Where it All Began

It wasn’t a business plan.

There was no whiteboard, no launch party, no logo.

Just an evening — soft breeze, fading sun, an open bottle, a quiet voice, a keyboard within reach, and Peter Pickering at the helm of it all.

Something happened. A sound took shape.

Sessions on the Green began not as a project, but as a feeling.

It started with a feeling, a mood. It started in Western Australia, just outside Perth. A modest studio. A breeze through the trees. A feeling that music could be more than product — that it could be presence.

At the beginning, it was just Peter and Parichad. Peter, a lyricist and imagineer, testing lyrics, playing with tones. Not chasing fame, just following instinct. A few demos. A few whispers. And then something clicked. The music wasn’t about making hits. It was about making moments.

Slowly, the Sessions family grew.

The studio evolved with it — not all at once, but steadily. A quiet build. Tools were added, sounds refined. Behind the scenes, the investment deepened — in equipment, in software, in the subtle things that shape a song’s soul. Nothing flashy. Just what the music needed.

Vocalists and musicians came not for the spotlight, but for the stillness — the intimacy. Each track was a shared breath, not a performance. Some stayed. Some passed through. The door was always open.

Most didn’t come to be seen. They came to feel — to make something honest. Many never set foot on the lawn. Stems arrived from far-off bedrooms, late-night studios, borrowed laptops. Some voices whisper in from halfway round the world. The artists we attract are a little like us — private, often off-centre, maybe a bit odd in the best way. Guided by Peter Pickering's hand, the music finds its form. They don’t crave applause. Just connection. The music feeds them, like it feeds us. That’s the point.

And so the name came — Sessions on the Green.

Not from some abstract ideal, but from a real place. A studio that opens onto a private lawn, encircled by rose beds and trees that speak in soft shade. One tree — tall, with yellow blossoms that arrive like surprise laughter — came from Thailand.

It's a Cassia Fistula — Golden Shower Tree — a quiet echo of another home.

There’s a wooden bench beneath it, painted orange. Most afternoons, around 3:30, maybe 4, you’ll find a man there — tea in hand, sandwich unwrapped, thoughts drifting. It’s not ceremony. Just habit. A pause. A space to listen before the music speaks. Because sometimes, the green is the place where you breathe before you play.

It’s not a band. It’s a collective.

A revolving door of voices, players, poets, producers — rooted in trust, not contracts.

Call it a label if you like — we do.

But it’s a label born not in boardrooms, but in the back garden, where the tea’s hot, the mix is warm, and the gate’s always open.

It’s a collective shaped by silence as much as sound. Rooted in emotion. Unbound by genre. Always live in spirit — even when it’s layered, looped, or digitally stitched.

This is where it began. And it’s still beginning — under the vision of Peter Pickering, with every voice that joins the Sessions.