A decade may have gone between albums, but Iwan Rheon never really left the creative track. Best known to global audience as an Olivier winning stage actor and as the unforgettable antagonist Ramsay Bolton at Game of ThronesRheon’s musical return is not characterized by fanfare – but by something much more interesting.
Now, his long -awaited second full -length album, I just wish I would never go to space (Out now via Awal recordings), lands with a dry, dark witty blink. It is not a comeback – it is a continuation, filtered through time, experience and a sharp, satirical look at ego, isolation and the silent mess to be human.
The billionaire in track
The leading single, “hashtag,” launches the album with satirical bett cake, punchy and Kerily on-point in today’s world. Tit a muscular pop-rock background, it represents a technical billionaire who drives endlessly through space, his wealth meaningless in the void.
“I looked at some technical billionaire’s falling rocket that took off,” says Rheon dry. “And I remembered vaguely, something about Newton’s movement law – how, in a vacuum, an object’s speed will always remain the same. So if something goes wrong there, they will just float away forever.”
The picture amused him: someone with unthinkable wealth, suddenly so powerless. “I could only imagine that this billionaire is floating around, all his wealth on earth meaningless, and he wishes he had never gone to space.” The absurdity hit a nerve. That vision got stuck, developed into a metaphor and eventually crystallized into the song that gave the album its name.
Write from the margins
Even if I just wish I would never go to space comes almost a decade after DinardIwan Rheon never really stopped writing. “I never really planned to get this huge break,” he reflects. “It’s just the same way that things happened. Acting roles came along.” But even when scripts took precedence, music never disappeared – it simply moved to the margins. Over the past five years, songwriting became a quiet, steady rhythm in the background, until the creative structure could no longer be ignored.
“It comes to a point where you just need to get the music out, otherwise it just lives in your head. And it’s not necessarily healthy,” he says. Eventually, returning to the studio felt inevitable – and welcome. “It was wonderful to get back in the studio and record some new songs.”
Songs that stopped, songs that did not
Still, everything was written during that period a place on the final track list. Some songs, shaped during a division that coincided with the pandemic, was deliberately set aside. “There were some songs that I didn’t feel I wanted on this album because I guess much changed since then, and I wanted to do something a little more forward and relevant for now,” explains Rheon.
Some remains of that era linger – “fever” and “party” in particular carry echoes of the previous chapter, although they also span different timelines. “The latter is a really old song, but it felt relevant,” he adds. The result is an album formed by reflection – one that nods to the past without being defined by it. No, this is not a breakup album; It’s something more subtle. It maps a silent transformation, a shift towards the present.
Craft space: sound and collaboration
Produced in collaboration with Chris Hyson and with Welian twin musicians Lloyd and Alex Haines, I just wish I would never go to space is a sonically diverse yet emotionally coherent work. From the biting satire of “hashtag” to the swelling optimism of “forward movement”, the album between irony and intimacy switches, without ever losing from its emotional core. “The sound gathered in the room,” Rheon reminds. Almost every track – “all except” ago ” – was already written before entering the studio.
The rest was developed organically, through instinct and shared musical language. “Chris and I discussed many references, bands and artists that we liked,” he explains. “He really gets it, and I really liked to create the sound with him.” Like themes, the emotional contrasts were also not predetermined. “I don’t think you really know what to start writing until you start,” he reflects. “The songs and themes just happen.”
In Welsh, inward
Two tracks – “Aggor” and “Y Gwenyn” – Booknd album in Welsh, anchor the project in Rheon’s Heritage and offers a quieter, more introspective type of emotional release. “Welsh definitely gives me another freedom of writing,” he shares.
“It’s like accessing another part of me.” Although he did not plan that “AGOR” would be bilingual – or to open the disc – when it was finished, it was simply Felt right. “It felt like the perfect opening,” he adds. “Y Gwenyn”, on the other hand, was always intended to end the album gently.
Character versus yourself
Although much of the album feels intimately autobiographical, Rheon takes out a surprising detour with “hashtag” – a biting, satirical track expressed by the person from an absurd technology mill. It is a rare moment of character -driven story for him and one that offered unexpectedly creative distance. “It’s something I don’t really do that often and write from another character’s perspective,” he admits.
