Hello, I’m Jynx deLygh. And this album, more than a collection of songs, is a map of where I’ve been. It’s the sound of me rebuilding a life from its foundation, and if you’re listening, I want to share a little about why I made it.

It all starts with a voice, and not just in the artistic sense. A few years ago, I was faced with a medical reality that felt like a death sentence for a part of my soul: I was told by my vocal coach and a vocal surgeon that I might never sing again. For anyone, that news is devastating. For me, in the midst of navigating my transition, it felt like a cruel joke—as if I was being told I couldn’t use the very instrument that was helping me find and express my true self.

So, my initial motive was pure, stubborn defiance. I started singing to prove them wrong. But very quickly, it became about proving something to myself: that I could reclaim what was mine. That I could build a new voice, both literally and metaphorically, even when the experts said it was impossible. Every note I sang became an act of rebellion against a predetermined fate.

This leads to the heart of the album: the songs I chose. These aren't just random covers. Each one is a carefully selected echo of a specific moment in my journey over these last four, heartbreaking years.

I chose songs that spoke to the surreal and often painful process of transition—the feeling of being a stranger in your own past, the courage it takes to become who you were always meant to be, and the bittersweet ache of a former self you have to mourn to move forward.

I also chose songs that articulate the profound grief of loss. When I came out, I lost my marriage. I lost friends I thought would be by my side forever. The landscape of my life changed overnight, and I was left navigating a world that felt suddenly quieter and emptier. These songs are for my ex-wife, for those friends—they are my way of singing the words I never got to say, of processing a love that transformed but didn't disappear.

But the most powerful motive of all sits in the other room, probably needing a snack or a hug. My five children. In the depths of my heartbreak, they were the reason I had to get back up. I had to show them that even when you are broken, you can piece yourself back together. I had to model resilience. This album is the soundtrack of that rebuilding—for them. It’s proof that their mom is a fighter.

You should know that I don’t crave the spotlight. The idea of fame is intimidating, and the thought of a tour is genuinely frightening. My ambition isn't to be a star; it’s to be a connection. If my music brings comfort or a sense of solidarity to even one person in my community, or helps an ally understand a little better, then this journey has been a success. It’s about creating a quiet, meaningful resonance in a noisy world.

And finally, as a thank you for joining me on this path, I’ve included a very personal artifact at the end of the album. The bonus track is a love song I wrote for my then-wife, in a time when I was still living as a man. It’s a voice from a different lifetime, a snapshot of a love that was true, even if the vessel for that love has since changed. It felt important to include it—not as a sad footnote, but as an honest part of my history.

So, this album is my defiance, my grief, my love letter to my children, and my offering to my community. Thank you for listening, for allowing my voice into your space, and for helping me prove that some endings are just beautiful, complicated beginnings in disguise.