Naming things is hard – so I surrendered mine
Navigating the challenges of naming things, from software to bands to children, while relinquishing an identity along the way.
There are two "hard things" in computer science: cache invalidation, and naming things. After years of experience in software engineering I can vouch for the former, but it's the latter which is truly hard.
In the software world, "naming things" can refer to the challenge of coming up with descriptive-yet-succinct titles for things: a software library, a function name, a variable. It's hard because you need to anticipate how these things may develop in future, and how long they'll persist for. Famously, the HTTP referrer header (which tells websites which previous page you came from) is spelled wrong, and every bit of code since its introduction in 1996 has to handle both the correct and incorrect spelling.
Back in the flesh-and-bone world, though, naming things is equally challenging. I've been responsible for the names of at least four bands, two goldfish, several albums/EPs and, er, a couple of children. All of them were agonising decisions.
The kids are obviously the hardest of all: the weight of responsibility sits heavily as you contemplate all the challenges their name may bring them. Does it rhyme with some insidious playground taunt? Do the initials spell out something rude and embarrassing? Is their future Google ranking dominated by an 18th century serial killer they share a name with? There are plenty of pitfalls to avoid here.
The (band) name of the game
Music is another naming pitfall: since my teenage years I've specialised in coming up with band names for my various teenage groups, including this selection:
The Vagrants (not even the worst name this group had)
Doomed Youth (yep, nicked from the Wilfred Owen poem)
Escaping Skies (named for a photo I took where the sky looked like it was "escaping")
MC Blizzard (if you know, you know)
More recently, I had to come up with an artist name for my album of singer/songwriter music which I released in 2023. The easiest option would've been to do it under my own name, Matt Andrews. Let's be honest: it's not the most rock'n'roll name, nor is it memorable or particularly catchy. I also know a man with the same name as me who lives three streets away. I needed something unique.
After some brainstorming and careful googling, I stumbled upon "Edgeways" as a name to summarise my musical output. I liked the idea of "getting a word in edgeways" to refer to me squeezing in some songwriting and music production alongside kids, jobs, etc. I released my album and the world continued to turn.
A few weeks ago, though, a band in New Jersey got in touch. They too were called Edgeways, and had been using the name locally for several years. They admitted they had little online presence (which was why they didn't appear in my exploratory searches), but they told me they'd just recorded a new album, due out this summer, and paid for a bunch of branded merchandise.
I replied: I had no strong attachment to the name and no real presence or fanbase to speak of. I wasn't sure how technically challenging it would be to change the name so they could have it, but was prepared to do so: the unspoken subtext of their email was that I beat them to the name online so they couldn't insist I stop using it, but they just wanted to hear my thoughts.
The band were overjoyed and offered to pay any associated costs for me (thankfully none). I subsequently spent a few weeks trying to think of an alternative name, including soliciting my Instagram followers for suggestions (some great/terrible ones there). I'll reveal the new name once all the changes have gone through, so watch this space.
Losing my edge
In retrospect, it was a kind of weird experience to erase my (assumed) identity so willingly. The "Edgeways" name isn't anything people associate with me and I doubt anybody other than me even knows it or remembers it being something I'm using. But it did feel like a rare attempt I made to carve something out to represent me, creatively and emotionally. I kind of surprised myself, handing it over to strangers willingly after trying it on and shaping it to myself for a year.
But equally, forcing five random Americans to rename their clearly-more-serious-than-mine musical project just because I happened to get on Spotify before they did felt petty and unfair: why cling to this thing? Maybe shedding this identity wasn't just easier, it was... better.
Mini-feels this week
Tell Me Why I Do Like Mondays
I've been off work for two weeks now, technically on paternity leave although my daughter just turned 10 months old and really I just saved up some of my parental holiday to cover for the two weeks of Easter when schools are closed and my nearly-five-year-old is off.
I can't wait to go back to work on Monday. I love my kids and we've done a lot in the past two weeks, but sweet lord Jesus, full-time parenting is exhausting and challenging. Even when it's going well, you can feel your individual identity and agency being eroded and erased. Just being able to sit down and be solely in control of my actions for half a day will be a blessed treat, even when those actions involve reading six million emails and trying to remember what my job is again. Roll on next week!