Last summer, I enjoyed six months of recording at a remote farmhouse in the French countryside. I went over as a novice musician and returned a slightly more accomplished but determined one. I was developing my song-writing talent; trying new methods of working, finding new inspiration and above all taking time-out from the nine-to-five.

The main reason I left the studio four months ago was that I was offered a free lift to the ferry terminal. It wasn't a particularly well considered plan, but I had this notion that embarking on a journey would boost my creativity.

Our producer, an eccentric genius with a formidable mood-swing, has pushed us out of our musical comfort zone and into the unknown. After six months, I had challenged all of my convictions until I couldn't say with any certainty (or even much interest) whether black was black; but at least now I am sure that modern living, with its consumerist rewards for long spells of relative isolation and spiritual neglect, was not a priority. I had decided to become a song-writer, maybe even a producer one day; and in the meantime see how far I could get as a performing artist. Since my previous band had only played dingy London pubs, I couldn't see how I could fail to top that.

Yet we were lacking one ingredient: vocals. Our previous singer, a counter-tenor from Australia, fared badly in the studio and made us all think again about turning round an album that summer. Since then, we've listened to over fifty budding frontmen croon, cough, splutter and warble through a particularly tricky ballad we've put together, with only a half-dozen approaching anything commercially viable, or appealing for that matter. After a while, it seemed that waiting for Gumtree to deliver the next David Bowie was a bit like playing the lottery, and something had to be done.

So I'm in the car back to the ferry port, with a vague idea to start off in my hometown in Sussex while I got my bearings. My companion, the ex-singer, had ambitions to buy a cheap transit van and convert it into a tour-bus (perhaps a distraction from actively searching for his replacement), so after a couple of weeks I lost sight of him as he headed to the Lake District to buy a some old banger and drive it back down this end of the country. I used the spare time to pass my driving test, which I thought would be useful before long; but rather than buying a camper-van, I put the last of my cash into a short-term rent in Brighton, staying with a drumming teacher.

Brighton is undoubtedly full of musicians, and were I to start-up a reggae or ska band I'd be back in the studio with the masters in my hand by now. I reckoned I was looking for something between a rock-voice: a Bono or Bowie; or a sensitive crooner that the girls would all adore: a Chris Martin or Tom Chaplin. Obviously, this is setting the sights rather high, but I was determined not to settle for the first thing I found.

Despite having made the trip over, I started again with Gumtree, but opted for a homepage featured-slot, with a mugshot of my windswept mop-head for good measure. In the end I paid about £1 a click-through, but fortunately it did provide my first break.

I met a lovely singer called Alex, who studies at Brighton University. I hadn't previously envisaged a female singer, but I heard a demo she had made which sounded rather like Nina Simone, so I decided to call her up. She's the kind of girl that is instantly disarming, and asserts herself cooly and willfully, unphased by the prospects of recording or performing. We rehearsed a cover of a Nerina Pallot song called 'Sophia', which she sings sweetly; and a version of my pop-soul track 'View from a Mountain'. She proved that a female vocalist would suit the sound perfectly at an open-mic night at the Bee's Mouth in Hove, our first performance together.

By that time I had about a month's worth of weblogging on my music blog, and had grabbed the attention of singers as far as Guildford. A very talented singer called Jo drove down and we spent a day or two working on one of her compositions, recording some quick takes. Jo wrote her own lyrics and melody for 'View from a mountain', arriving at a different slant on the song, which assures me that there must be something good about it for people to connect with it in different ways. The more people I play it to, the more I hear positive things about it, particularly from the female vocalists, which is taking my thinking in entirely different directions: Maybe we have more than one vocalist, much like Massive Attack, The Herbaliser or Groove Armada, or maybe there are two bands emerging: one rock-based outfit and another chilled-pop vibe.

I recently held an audition attended by six gifted singers, some of whom were training at the respected BIMM college. It probably daunted the poor souls but they were all ready and willing, and gave some good performances. I've now got about a half-dozen potential singers to work with. Sadly, this hunting around has come at a price, and the realities of life have meant that my well-managed coffers are totally empty. I have taken a temporary job for awhile. I've also had to move on from my flat, so my make-shift studio has gone. Between hunting around for digs, and planning the next couple of days into the future, I'm still working on tracks and meeting singers. Have I met the right person yet? I don't know. I feel that the search must continue, and so the journey goes on.

If you are a singer and looking for work, or know any singers, or would like to gloat at the misfortunes of a travelling pianist, please visit my music blog at dangarland.me.uk and get in contact.