Just after Christmas 2008: Missy Higgins is among the heat and colour and acrid incense of a giant golden Hindu temple in an ashram in southern India. She’s 25 and famous, with dozens of lovely songs done and sung, but she’s also confused and increasingly distressed.
Through gritted teeth she’s asking herself the big questions, quietly for now, although the white noise of confusion will soon be loud enough to drown out the music that should be flowing through the young musician’s head.
Who am I? Am I of any use?
… Having returned to the bosom of the family after India and the Amazon – and after an ill-fated and agonising time trying to write when nothing good would come – she quit, confused and depressed.
She told her manager, John Watson, that it was over, and not to offer her anything any more – no tours, no appearances, no collaborations.
She felt as if she was inconsequential and had vanished and gone, so the best thing she could do was literally vanish and go. “She said it was like she had drowned,” says David Higgins.
Read the whole thing, please, it’s a cracking yarn and full of hope: Out of the Dark: The Return of Missy Higgins