A North London height where solitude becomes altitude.
(Apple Music / Spotify / Bandcamp / local player)
There is a place in North London where the city suddenly drops away.
From the hill of Alexandra Park, London no longer feels like a machine. It becomes breath. Light. Distance.
Standing above Ally Pally, you don’t hear traffic as movement anymore — you hear it as weather.
This song was not written to describe London, but to mark a moment of not belonging that quietly turns into not being alone.
Below the hill, millions of lives move at different speeds. On the hill, time loosens its grip.
The palace itself is not a monument here. It is a witness. A structure that has seen broadcasts begin, crowds gather, wars end, and nights repeat themselves endlessly without explanation.
“Above Ally Pally” exists inside Isle of Not Alone as a city-height work — a point where solitude is no longer isolation, but altitude.
The wind does not ask who you are. The city does not ask where you’re going. For a few minutes, neither do you.
This is not a song about hope in the loud sense. It is about the quiet kind — the kind that appears when you stop demanding answers and allow the city to breathe beneath you.
Above Ally Pally, the city is learning to be gentle. And so are we.