Song Deconstructed: ‘Telescope Love’ by Rosina Buck

Rosina Buck: “I’ve always written in a very visual, almost cinematic way.”

The Bristol-based artist lays bare a song that migrates through personal transformation, tender vulnerability, and the wonder of inner landscapes

Rosina Buck is a singer-songwriter, poet, and performer whose work weaves the profoundly intimate with the whimsical and otherworldly. Celebrated for her vivid storytelling and immersive performances at Glastonbury, Green Man, and beyond, she creates music that lingers long after the last note.

Her new single, Telescope Love, marks the beginning of her forthcoming two-part EP project, Biscuit Tin and Before It Snows and reflects a deeply personal journey of healing and discovery. In this exquisitely observed article, Buck opens up about the song’s creation, offering rare insight into the heart and life behind the music.

Rosina Buck: On Song, On Location

INSPIRATION

At its core, this song came from a feeling rather than an idea – a deep, in-your-heart feeling. After I got sober in 2020, everything I’d been carrying for years began to surface. Drink and drugs had been a way of coping, of surviving, of numbing feelings I didn’t know how to sit with. When they were gone, I found myself up close with parts of myself I’d never really met – parts that were still hurting, still carrying shame, still profoundly alone.

I’ve always had a big heart, but for a long time, that heart didn’t really extend to me. But I was learning, slowly, how to be with myself without dissociating or running. It was a time of extremes. Some days were excruciating. Other days felt breathtakingly beautiful. It was in the middle of that period, sitting in my bedroom with my guitar, that Telescope Love arrived. I was playing around with a simple waltz-like progression, and the song pretty much poured out. I didn’t feel like I was trying to write anything. I didn’t even feel like I was choosing the words. It was as if something had anchored in me that was so full of love and compassion, I couldn’t deny it. Some part of me had finally been given permission to let go and receive the love I’d been searching for, after years of not knowing how to rest in it.

I was singing to a younger version of myself, the girl who always felt on the outside, misunderstood, unsure of where she belonged. And finally, as an adult, I was able to look back across that distance and offer her comfort, steadiness, and love. Writing the song was deeply moving, and it still is. Even now, when I listen to it, I receive it as the reassurance I’d always needed.

When I finished it, I knew that I wanted to share it with the people closest to me. I sent it to a dear friend who was having a deeply challenging time. She listened to it while pushing her child on a swing and messaged me back in tears. That’s when I understood the song’s purpose. Telescope Love isn’t about fixing or explaining anything. It’s about reaching across that distance – of time, feeling, and experience – and letting someone know they’re seen. That’s my hope for anyone who hears it.

LYRICS

I didn’t sit down with a plan or a theme for the lyrics of this song. They emerged as images, like little scenes or fragments from a world that already existed somewhere. I’ve always written in a very visual, almost cinematic way, and I feel that the lyrics in this song open out rather than pin anything down. They create space: space to breathe, to imagine, to drift off somewhere a little sweeter. Sometimes I think the lyrics could almost be a children’s book. They move through spaceships and telescopes, galaxies and oceans, boats and stars; places where the real and the surreal blur.

That merging of worlds feels very true to how I experienced life as a child. I was always in an imaginary world, by myself, building intricate, strange, quietly magical spaces that I could disappear into for hours. My inner landscape and dream world were (and still are) vivid and alive, and those otherworldly spaces felt as real and important as anything happening around me. I think that Telescope Love is also an ode to that. It isn’t trying to be clever or impressive; it’s simply allowing images to surface and trusting them to carry feeling without explanation.

I’ve always been obsessed with vast, unknowable things – the stars and planets on one hand, and the ocean on the other. Both feel full of mystery, beauty, darkness, and comfort all at once. The lyrics hold those two worlds together, letting them speak to one another. The song itself moves like a journey, with a beginning, middle, and end – something you move through and feel viscerally, rather than simply arriving at. It’s an experience to be lived, sensed, and absorbed, rather than something to analyse or reach a destination with. At its heart, it’s written for the child in all of us: playful, curious, open, and deeply tender.

