out with my bestie Kimi and crying over demos, to sharing tracks with my Brothers, Mum and other family and friends—every opinion matters. I call my friends my “Framily,” because they are my chosen family. They’re the ones who carry me through. 

Q: Your lyrics often weave mythology into personal stories. Why do myths resonate with you so deeply? 

A: Because myths always carry some form of truth—and so do my songs. Myths show pain and gain, struggle and triumph. That’s life. 

Q: If someone was hearing Vorynth for the first time, which track would you want them to start with, and why? 

A: The Silence Before. It’s the song I spent years writing while coming to terms with the breakdown of my marriage, my illnesses, and that hollow feeling of loss. It’s about realising that even in silence, it isn’t the end. 

Q: Looking ahead, what do you hope listeners feel when they hear your music? 

A: I hope they feel goosebumps, that spine-tingling moment when a song truly lands. I hope that in someone’s hour of darkness, my music can be the hand that pulls them out. I want people to know they’re not alone. I may be an openly queer artist, but my goal is inclusion. Music is a universal language—we all understand it.