“So it’s a little liberating in a way – looks at the situation from the outside. But I think it actually helps with the absurdity of it and writes in the first person.” Still, no character is ever completely separate. “It would be impossible to say that there are no parts of my personal experiences within this one.”
Vulnerability for creative control
What is doing I just wish I would never go to space Land with such clarity is how clearly handmade it feels. Iwan Rheon was not just the voice or face of the album – he was in the thick of every decision, from songwriting and arranging for production himself. “There is nowhere to hide,” he says, recognizing the vulnerability of such a deep commitment. “But I guess it’s powerful.”
For Rheon, music is as much about the process as the product – a rare space where he not only interprets someone else’s vision, which he often does on the screen, but controls the entire creative ship. “Having the creative control is really important to me,” he says. “I really like all parts of creating an album.” It also helps when the collaboration clicks – especially with producer Chris Hyson, whose partnership brought instinctive synergy to the sound of the disc.
From Ramsay to ‘but up’: navigate roles
On the screen, Iwan Rheon continues to move fluently between contrasting worlds. From the raw tenderness of the BBC’s “men up” to blood-and-land-chaos of “those who are dying,” he graves against roles that squeeze something visceral.
What guides his choice? A quiet, internal click.
“You read a script with an interesting character,” he explains, “and instinctively starts thinking about how you play the role – and that’s always a good sign.” It is less a formula than a recognition at intestinal level, one that has long shaped his varied and unpredictable screen.
Ramsay Bolton: Ghosts of Westeros
Of course, Iwan Rheon will always remember as Ramsay Bolton – the cruel, calculating and sadistic villain “Game of Thrones”, which became one of TV’s most scary figures. It is a legacy he carries without letting it weigh him. “I’m trying not to take the characters home. I think it’s really important to leave them in the room,” he says. “I’ve always been pretty good at doing it. It’s just playing.”
When asked if Ramsay misunderstood, sugar did not: “Not sure if there is much to misunderstand about him. He was a very bad boy.” Talk like someone who has long ago made peace with Westero’s ghosts.
The silence between projects
Still, there is often a strange weight that follows when a project ends, not really the character, but somewhat more difficult to define. “The General is a kind of shadow of the character that can be delayed,” admits Rheon, “but I think it is often just the intensity of the work – the commitment, concentration and energy that goes to create something.”
When it suddenly disappears, it leaves a special void. “It’s always a bit strange when you no longer do,” he adds, objectively. This is where music comes in – not as an escape, but as a bound. “It’s a wonderful way to remain creative when I’m not on my way.”
Loneliness, stillness and song
Unlike spectacle, which he describes as “a small part of something much bigger … a cog in a huge machine”, Music Rheon offers something more personal and sustainable. “You get into the middle, when so much work has already gone to that stage. Since when I’m done, there is a whole lot of work left to complete the project.”
However, songwriting is a full circle process-to start, soul to the surface. “It’s about a single creative idea that I’m part of from start to finish,” he says. “I enjoy having the complete creative control.”
In the silent stretch between script and sessions, Rheon graves against simplicity. No limelight, no pressure, just the world as it is. “I like to walk around the forest or a cliff page or whatever,” he almost shares offhandently. “Making music is actually one of the things I love to do too. Even just sitting on my own in a room that plays guitar.” There is peace in that loneliness. In the soft ritual to be alone with sound. Or sometimes not be alone at all. “Hanging with friends, family,” he adds. That is enough.
The album belongs to the listeners now
Now that “I just wish I would never go to space” is finally out in the world – flowing, spinning, echoing over headphones – Iwan Rheon holds the grounded. “I’m just really happy to have done it,” he says. “And I hope people can sit back and enjoy it and get something out of it, no matter what it might be.”
He suggests live performances in the future. “Some shows would be good. We made some songs on a live session for a few months back so they will be released – and let’s see about everything else.” At the moment, the album belongs to the listeners.
And maybe, somewhere, even a lone billionaire listens from orbit. Stream now!
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