Hey folks, my name is Marty Black. I was born in Moscow and grew up in the south of England. I didn’t come from a musical family, but old rock ’n’ roll records were always playing in the background. Most of my life has been spent in kitchens and pubs, working as a chef, bartender, and waiter. Places like The Bull in Sonning taught me more about people than any classroom ever could.

I found music through loss. When a family friend passed away, songs by Johnny Cash and Marty Robbins filled the room and gave everyone a small sense of relief. That moment stuck with me. Years later, I picked up a guitar, started singing Cash songs, and slowly began writing my own—mostly scribbled on walks or after long shifts. I never set out to make music a career; it was just a way to make sense of things I couldn’t explain any other way.

When I moved to Texas, something shifted. The wide open spaces, the quiet nights, the way people talk and listen here—it got under my skin. I found a sense of calm I hadn’t felt before. It’s not about becoming “country”; it’s about finding a place where the noise fades and the songs start to make more sense.

I Don’t Believe The Gallows grew out of that feeling. It’s not a polished album, and it’s not meant to be. It’s about the small, quiet truths that stick with you—the kind you carry whether you want to or not.

And of course, it’s probably always about a woman…