One of my favourite lines came directly from a friend’s daughter, who said, “You’re a fire starter.” Children are absolute gold when it comes to language. They speak so poignantly, without self-consciousness, and I love that. In the days after writing the song, I travelled to Pembrokeshire with a close friend. Walking along the beach and sitting quietly beneath an apple tree, the lyrics of the final verse completed and settled into place.

Those final moments grounded the song. What emerged feels deeply personal to me, but I hope it’s open enough for others to step inside and find their own meanings waiting there. I hope to write from a deeply human place, encouraging others to embrace their own messy, beautiful selves, too.

Rosina Buck: “I hope to write from a deeply human place, encouraging others to embrace their own messy, beautiful selves too.”

MUSIC

I’m really excited to talk about the music, because Telescope Love really found its sound alongside the environment and the people who brought it to life. I don’t make music to fit a playlist, a genre, or anyone else’s expectations. I don’t look at trends to see where I might fit or how to tailor who I am to make myself more palatable. I make music because it feels incredible to collaborate with life, to say yes to the pulse that wants to move through me, and to let feelings alchemise into a song. That always comes with challenges. Not everyone understands it, not everyone likes it, but for those who do, it can land deeply.

When I met Mike Trim, everything clicked. I feel incredibly fortunate to have met him – a brilliant producer with decades of experience and now a dear friend. From the very first moment, his intuition and openness gave the music, and me, space to breathe. Working with him has always been about feeling into the song and the world we wanted to create, rather than planning notes, chords, or time signatures. Every layer, every instrument, every choice was organic, playful, and intuitive. It didn’t come from the mind; it came from the heart.

Mike is a multi-instrumentalist with an extraordinary ear, and his approach allowed the song to grow naturally. He always asked what the song needed, what was best for its lifeforce, rather than relying solely on his technical knowledge. For me, that was like a breath of fresh air. I’ve never been interested in intellectualising life, and he got that instantly. Rather than working against it, he used it as an opportunity to be truly free with the production process. Together, we explored textures and layers that gave the song a sense of space and wonder: subtle cosmic touches, playful instrumentation, and expansive worlds within the music itself.

We brought in Jonathan Potts on fiddle, whose two takes perfectly captured the song’s heartbeat and added pure heartstrings. Mike’s daughter, Rohanna Trim, lent backing vocals that added warmth, tone, and a certain magic only she carries, including improvised layers that became part of the song’s deeper texture. Every sound, every choice, every layer felt alive, as if we were building a whole world around the song; a world that could exist both on record and, eventually, on stage in immersive performance (more about that later).

IN THE STUDIO

Gecko Studios, Mike’s home studio in Wivenhoe, Essex, became a sanctuary for the music. Nestled right by the estuary, it’s a quiet, peaceful place where herons glide overhead, grey mullet leap out of the water, and the natural world seeps in every time we take a tea break. I would travel up by train and stay for a week at a time, and for me, the entire experience took on its own rhythm; a place where I could truly let go of responsibilities and distractions from home. I could fully sink into the process of recording and making music, which, as a mum, a neurodivergent person, and a strange creative creature, felt like a blessing beyond any blessing. Mike’s studio became a kind of home from home, deeply supporting the way I work and the way I am.

Our days were unhurried and full of ritual. We’d take morning walks along the estuary, swim and sauna at the gym in Colchester, return for breakfast, make endless cups of vanilla rooibos tea, meditate, and then step into the studio. From the moment we began, everything felt organic and easeful. There was no rush and no time constraints. As Mike said, it truly was a passion project, and we worked without rules. There was laughter, silliness, deep vulnerability, tears, and wonder, moments of “what if we try this?” and “oh yes, that’s cool, I love that.” Mike’s incredible collection of instruments: mando cello, double bass, 12-string guitar, ukulele, guitarlele, and more offered endless textures to explore, while the studio itself felt alive with possibility.

