Grant’s story begins properly in January 1995 while he’s sitting on the side of stage next to Billy Duffy’s guitar tech as Ian Astbury and the rest of The Cult shake their collective money-makers in front of 40,000 people on a hot day in Sydney, Australia. In the midst of a distinguished six year stint on the road that included meeting Jeff Buckley and getting stoned with Evan Dando on a rooftop in Christchurch he would come to realise that you can do pretty much whatever you want with your life if you’re prepared to put in the hard yards. On that summer’s day long ago along with Ian Astbury and Billy Duffy there was also Mark Lanegan, Al Jourgensen and Bobby Gillespie on hand to inspire Grant with their free-spirited and wholehearted approach to life. You can read whatever you want into that. We all know what those guys are about.
Jump forward fifteen years and for his sins Grant finds himself living in Belfast, Northern Ireland. We can only assume that his sins were extremely serious and that hell was never going to be good enough for him. The sudden death of a dear friend back in New Zealand brought about the realisation that life can end any time it feels like it and that the time to do what you really want to do with your life is now. It’s always been now but in this painful instance the word hit home with a new and pressing urgency. So it was finally time to stop fucking around and write that book that he’d always wanted to write.
So now we jump forward one more time to the here and now and not only is Grant living in Iceland - the land of the midnight sun, 24 hour party elves and cartons of milk covered in magic mushroom eating Yule Lads - but he’s put his head down, done the hard yards and published a novel and a novella. ‘On A Small Island’ and ‘The Mistake’ have made quite a name for themselves in the world of Iceland Noir and he’s just about to publish his third book ‘A Place To Bury Strangers’ with Fahrenheit Press. It’s beginning to look a lot like he was right all along.