The Songs Men Sing.

A reflection on the quiet ways men communicate through music, behaviour, silence and emotion. I talk about how songs became emotional signposts throughout my life, from childhood memories with my dad to the artists who shaped me growing up. This letter is about listening properly, recognising the signals people give us, and creating relationships where honesty feels safe.

Dear Leo,

I heard a song recently that stopped me in my tracks. (I’ll add the song at the bottom, so you can listen to it after you’ve read this letter). 

One of the lyrics said: “Nobody sees what it demands, to be a man.”

And for some reason, that line stayed with me.

The older I get, the more I realise men often are communicating. Just not always in ways people expect.

Sometimes through conversation, but often through music and ‌lyrics. 

A lot of men grow up hearing the same messages, and I’ve heard this countless times in my life too. 

Stand up tall.
Hold the line.
Don’t let it show.
Keep going.

And many do.

But I think sometimes what gets missed is the effort it takes to carry things silently. The pressure to remain steady. To keep saying “I’m good” even when life feels heavy.

Maybe that’s why music matters so much. Maybe that’s why it matters so much to me…

When I think about some of the artists I’ve loved most in my life, many of them were men trying to express something difficult, beautiful, or deeply human.

Michael Jackson singing about becoming a better person with, Man in the Mirror.

Phil Collins somehow making heartbreak feel understandable with, Against all odds. 

Dermot Kennedy writing about hope after a difficult season with, Better Days are Coming.

Rag'n'Bone Man reminding people that being human means being imperfect with, Human.

Metallica turning vulnerability into something powerful with, Nothing Else Matters.

Simon & Garfunkel, The Sound of Silence, might be the best example of what I am trying to illustrate here. This song, released in 1964, is a warning to us all about what happens when people stop truly hearing one another. 

Had to share this photo of you - YOUR FIRST TIME AT THE PUMP TRACK

When I was a little boy living in Australia, even younger than you are now, there was a song by Louis Armstrong called, What a Wonderful World. This was re-named by our family, ‘My Australia song’. I was fascinated by it, and long after we moved away from Australia, the song would come on the radio and I (we all) would call it Ryan’s Australia. This was ‌probably the origin story of my passion for music. 

Your Grandad used to play music constantly in the car.
Lighthouse Family.
Queen.
Ladysmith Black Mambazo.
Lionel Richie.

These songs became memories for me. And if I think about it now, this was my Dad's way of showing me what was underneath, maybe. 

That’s the beautiful thing about music. It holds emotion for us. When you find your music, it has the power to lift the hairs on the back of your neck. To bring a tear to your eye. To light a fire in your belly. To swipe the cloud in your mind and bring sunshine and light. 

I guess the point of this letter is this:

As you grow older, listen carefully to people. 

Listen to what people love.
What they create.
The music they play on long drives.
The way they treat others.
The moments they go quiet.

Human beings reveal themselves in many ways.

And when it comes to friendships, choose people who make it safe to be fully yourself.

Friends will come and go throughout life, but every now and then you’ll meet people who just really understand you. People who notice when your energy changes. People who ask twice when they know something isn’t right. 

Hold on to those people carefully. And be that person for others too.

There’s a statistic that says somewhere in the world, a man takes his own life every 40 seconds.

I don’t share that to make this letter sad. I share it because I think the world can do better at listening. Better at noticing. Better at picking up on the signals. They are there, you just need to be tuned in.  

I hope your generation does that better than mine. 

But most importantly, know this. 

You will never have to pretend with me. Nothing is ever off limits. You don’t need to be strong all the time. You don’t need to carry things alone.

I’m not just your dad. I’m your best friend for life.

I love you always,

Daddy x

P.S The song I mentioned at the top - Owen James, Heavy Hands.

P.P.S A special thank you to everyone else reading these letters.

32 weeks ago, I started writing to my son about the things I was feeling deeply at the time. Fatherhood. Life. Meaning. Relationships. Growth. The quieter thoughts we don’t always say out loud.

Truthfully, I never knew if anyone would connect with them. These letters were always for Leo first.
A small time capsule for him to return to one day, if he ever feels called to.

But somewhere along the way, these letters became something bigger than just the two of us.

Every Tuesday morning, more than 10,000 people now open these emails. That honestly blows me away.

What means the most to me is not the number itself, but the feeling that these words are finding people who see the world in a similar way. People who value reflection, conversation, vulnerability, family, growth and emotional honesty.

I feel more connected to this project than almost anything else I’ve created.

My hope is that after 52 letters, I can turn them into a book. Something people can hold onto. Something filled with love, perspective, comfort and meaning.

And maybe this is only the beginning of what these letters become.

Thank you for reading.
Thank you for staying.
And thank you for helping me build something that feels genuinely meaningful.

Ryan