Evenings would sometimes shift into later-night sessions whenever inspiration struck. We always honoured the music and the creative process first – blessing the work, saying prayers to the spirit world, and giving ourselves space to prepare before playing. The environment was playful and innocent, yet deeply soulful and focused. We were there to work, and work we did, allowing the song to reveal itself naturally – often surprising me as much as anyone. Cooking together, wandering Wivenhoe, experimenting, laughing, deep soul chats… every moment became part of the recording process.

Being in the studio with Mike, Roo, and Jonathan was joyful, immersive, and profoundly nourishing. It was a place where the music could breathe, grow, and come alive — where magic was not forced but invited, and where every sound, pause, and decision felt alive with possibility. This experience in Wivenhoe is woven into the very heartbeat of Telescope Love. It was the first track we worked on together, and it set the precedent – the feel, tone, and blueprint for everything to come.

Rosina Buck: “I’ve never been interested in intellectualising life.”

FINAL THOUGHTS

First of all, I want to say how genuinely grateful I am to Songwriting Magazine for taking the time to feature this song and offer space for its story. I really believe that Telescope Love has its own spirit, and that it will reach and sit with whoever needs it in their own way. I’m thankful for the opportunity to share more about how it came into being.

Originally, my plan was to release a 12-track album this year. Mike and I recorded 12 songs with that in mind, and that felt like the direction we were heading. But through receiving support, funding, and mentorship from Help Musicians via the Next Level grant, I was encouraged to step back and look at the bigger picture. Taking that guidance on board, I realised the songs, and I, needed more space and time. So instead of one album, I made the decision to release two six-track EPs.

The first EP is called Biscuit Tin, and Telescope Love is the opening single. It will be followed by Vampire, and then the full EP, Biscuit Tin, in May. Much later, likely around July, the second EP will begin its waterfall release, featuring We Caught a Fish, Jellyfish Blues, and then the full EP Before It Snows in November. Together, the two EPs form part one and part two of the same story. Eventually, when the physical release comes, they’ll live together – 12 songs side by side – which feels incredibly satisfying.

Alongside all of this, I’ve been holding a bigger vision. For a long time, my dream hasn’t just been to make records, but to turn these songs into a theatrical experience: immersive, visual, tangible, and alive. Puppets, movement, a band, a shifting set, and a thread of story woven through it all. When I voiced out loud in the studio that I wasn’t interested in making a conventional record, but in creating songs that could fully live on stage, it was incredibly freeing and catalysed the sound of this work. It removed the rules, opened possibilities, and allowed us to be as eccentric, playful, and
expansive as the songs wanted to be.

With Arts Council funding, I’m now taking the next step. At the end of February, I’ll travel to South Africa to work with the incredible multidisciplinary artist Yana Fay Dzedze and her team, alongside a theatre director, to begin bringing these songs to life in physical space. I think this is when Telescope Love, and the world of these EPs, will start to make more sense externally. The quirks, textures, and sounds, shooting stars, seagulls, cats meowing, are all part of a bigger imagined world waiting to be stepped into.

This has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember: to create a space where people can enter a theatre or art centre and leave the weight of the outside world behind, even just for a little while. A place to get lost, feel something tender, remember something playful, or meet themselves in a quieter, more reflective way – like I used to disappear into imaginary worlds as a child.

Right now, more than anything, it feels like the timing is with me. I feel deeply grateful for the support, the patience, and the sense that things are unfolding when they’re meant to. Mike and I have already stepped back into the studio, letting the next constellation of songs begin to take shape.

So, I’ll just say this: thank you for listening, for being curious, and for stepping into this world with me. Telescope Love feels like the most honest place to begin, and I’m excited to share it with anyone who is here for the journey.

Taken from her upcoming EP Part One: Biscuit Tin, by Rosina Buck’s Telescope Love is out now. You can follow her journey on Instagram @rosinabuck_music and via htrosinabuck.com

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