According to Marvin Gaye, the only constants in life were taxes, death and trouble. Hang around the Northern Irish music scene for any length of time and you’ll realise that there is something else you can rely on – namely, that every six months or so Geoff Topley will have another self-produced, self-financed, self-released CD of 14 or 15 songs ready to go. In one incarnation or another, the Portadown man has put out almost 150 songs over the course of six or seven years of constant activity. An impressive feat when you consider how he spent most of that time working night shifts at a Mid-Ulster box-factory. But then, it takes more than a screwed up circadian rhythm to derail A-Grade provincial creativity. Especially when it verges on the compulsive.

“It’s an addiction with me,” admits Geoff. “I don’t know, I’ll probably always be writing songs. I love doing it. I’ve put off so many other things in my life to write songs that there’d be no point in stopping now. I’ve always wanted to do it. There are photographs of me as a kid standing in front of the TV pretending I’m singing into a microphone. It’s always been drawn to it. And I’m always being inspired by other bands. Like at the minute, The Hidden Cameras, Mogwai, Bright Eyes - I really love their new stuff. It’s also helped that I’m not on night shifts any more. I’m back in the land of the living, that’s gotta help.”

You would think so. But unfortunately not long after this ladder appeared, a very sizeable snake crawled into view. The vast majority of Geoff’s myriad tunes were recorded as Foam with old school-friend Al Brown, a musical partnership that outlasted some venues in Belfast and had the appearance of an unbreakable indie union. Early this year, though, following ten years of shared song-writing duties, it came as some surprise to find out that Al had jumped ship. So what happened?

“I could say musical differences,” smiles Geoff. “It had just got to a stage where it was kind of inevitable. But at the same time it’s given me the chance to follow through with ideas that I would never have suggested to Al because I knew automatically that he wouldn’t agree with. It’s discovering a new way of working and, hand on heart, it’s the best thing that has happened to me. There really is no-one else’s influence on this, it’s all mine. And I’ve promised myself that I wont do any of the old songs. Never again. Not unless Al’s there.”

That’s 130 songs you’re dumping.

“I don’t care. I’m looking ahead.”

Which is a noble attitude worth applauding in a group of 20-year-old kids. In a 31 year old, it verges on the heroic. Is it harder to maintain your enthusiasm, as you get older?

“No, not really. I really don’t have any attachments. The older you get the more aware you become of the way life can pan out. When you’re a teenager all you really worry about is going out and get wrecked at the weekend. As you get older, and you become more conscious of the kind of things that can happen to your family and friends, you do feel as if you have more important things to say and talk about.”

Which brings us nicely to Don’t Worry Baby, Geoff’s most recent opus and his first recorded under the name Foamboy. Showcasing, as always, his love for Jason Pierce and the Velvets at their most hushed, it finds Geoff in sad, romantic, heart-broken form. In ‘Fiction Thrills’, ‘I’m Waiting For You’ and ‘When I Get To Heaven’, it also contains songs that – with a little extra polish - deserve a much larger audience. Although, be warned, only take home a Foamboy CD if you’re ready to end up with a friend for life.

Geoff: “I never make any money from the records. Lose it hand over fist. I give most of them away, to be honest. But the feedback I get – the emails, just bumping into folk – all seems to come from reasonable people who all really like the music, and that is really encouraging. It makes me want to carry on doing it.”

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