My dad was one of the reasons I kept Simply Red going so long. I

The words of Mick Hucknall — “My dad was one of the reasons I kept Simply Red going so long. I was brought up to stick at things. I was the only songwriter in Simply Red, so I could have toured under my own banner. But I'd developed the name, so I stuck with it” — echo with the timeless wisdom of perseverance, loyalty, and discipline. In them, we hear not only the voice of a musician reflecting on his journey, but the voice of a man shaped by his father’s teachings — lessons forged in the quiet strength of the working spirit. Hucknall’s words are not about fame or fortune; they are about the sacred virtue of commitment — of standing firm when the winds of weariness, temptation, or ease whisper that it is time to move on.

Born in Manchester, raised by his father after his mother left the family, Hucknall learned early the value of endurance — of “sticking at things”, as he calls it. The world of art, like life itself, is filled with moments that test resolve: critics who wound, friends who drift, success that fades, and passions that tire. Yet the teaching of his father — to stay true, to hold fast to what one has built — became the anchor of his career. Many artists chase new names, new ventures, new banners under which to shine. But Hucknall understood that to build something enduring, one must not abandon the labor of years when it becomes heavy. The tree that grows tall is not the one that runs from storms, but the one whose roots grow deeper with each one.

The ancients knew this truth well. The philosopher Epictetus once said that excellence is not achieved in a moment of inspiration but in habit and persistence. Likewise, the craftsmen of old — the blacksmith, the sculptor, the builder — understood that mastery was born from devotion, from the willingness to return to the same forge, the same stone, the same plan, day after day. Hucknall’s faithfulness to Simply Red mirrors this timeless ethos. Though he could have cast aside the band’s name and claimed the spotlight alone, he chose to honor what had been created — to continue the journey not because it was easy, but because it was his work, his craft, and his promise to those who had followed him.

There is a quiet heroism in such steadiness. In an age when people discard their paths the moment they grow difficult, Hucknall’s words remind us that greatness comes not from constant reinvention, but from constancy of purpose. The same spirit burned in Thomas Edison, who conducted thousands of failed experiments before the light bulb finally shone. When asked how he endured so many failures, he replied, “I have not failed; I’ve just found ten thousand ways that won’t work.” Both men — one with wires, the other with melody — understood that creation demands faithfulness. The work itself must be loved enough to withstand fatigue, doubt, and delay.

And yet, Hucknall’s reflection carries another layer: gratitude to his father, the quiet guide behind his endurance. Many of us inherit not wealth or fame from our parents, but something far more powerful — the principles that define our character. From his father, Hucknall learned resilience, that sacred ability to keep going when every part of the heart longs to rest. The band became more than a career; it became a tribute — a living echo of his father’s wisdom. In this way, perseverance transforms from labor into legacy, for when we endure, we carry forward not just ourselves, but all who shaped us.

His decision to continue under the banner of Simply Red, even when he might have found greater ease or acclaim as a solo artist, reveals the ethic of stewardship. To build a name, a vision, or a work of art is to hold a responsibility to it. Abandoning it when convenience calls is a betrayal of one’s own creation. Hucknall remained not because he had to, but because he understood that what had been built with years of care deserved continuation, not abandonment. This is the way of the wise — to see one’s work not as a stepping stone, but as a living thing that must be tended until its natural end.

Let this then be the lesson passed down through Hucknall’s words: Do not forsake what you have built simply because the road grows long. Stay loyal to your craft, your calling, and your commitments. Remember those who taught you to persevere, for their strength lives in you. When the temptation to move on arises, ask whether it is courage or weariness that drives you. For true mastery, true legacy, and true peace are born not from beginning many things, but from finishing what you have begun.

In the end, Mick Hucknall’s words remind us that perseverance is a sacred act — a dialogue between generations, between father and son, between creator and creation. To “stick at things” is to live with integrity, to give your labor meaning, and to honor the hands that first taught you to stand firm. For it is not the one who starts the race who shapes the world, but the one who endures to the end, faithful to both purpose and love.